Weirdo and I were walking through the woodsy area that separated our neighborhoods. Kids would sometimes hang out there after school. On this day we were the only ones there.
We were about to climb a tree when Weirdo started groaning.
“What’s wrong?”
“Ohhh, I have to do a BM.”
“A what? What’s a BM?”
“You know, a BM. Not a toity, but a…”
“Why do you call it a BM?”
“Because poop sounds stupid. Oh man, I have to go bad.”
“So go home and do it.”
“No, I can’t. It’s coming now.”
“We’re in the woods, just go behind that tree.”
“No, I can’t. Last time I tried going behind a tree it landed on ankle and I didn’t know till I got home and my mom smelled it.”
There was a white bucket laying near some garbage. I grabbed it and took the lid off, it was empty.
“Here, use this then. It’s like a toilet.”
“Okay, that will work.”
Weirdo took the bucket behind a tree and sat on it. He groaned for a long time.
“What’s taking you so long?”
“It’s prairie dogging.”
“What?”
“You know how a prairie dog pops his head in and out of its hole?”
“Oh man, you’re sick. Just finish and call me when you’re done.”
After a few minutes Weirdo called out to me that he was done and that now he needed something to wipe with. I suggested he grab some leaves.
“Oh no, oh no. Just my luck I’ll get some poison ivy. Leaves of green, let it be. Everything around here is green.”
“No, that’s leaves of three, let it be.”
“That’s not what Uncle Jake says. Please run to my house and get some toilet paper for me. But don’t tell my parents I’m doing a BM out here.”
I unwillingly agreed and ran to his house and up to the bathroom. There was no toilet paper on the roll. I checked under the sink, nothing. I checked in the linen closet, nothing.
I ran back to where Weirdo was sitting on the bucket and humming.
“I couldn’t find any.”
“What do you mean you couldn’t find any? There’s a ton of it in the bath tub. Why didn’t you look there?”
I ran back to his house, up to the bathroom and pulled back the shower curtain. Uncle Jake was asleep in the bathtub. The water was filled all the way and all his clothes were still on. The toilet paper was soaked. So I grabbed a newspaper off the table on the way out.
Weirdo was still humming the same song when I returned.
“Your Uncle Jake was in the bathtub with his clothes on and the paper was all wet.”
“Yeah, he usually does that when he has a concert the night before. He says he needs to cool off from being smoking hot all night.”
“I brought you a newspaper though.”
“Oh, not today’s newspaper! My dad hasn’t read it yet.”
“I’m not getting anything else. Use it or nothing at all.”
Weirdo took it and muttered to himself as he prepared to wipe. “I guess I can use the comics. Mom usually throws them out anyway, on account of it being inappropriate humor.”
He finished up and we put the lid back on the bucket. We were about to throw the bucket deeper into the woods when we heard a voice.
“What are you losers doing?”
It was Blake, the biggest jerk in the neighborhood.
“What’s in the bucket?”
Weirdo and I looked at each other. We both said, “Nothing.”
“Come on freaks, show me what’s in the bucket or I'll tell everybody you two were making out.”
I took the bucket from Weirdo and walked it over to where Blake was leaning back against a tree. I backed far away from him after delivering the bucket.
Blake tore the lid off the bucket and looked inside. “What, just a bunch of newspaper comics?” He reached in and grabbed a handfull of newspaper and pulled it out. His face went pale.
The bucket dropped and Blake stepped backward into the tree and knocked himself forward. He tripped and put his hands out to break the fall. His right hand went right into the bucket.
Blake screamed. We ran.
* * * * *
Weirdo held his hand out under my nose. “Smell my hand.”
I took a whiff. “Ohhh, that’s gross. It smells like poop.”
“I thought it might. The newspaper slipped when I was wiping.”
“Then why did you have me smell it?”
“I wanted to know if it smelled?”
“Of course it does. Why didn’t you smell it yourself?”
“What, you think I’m going to smell my own hand after wiping up a BM? That’s sick.”
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