God did it.

It was a peaceful night in Santa Monica when I decided to long board down to the 3rd street Promenade. As soon as I left my apartment, I found a wallet laying on the sidewalk. No one was around as I casually picked it up and wasted no time pocketing the three 20 dollar bills. I didn’t bother looking for credit cards or a license for it would have burdened my conscience. Placing the wallet on top of a what I thought to be the owner’s vehicle, I apologized to God in hopes of avoiding his vengeance. Little did I know at the time that God was not only upset, he had hatched a plan.

I decided to use the first of the cash to purchase a meatball sub at Subway (take a look for yourself). Cheddar jack cheese, marinara sauce and four processed meatballs on wheat bread. I ate quickly, splitting the meatballs with my tongue as if I was going down on an 80 year old woman’s balloon knot (proper definition of a balloon knot).

I left Subway satisfied and contemplated my 2 mile trip home. It was then that I felt it. Judging by the bubbling farts between my thighs that came with every motion of my leg as I pushed down the blvd, I knew this adventure had become a duel. The bubbly farts evolved to the beginning stages of a diarrhea avalanche but I remained confident. Many a times in the past I’ve encountered this foe and ended up victorious. 2 miles to home and defeat (IE shitting myself and crying in the fetal position on Santa Monica Blvd) was not an option. 

After a few blocks, I had my first phantom accident (being totally convinced you’ve shit yourself but after a close inspection, there’s nothing there). This happened a few other times but I carried on, dreaming of releasing in the comfort of my own place. My situation became so crucial that skateboarding was no longer an option and with every pole or vertical structure I found was a chance for me lean against it for comfort. 

By the time I made it home and into the bathroom, my lower back was soaking wet with perspiration. In all my life, this was most urgency I’d ever felt. Sitting on the bowl, I began to chant almost unconsciously: “Oh God, please God, oh God.” Was this the work of the Lord? Did he find my apology insufficient? I thought I’d covered it by saying a quick Our Father and moving on. I mean, God doesn’t mind if you do bad stuff as long as you apologize, right? Maybe I should have meant it. But if I did, I wouldn’t have trotted away with the cash in the first place. Now that it’s over, I’m not only unapologetic, but I double dare Jesus to give me the runs again. Rob 235, Diarrhea 0.