The Sweet Taste of Shit

Stand back, because this is the kind of thing that truly – truly – can only happen to me.  You actually might want to sit down.  Ready?  I can wait, because blogworld.

Okay.  By now you all know I’m sort of a lawn nazi (not capitalized).  Over the recent weeks, I’ve fallen into a routine of getting off my bus on Friday, going full Spackler with my boots and cut-off camo pants with a ratty, holy tee shirt, and mowing the lawn.  Of note, weather and my work schedule has created this pattern.  This is irrelevant, but now you know.

Anyway, true to form, I came home, cracked a beer, and changed into my rest-of-the-family-embarrassment outfit.  I fueled the mower, picked up random twigs and dead squirrels, and set out to mow.  I’d like to mention that the lawn looks absolutely fabulous now.  I’ve been re-seeding spots where moss has taken over.  Gain: even yard.  Gain: moss garden in the backyard – awesome.  Gain: my landlord thinks I’m the shit.  Loss – dirty knees.  Loss: my landlord comes over for buddy/man time.

Hydrate or die, motherfucker

Hydrate or die, motherfucker

So with the lawn perfect and the walks swept, it was time for another beer.  Or five.  I wandered aimlessly around my landscaped kingdom and took in the sheer Rantiness of it all.  I say that because like a hydrated dog, I’ve marked every corner of my yard.  That makes it Ranty.  Yes, it was dark when I marked it, mainly.

Getting to the point of this post, I paused to mount my rockstar, massive deck.  It commands the back yard like the bridge of a starship and shit.  At least I think that in the morning over coffee with a smoke, anyway.  So I stood there, under my trees, trying to come up with a great new novel idea.

Nature, in all her karmic-bitch glory (anyone remember those margarine commercials besides me?), decided I needed some humbling.  And that, my Rants Army, she did.  She did it epic fashion.

The timing was exquisite.  I looked down, saw the welcome hole of my Coors can, and started another 12-ounce curl.  Just as I moved, some bird (probably a red-breasted Virginia shitbird) flew over and dropped a load.  Yes, yes it did.

The perp in all its glory - fucker

The perp in all its glory – fucker

And yes, yes it went directly – fucking directly – into the widemouth opening of the beer can just inches from my face without sign or splatter.  Only the fleeting white streak in my peripheral vision clued me into what happened.  Lips engaged, tongue worked, throat finished the deal.  Delayed reaction because alcohol.

Let me tell you, people: bird shit has no flavor whatsoever.  That’s good news, because I wasn’t in the mood to hurl my previous six-pack (that I paid good money for) back up.  I will say, however, that bird shit is pretty gritty.  Kind of like getting a glob of really wet dirt in your mouth.  Or much like a poorly-rinsed scallop, clam or mussel (but finer texture).

So that’s my Friday adventure, people.  Only me.  I had to share this because my Pentagon ass-plosion stories are getting old but this blog is in part devoted to all things shitty, poopy and scatological.  Sort of.


Not me - I have an iron gut, even to bird shit.

Not me – I have an iron gut, even to bird shit. Also, I don’t have that much grass in the back yard. Or a shirt that gay.

P.S. – Have you tried Googling images for the search string, ‘vomit’?  Awesome.

57 Responses to “The Sweet Taste of Shit”

  1. coreys079 Says:

    Now that you mention it, we could be eating that as we speak.

  2. Since you were drinking Coors Light, had it not been for the “real wet dirt texture” you’d never have noticed a difference. #drinkcraftbeer

  3. That’s one of the many reasons I drink liquor. (And never leave my apartment. Unless it’s to buy more liquor.)

  4. Exquisite…. seriously.

    Having worked in nursing for some time, I’m also pretty puke-proof, sans copious quantities of bourbon (rum’s even faster, in re: “get me the hell out of here”), so, seriously, it was a many-chuckler, with aftershock smirks.


    Um, thanks fer sharing?


  5. Always Ms. Brightside, it could have been worse. It could have had an undigested worm. Then it would have been like drinking tequila (almost…well not even close). Happy Friday.

  6. Ouch!..but hey? Atleast it didn’t taste all that bad. So that’s something. Have a great weekend! 😉

  7. Birds don’t shit in Kona Longboard. Try it. It’s my new pick, but I’m very picky about my beer.

  8. I could barely get through this post without gagging. Seriously. I think I would have burned my tongue right out of my mouth.

    • I considered that option. However, that would have meant WEEKS without beer. So, fuck that. Swallowed the bird poo. DEE-licious… without flavor… and gritty.

  9. When I see another person hurl, it makes me want to toss my cookies also…

    • A basic human recaction. I did not, however, start to vomit. Testament to the U.S. Army for prepping me to eat shit and like it… literally.

  10. Hilarious article, BrainRants, I lol’d in a coffee shop and people are looking at me weirdly 😛 I like your style of writing. Sorry to hear about your beer. Hopefully you don’t get like… hepatitis or anything.

  11. Sorry Rants, but just ROFLMFAO. It’s funny because it didn’t happen to me. I could tell you about the time I got sh*t on by a seagull at the beach, whilst trying to impress a member of the attractive sex. But I won’t, and I didn’t.

  12. I wonder, would this poop story be considered good or bad timing?

  13. This sounds like some unlucky bullshit that would happen to me. I’m truly glad I’ve found your blog site. I need some good classic humor. Fuck yeah.

  14. Randstein Says:

    If only the Air Farce could hit a target like that. 2000 pounder right in the radical group, Eye-Sore’s welcome hole. We should study birds.

  15. Bird out to impress you – or warn you….

  16. […] if you’re like me, click away. Whether it’s his flash fiction, a serious dose of schadenfreude, or updates on his retiral from the US Army and acclimatising to life outside of it, there’s […]

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