So, I was reading my new story to my creative writing teacher. We have private conferences once a week with each of our teachers at my hippie bullshit school. I was excited because I churned this story out in two days and it wasn’t tragically awful.

That was the fastest I had ever written anything worth reading and I was excited to share.

Here’s something you should know about my writing class. My teacher is really intelligent, except he is 70 years old, smokes pot and wears adult diapers.

I am reading my story to him, I guess his eyes are all old and fucked up because he never sits down and reads anything he just makes us read to him and from this he can hear if we have extra words or bad grammar apparently, I dunno.

So, I am reading to him and I hear him snoring, but I don’t really look up because old people kind of snore sometimes even when they are awake. But then I hear this loud grumble and it’s like, OK he can’t be awake, I look up and he is sleeping. Whatever, he is old and the room smells like pot, as long as my story isn’t what put him to bed who cares.

But then….

I hear his stomach grumbling. Then I hear his insides percolating. Then I hear ffffffffrrrrrrrrrpt.

He.shat.himself.

He shat himself as he was sleeping, while I was reading my story.

“It’ll get your bowels moving!” that’s what I’ll put in the synopsis of my first book.

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Posted: November 15th, 2008 under OMG, college, old people, rant, writing.
Comments: 1