My Description of Boo's July 30... happenin's

In other news, Boo ate something yesterday - we don't know what - and, uh, had problems today. Namely, projectile vomiting and dysentery-like diarrhea. Today's events were absolutely, positively disgusting. No equivocation on this one, they were, shall we say, "gross."

We woke up (by "we" i mean, louisa got up at 6:30 and encountered the first mess, i was awoken at, oh, 6:31 when the bottle of disinfectant was thrown my way with the "he's your dog" sticker on it) where was i? oh yeah, anyway, louisa cleaned up some messes in the kitchen, boo then came over by the bed where i was valiantly trying to awaken and ... vomited all over the futon. seriously. like gallons. this is a big frickin dog. we give him a bath, we force some pepto bismal down his throat (he dunna like the pink stuff too much), i go rent an industrial vacuum to get all that vomitus up, he goes outside, comes back in, louisa goes to lab, and i, in my infinite wisdom, go back to sleep.

i awake, 3 hours later, to a ... smell ... *sniff* *sniff* that smells like... POO! dammit! i don't know if he rang and i didn't hear or if the poor guy just couldn't hold it but, my goodness...

imagine, if you will, poo with the consistency of, oh, a milkshake. now imagine that milkshakey poo, residing inside a water balloon, being dropped from a tall building onto the cement sidewalk below. now imagine that water balloon hitting the sidewalk.

the devastation in our living room was almost, but not quite entirely, horrifically worse than that caused by a balloon filled with milkshaky poo dropped from a very tall building.

eventually, i overcame my shock and began cleaning up that particular mess. Boo just wants to die so he crawls on the ground or possibly onto the bed, i don't really remember because i couldn't see too well in that Level 6 CDC biohazard suit i was wearing. i clean it up. go downstairs. *sniff* *sniff* hey, that smells like poo. do a check, can't find anything, assume i just have the odors wafting everywhere. read news for an hour or so. go work out. come back down. *sniff* *sniff* no way is that just a waft. thorough check... POO! dammit! it was camoflagued with the carpet. and i was breathing those vapors for at least an hour! EWW! but boo apparently got scared or was trying to stop (or run and hide) as the second water balloon of death was tossed because it is spread from the box my computer, in front of the stairs, and around the corner. He may have set a new allt-ime record in the horizontal distance spreading poo competition.

oh. my. gah.

as an added bonus, Boo also managed to, search, aim, and destroy MY NICE, CLEAN DRESS SHIRT and my only pair of publicly wearable shorts. thanks, Boo. Boo, apparently, in addition to wanting to die also felt guilty because he's been watching me from the top of the stairs ever since I came down. I say "my shirt? why'd you have to get my shirt, too, boo?" and he does this eyes-roll-into-the back of his head-faint routine, crashes down at the top of the stairs, does this cockroach leg twitch thing, and stops breathing. then he pops one eye open to watch me scrub.

anyway, many hours later, it's cleaned up. Boo went out in the afternoon and took care of business, and curled in the fetal position the rest of the day. by louisa's bedtime, he seemed to be feeling pretty normal. gawd i hope so. i don't have any biohazard suits left.

you'd think, from the sheer volume of material exiting his body from both ends Boo would've had some sort of atmospheric pressure differential and collapsed upon himself. forming, what i believe would be, some sort of Great Dane Black Hole, which would have removed Seattle from the map, changed Earth's orbit sufficiently to avoid that dino-killer asteroid that's going to hit on 1 Feb 2019, and spared me from having to clean all this up.

*sigh* anyway, we're still here... and i'm out of paper towels.

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Postscript: Louisa had absolutely, positively nothing to do with this composition, although she was present at the events mentioned, no names have been changed, and that disinfectant bottle left a big 'ol welt on my forehead. OK, so there was no bottle or welt, but it was funnier that way. Therefore any sort of, shall we say, "retarded", "offensive", "assinine", or, let's be honest here, "incredibly fookin funny" statements can be attributed solely to the mind and fingers of "Chris." Any portrayal of anyone in a negative light, such as, for example (Warning: FBI Surveillance initiated) illegitimate prez monkey boy and his merry band of misogynist, necropedophilic grave robbers (FBI: nevermind, he's a kook), is also entirely the fault of "Chris."

"Chris" would like to further add, so long as "Chris" is talking about "Chris" in the third person: "hey, what else do you expect from someone locked in the basement for 8 weeks with nothing to do?"