My Dad Colours On the Toilet

I’ve never really understood the whole business of people reading while they take a shit.

My friend keeps Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows on top of her toilet. I commented on it once, and she exclaimed, “It’s my bathroom reading. I’ve read it twice!” That’s a lot of shit time. It took me a good 2 days to read the last Harry Potter book in a toilet-free setting. Let’s multiply that times two, shall we? That's 4 DAYS of sitting on the toilet.

When I read, I enjoy doing it somewhere peaceful. Somewhere quiet. Like, oh, let’s say, a library. Preferably somewhere that doesn’t smell like fresh shit.

I understand if you haven’t been getting your daily recommended amount of fibre. Yet the art of defecating should be akin to shopping at Wal-Mart: You get in & get out as fast as possible, holding your nose all the while.

So, can someone please explain to me why I found colouring books & markers in the magazine rack in my parents’ bathroom?!?

Apparently, my Dad colours on the toilet. He seems completely unfazed by it because “they're colouring book for adults.” No, it’s not connect-the-dots porn (although, that would be fun…) but rather a bunch of crazy & intricate designs. If you were getting a PhD in colouring, then you would use his books (and might want to wear gloves?).

The point is, where does it end? Maybe somebody you know reads those Uncle John Bathroom Reader books. Next, he’ll be boasting about how he finished War and Peace on the toilet. Then, he’ll start colouring, knitting, chopping vegetables, playing the guitar, typing blog posts, etc…

If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go wash my hands now.

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On a separate note, this is one of my ex-goats. They’ll be popping in every so often, because, well, I LOVE THEM. Read my first post if you want to know more about my infatuation with goats.

Speaking of shit & goats, I brought my goat Norman to show and tell in first grade. We wrapped a leash around him. He wouldn’t budge. So we dragged him down the hallway, and he shit a breadcrumb trail the entire way. The janitor had to follow us with a broom. You can tell I live in a redneck city, where it’s permissible to bring farm animals to school.

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In conclusion, I hope you will think of me the next time you take a shit and/or consider bringing your goat to school.