Shake Hands With Beef!
by lakrfool

April 13, 2007


This is Rocky, the min-pin that is currently the house dog at Chez Lakrfool. We have recently adopted him from my Mom, and he can be found sleeping on piles of dirty laundry, and marking his turf on stray soccer balls from our Hispanic neighbor's backyard. Sometimes in all of his glory, he lays down in the deepest, greenest patch of grass flat on his back, and suns himself, his junk soaking up all of the vitamin D it possibly can…I was going to snap a picture of Rocky's dick, but I understand the WVSR already has one of those.

One recent morning I was at the
Wal Mart Supercenter in Plano (not really fertile ground to play "The Game") armed with a shopping list, and there towards the end was 'dog food.' So I wheeled past the propane grills and stacks of fertilizer bags to the pet section, and commenced looking for the cheapest stuff. Rocky turns his nose up at kibble, so I was in the market for canned dog food. I was checking out the six packs of Ol' Roy, the Wal Mart brand, when I noticed this…check the description underneath the brand name. The snickering commenced immediately (is there an entry for "lone man laughing aloud" in the WM Game??)  I wasn't sure if this was intended to elaborate on the product's qualities, or what you would be shoveling over the fence into the alley in a couple of days.

Of course I bought it.

So I arrived home, and the experiment began. When Rocky heard the unmistakable sound of a can's pull tab releasing the vacu-sealed goodness inside, he immediately started shredding the living room rug, cutting about 4-5 donuts in a celebratory dance of sorts. I fished a Popsicle stick out of the trash to scrape out the food, and went to the back patio where Rocky was greedily panting like Father O'Malley sitting poolside at a Boy Scout Jamboree. Without a doubt, Rocky really dug the hearty loaf. In fact, he gave his dish a tour of half the backyard trying to savor every last morsel of ground testicles it had to offer.  Then like a lion after a fresh kill, he retired to the shade, licking his chops with satisfaction.

Now for the final phase of the experiment, I had to be covert. Much like Our Fearless Leader, Rocky is not big on public displays of shittery, so I stationed myself in the back bathroom, and the waiting game commenced. I managed to multitask while at my station, in hopes that some aromatic encouragement would trigger Rocky's bowels to churn. Soon, Rocky rose to his paws, and began lumbering very deliberately towards the back fence. When he started "the walk," I raised my camera, and zoomed in for the money shot.  And lo, the Circle of Loaf was complete. Rocky had fertilized the ground, and someday a windstorm could carry the fertilized seed to a not so distant ranch, where it might grow and feed future cattle, and after slaughter the cattle's brains, intestines and genitals would be shipped to the Ol' Roy factory in Bentonville, Arkansas to be loafed again.

It's beautiful isn't it?? *reaches for Kleenex*


On the subject of loaves, I would like to reflect on a much stupider time in the late 80's when I was a drunken fraternity boor, and was offered accommodations by
South Padre Island 's finest.

My soph year of college a bunch of us took a self-appointed 'early' spring break and headed for Padre for a long weekend in late Feb.  After a beer fueled 14 hour trip on a charted bus, 3am found us at the shittiest hotel on the beach, The Miramar, (read reviews) where we were bombing the adjacent hotel with water balloons and empties using some kind of surgical tube launcher.

Inevitably, the cops showed up. Needless to say I was wasted, and asked the Hispanic officers "donde está Dunkin' Donuts?"
Their answer was a prompt cuffing and stuffing, and they hauled me away. Turns out I was the only one in the whole jail that night. I found an empty bunk, and likely enjoyed a better night's slumber than huddled on the floor of that festering toilet of a "resort."

The next morning I was rudely awakened from my slumber on the top bunk of my private cell by a guard who moved me into the 'holding tank' area...a large room with nothing but a toilet in the middle. I managed to find a corner in which to finish my sleep, and about an hour later breakfast was served: instant coffee and 2 pieces of dry white toast served in a cardboard dish. That was all. I sipped the bad tasting coffee, and it stirred in me the urge to complete the digestive process from my late afternoon, stoned trip to Taco Bell from the day all the cheap beer I had consumed.

I yelled to the guards for some toilet paper, but to no avail. I weighed the situation, and saw what had to be done. Since there was no one in the cell, the embarrassment factor would be minimal. I took my things and went over to the toilet, dropped my drawers, and assumed the position. The fury that was unleashed was amazing...even though the guards couldn't see me, I knew they could hear me, and somewhere deep down inside they gained a newfound respect for me. It lasted for perhaps a minute or two until completion, and then came the challenge (this is merely another chronicle in my history of toilet McGuyverism). There was no toilet paper, and given the things that were at my disposal, I proceeded to wipe my ass with the dry white toast.

The attempt with the first piece was a disaster, with a full finger poke-through and maximum breakage, the crumbs adhered themselves to the unwiped shit, and I began to regret my hangover fueled impromptu decision. However, the second piece was less toasted and more pliable, and armed with my experience on the previous attempt, I was able to 'rectify' some of the initial damage...but not 'wholly.'

For the sake of clarity, I must state that there is nothing quite likes the feeling of little croutons in a poorly wiped ass. No conceivable sitting or laying down position can provide any degree of comfort. I suffered there for another couple of hours, grimacing in various poses. My friends eventually came around
noon and bailed me out. Upon arriving back at the hotel room, I went into the head and finished the job. A melted and crushed Kit Kat bar came to mind as I had the most satisfying asswipe in the history of all mankind. The sweet touch of industrial toilet paper was like the kiss of God, and I think I went at it until it bled…I just didn't want it to ever end.


I know I gave a teaser last week for a recap of my buddy's wedding, but that will have to keep until another time, as the South Padre story seemed to complement Rocky's much better.

So be your loaf hearty, or be your loaf toasted, eventually it all goes to shit.


Johnny Wadd

<<previous next>>

The West Virginia Surf Report!