Part Three, I guess: Is runny-dump-pass a football term?

Holy crap, oh my goodness. I was a little tired/hungover coming into work today, so I ran out to the gas station to grab a little pick me up. Then I couldn’t decide whether I wanted the blue or green jumbo Monster, so I got them both. Then I drank them.

That’s 3000 mg of caffeine. The average cup of coffee has 100 mg. For those of you who aren’t good at mathing, that’s the equivalent of 30 cups of coffee. Now my hands are shaking like the dickens (what are the dickens?), and I feel like I’m going to throw up. No, seriously, I’m getting very nauseous. Also, I’ve smoke four cigarettes this morning.

Guess where my brother was on Thursday. At the R. Kelly trial. That’s right. For any of you who might have been there, he was the one who came out with the judge, sat in the second row, and was called up during the recess before the defense was even dismissed. That means R. Kelly sat in his place while my brother clicked across the floor to chat with the jumbo-judge. Man, being a downtown lawyer has its perks, even if you’re only a clerk.

I guess I should tell you the Octoberfest story now, even though I’m kind of tired of the Tales of the Fewmets.

Every year we have a family party (this stories all start that way, don’t they?) in October, titled, ingeniously, Octoberfest. The whole family gets together for – wait for it… drinking and hanging out outside. We always play football or soccer. Little kids get run over, cry. Old people get cramps, moan. I score touchdowns, rejoice.

Except the year when I was a freshman in high school and had a little bit of a stomach flu. We played soccer that year, and I was just getting old enough that I thought I could play with the big guys – namely, my six-four cousin Matt. I was battling for the loose balls, spreading the field and holding my own… until.

I was running for a ball that had squirted out of a scrum near midfield, and Matt had a full head of steam toward it from the other direction. He got there first, squared it, and stopped short. I tried to pull up, jumped to avoid him, and got his hip square into my stomach.

It was a full-on knock-the-wind-out-of-you shot, and I went down, gasping for breath. People gathered round while I squirmed on the ground with my mouth open, struggling for that first breath. And then, after I made it to the sideline for a break, I felt a warm sensation between my buttcheeks.

Head to the outhouse, and wouldn’t you know it, I’ve got a full diaper – a nice runny little squirt, straight into the soccer shorts. So I stripped off my undies and chunked them into the blue port-a-potty water and went to get sweatpants from my mom.

And that, I’m fairly certain, is an original experience. Has anyone else ever had poop squeezed out of them by someone’s hip? During a soccer game? Yeah, didn’t think so. Go me.

Ok, this caffeine buzz is getting to be more than I can handle. I’m starting to hum now and jouncing my legs viciously under my desk. What is this song I’m humming, even? Is this the Russian national anthem? You know the one… it goes hmmm-hmm-hmmmmmm, budummm…. Hmm hmm hmmmmm-hm-hmmmmmmm, bummm hmmmm, dnt dnt dnnnnnnnnnn!

No? Okay. I’ll ask someone smarter.