Back when I was 8 years old I was a really chubby kid. The type of boy who wouldn’t share his food even if his own mother was starving to death on a deserted island. Well, one day I was invited to go out to dinner with my neighbor, which happened to be my best friend at the time, and his family. As soon as we got in the mall, me and my also fat friend, Pedro, went straight to the food court. To McDonald’s specifically. A Big Mac, a quarter pounder and a vanilla shake later, you could say I was kind of full. Not so bad for an 8 year old, right? After the feast frenesi, Pedro’s younger brother, Luca, decided he wanted to play Q-zar. It was like an indoor paintball game, but instead of paintballs, the guns shot laser lights and each player had a vest with a receiver. It was so cool. The gunfight happened in the dark, with lots of neon lights. Oh, the early 90’s. Anyway, I remember being in line, waiting to engage battle, when my belly started to do these pre-historic noises. Shit! Motherfucking Ronald McDonald had sabotaged my burgers, I thought to myself. Is this asshole playing for the other team, or what? I knew something was wrong. I couldn’t fight handicapped by my stomach. Damn burgers wouldn’t stop me, a real warrior.
Game had started. Lots of boys running everywhere, shooting and hiding from the lasers. I was worried about my condition, but still trying to keep up. Impossible. It got worse. I had to stop in one strategic place and stand there waiting for the end. Suddenly, I was shot. The vest did a loud noise and vibrated right on the belly when shot. All the shaking triggered an outburst on my intestine. An eruption of shit coming out of my rectum made my underwear heavier than the 5 pound burrito I had for breakfast that morning. Wet feces running down my legs even reached my shoes. What could I do? I was desperately motionless. I stood there for the last 15 minutes pretending I was covering friends, guarding the base, working on my camouflage and all the imaginable excuses for standing like a statue in the middle of a battle. Game over, finally. What should I do know? Runaway? Hide there? No, they would come to pick me up. I went straight to the bathroom, running, getting dirtier with every step. When I got there, I did my best to clean myself with toilet paper, but it wasn’t working. The shit was too concentrated to go off like that. After 10 minutes of sweating, I managed to minimize some part of the damage. Pedro came into the bathroom to check if I was OK. I had to leave instantly not to raise any suspicion.
On the way back, things started to smell bad inside the car. Without even thinking twice, I was the first one to throw accusations.:
- “Luca, did you just fart?” “Shit Pedro, what did you have for lunch?” “I think there is a dead cat in the trunk? Or is it a rotten corpse?”
I think his parents knew it was me, but they didn’t talk, just opened the windows and drove like Ace Ventura all the way home. I was completely embarrassed with the situation, but kept my moral intact when we stepped out of the car and I saw a huge piece of dog shit on the ground, waiting for me, like a trap. At the time, I swear I could see the light bulb over my head. So I just aimed to that nasty, still hot shit and stepped on it with all my strength. Some pieces even flew to the sides, but that was fine, I made it imperceptible. With the alibi stamped on my shoe sole, I choose the exact moment of the goodbye at the door to drop the bomb:
- “Ohhh, what is that? Damn, a huge piece of dog shit on my shoes.”
With flawless precision, the whole family discovered the “mystery” saying out loud:
- “Owww, so this is where that disgusting smell was coming from.”
I arrived home felling so relieved and relaxed that night, I even forgot to take a shower before sleeping.
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