It all started on one of the many cold nights in the great white north, back when I was with that whore of an ex-girl friend of mine. You all know the one. Anyways one of her friends came up to visit so we decided to get shit faced. I invite my cousin over, you all know him as the guy who got lost in Denver a few news years ago, as he is always down for some drinking. We proceed to drink a 30 rack of High Life Light and a bottle of vodka while the whores talk. The rest of the story is based off what I could piece together the next day. I wake up the following morning hung over and minus my glasses and I get a whif of what smells to be shit. I decide its me so I got up to take a shower. As I get into the shower I put my knee on the tub and see a chunk of pooh stuck to my knee. I walk back into my room and being half blind at this point I get on my knees to investigate and find a smear of pooh. I deduce that it is in fact dog poop and I go back to the shower. I finish up, put my contacts in and walk back into my room to find a log of pooh on the carpet and a whole bunch more in the jeans of the whore I was sleeping next to. I look in the trash can and see what looks to be remnants of improvised toilet paper. The first thing I do is wake the whore up and blame the pooh on her. Being defensive and most likely not guilty she creates a scenario of me being naked in my room and not wanting to walk through the living room to the bathroom to take a shit, so you decide to poop in the trash can and ended up pooping on the floor and in the jeans. Since I had tried pooping in a drawer my freshman year this seemed like a reasonable explanation. I still blame the whore for shitting on my floor but if I did I am glad I shit all over her $100 pair of jeans.
