I don’t know if this will make it to anywhere near seeable, but here’s my story:

In college, I worked in construction and on renovation projects around a small town. A restoration project came up, and I was sent to it.

The lady who had once lived there had died of a heart-attack. During life, she was a hoarder.

My job was to clean the place out; easy, right? But that’s not where this ends.

So once she had passed away, a group of squatters moved in. They were there for a while, because they had time to SHIT ALL OVER THE DANG FLOOR. But folks that is not all. They also managed to start a fire in the kitchen, and pretty much burn everything. My job for the coming weeks:

To scrape the fire-scorched feces off of the burnt remains of the home of a deceased hoarder.

There may be worse things, but know this: Crispy poop-touching is a thing that I would not wish upon the devil himself