by Josh Amidon
For some reason, I was given the job of teaching the little kid how to take a shit. I’d sit him down on the little plastic potty his mother bought for him, take my own seat across the way on a truly legit porcelain throne for adults, make some grunting noises, and pointing between my legs. I even flushed periodically.
This charade went on for days – dry runs, all of them – but the brat didn’t seem to be buying it.
Manned the vehicle after that, so to speak, which made him real serious, a new excited-worried look on his face, him babbling his jibberish and pointing like a monkey. Still blasting through his diaper like the thing was made of lint, unfortunately.
His mother, my girlfriend, one night she loses her patience with me, she says, “You’re not getting results.” How there she is at work all day, and who am I, Mr. Jobless Wonder? Plus she claims I’m, “having a negative effect on her bottom line.”
I’m plotting all sorts of dramatic exit speeches when the squeal of laughter erupts from the bathroom. We rush in there to find the midget giggling like a drunken schoolgirl, and pointing into his plastic potty at the cutest little brown turd you’ve ever seen.
His mother’s overjoyed of course, and apologizing to beat the band.
I just nod my head: “I get results,” I tell her. “Now what do you want me to teach him next?”
Josh Amidon once watched Darren McGavin stare down Gene Barry for what seemed like a week-and-a-half.
For some reason, I was given the job of teaching the little kid how to take a shit. I’d sit him down on the little plastic potty his mother bought for him, take my own seat across the way on a truly legit porcelain throne for adults, make some grunting noises, and pointing between my legs. I even flushed periodically.
This charade went on for days – dry runs, all of them – but the brat didn’t seem to be buying it.
Manned the vehicle after that, so to speak, which made him real serious, a new excited-worried look on his face, him babbling his jibberish and pointing like a monkey. Still blasting through his diaper like the thing was made of lint, unfortunately.
His mother, my girlfriend, one night she loses her patience with me, she says, “You’re not getting results.” How there she is at work all day, and who am I, Mr. Jobless Wonder? Plus she claims I’m, “having a negative effect on her bottom line.”
I’m plotting all sorts of dramatic exit speeches when the squeal of laughter erupts from the bathroom. We rush in there to find the midget giggling like a drunken schoolgirl, and pointing into his plastic potty at the cutest little brown turd you’ve ever seen.
His mother’s overjoyed of course, and apologizing to beat the band.
I just nod my head: “I get results,” I tell her. “Now what do you want me to teach him next?”
Josh Amidon once watched Darren McGavin stare down Gene Barry for what seemed like a week-and-a-half.
