One night, your out at the bar feeling pretty good. Then, like a freight train coming down a Rocky Mountain shute, that turd hits you. You make for the bathroom, but then realize that she porcelean goddess doesn't have a house around her. Oh No! So you make your claim and try to make yourself trust in the fact that the mile walk back home really "isn't that
long". So you start walking...or waddling in this case to keep your loaf of bread all baker's
fresh. Your now in the whole
shot, and you can see the mountain top. But then your
Christmas Trundleload takes a turn for the worse. So you do what any self respecting heavily intoxicated night traveller would do...You find a nice spot in which to relinquish your package. The placement...where else but the middle of a 300
square foot empty parking lot. Sure there's a
tree and a garage within 20 feet, but your a champion for fire and steel. Clean
snap! And only one shady business card is needed for a proper clean up. Congratulations! You've just completed Mr. French's Wild Craptasterpeice!
Friend One: "Man I was walking home this morning and
almost stepped in this humongous dog turd!"
Friend
Two: " That was no dog turd...that was
Mr. French's Wild Craptasterpeice!"
