Comedy Open Mic Round #41 ~ The Legend of Shittyfingers

Our shop Conquest Comics has been it’s current location for about 7 years, but for the first 2 plus we were just next door in our original smaller spot. This story takes place in the original shop around 2011 and is true.

I remember that day well. I was working by myself and it was a nice spring day. The door was open to allow a sweet breeze to dance throughout the shop to waft away the smell of unwashed virgins. I had some customers trickling in like normal, when a regular kid named Christian and his grandfather popped on in.

Christian had to be around 10 or 11 at this point and boy...was he a pain in the shitter. A nice kid, but he blurted out a million annoying questions each and every time he popped in. I always smiled and answered him as best I could while secretly wishing for him to have a aneurysm or die on the spot of Ankle Cancer.

Christian’s grandpappy always brought him in and this guy was a no nonsense, loveless son of a bitch. His fuse was the shortest I had ever seen and he was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode on his grandson. Every. Single. Time.

Ya see, Christian would not only ask me a million stupid questions but he would take 13 & 1/2 years to make up his mind on which overpriced toy he wanted to get on each visit. Grandpappy was having none of that and would yell within minutes of being there, ”CHRISTIAN...LET’S GO!!!” That phrase was uttered at least 15 times when they came in and I was filled with pure glee every time his decaying yapper would scream at his disappointing grandson.

He sounded like the old Grandfather in Christmas Vacation. “They want you to say Grace...The Blessssss-iiiing”. Yeah...that guy. You can feel the years of displeasure emanating through his groggily cracking voice.

I should preface this by adding in that Christian would always reply back to Black Heart Gramps, “But Grandpa, you know it’s hard for me to choose because I have Aspergers”. I don’t know if he did or not but if I were a betting man, I’d say he did. It just made sense.

So on this particular day, I see him bouncing around and practically dancing. Then out came the question. “Can I use your bathroom?” We try to refrain from letting the public use the restrooms. We have a stupid amount of inventory and it’s always a messy tight squeeze to get the the back there but in this day I felt his pain. I have Crohn’s disease so I know what it’s like to be panicked to find a restroom. I said sure and I led him to it and walked back out front to make sure gramps wasn’t dead.

A few minutes later Christian comes out and decided on a toy quickly which I found somewhat odd. Gramps paid for it and they left to go ruin someone else’s day I imagine.

So a few hours pass and because I don’t care about living either and I already downed 44 ounces of tasty delicious Coca-Cola, I find myself having to go drain the main vein. That is when I saw the images that still haunt me to this day.

I opened the bathroom door as my disappointing dick was about to explode with cola piss, when I see just about the most horrific thing imaginable. Poop smears covered everything. On the toilet tank lid. On the handle. Shit is on the damn mirror. It’s on the toilet paper roll. The countertop? You bet. Covered in smeared turd. It’s on the walls in multiple places. The doorknob...doo doo central. Poop is everywhere in my bathroom...except in the fuckin toilet.

This kid was like the Banksy of shit smearing. It also smelled like fresh nugz as well as it had been fermenting for hours. I was truly horrified. I went immediately and called my business partner to let him know the shitty news. Of course, he immediately laughed hysterically...knowing that he was not in today and it would be me to scrub the scat clean.

I remember taking pics and sending it to him to which he told me to fuck off as he wasn’t going to look at them. I still have all my old phones and one day when I go through them, I’ll find the images and post an update with photo evidence to back this shit up.

Long story short...I had to scrub young boy dookie off of everything. There were perfect chocolatey thumb prints that would make CSI’s Gil Grissom proud. I felt like I was destroying evidence. I had to get extra cleaners from my house to get the job done, but I powered through it.

To this day, I have no idea what happened. The only thing I could come up with was that he had an accident in his pants and then pretended he was a blind Bob Ross who wanted to paint happy little trees all over my bathroom, but happened to be fresh out of paint yet was stocked to the max on mushy watery shitlogs in his knickers. That has to be it...nothing else makes sense.

He never ever uttered a peep about it. He comes in a few times a year. Not super often but I’ve probably seen him 20 times since The Poopening and it’s never been mentioned but we both know what happened that sweet Spring afternoon. Blind Bob Ross....

Now Christian has a dirty crustache, emo hair, and his worthless balls definitely dropped as his voice isn’t as high pitched and mind numbing. He has never asked to use my bathroom again which is a good thing as if he did...it would be hard for me to NOT say something about his poop painting session at that point.

Every Spring since, there’s a beautiful day that mimics that fateful afternoon when Christian and his no doubt about it...soon to be dead grandpappy, waltzed into my store to wreak havoc and chaos. It reminds me of a bright day...darkened not by clouds, but by poop. Like the sick kind. The kind that hurts. Mostly runny and if we are being honest with each other, fairly impressive. I’ll always remember The Legend of Shittyfingers...

Blewitt

The following above is true. From the poop story to my my disappointing manhood. I nominate @redrica & @meno to make us laugh...or cry...just do something guys.

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