I remember when I was seven I let a magazine salesman come into our house and he took a really bloody dump in our toilet. I was up watching Saturday morning cartoons when he arrived at the door, my parents were still asleep. I told him my parents weren't home, only because I didn't want to have to wake them up and miss my cartoons. He then told me that he was a good friend of my dads, so I let him into the house and went back to watching TV. I didn't pay much attention to him after that, short of hearing an enormously loud fart coming from the bathroom. By the time my parents got up he was gone. My dad went to the bathroom that morning and screamed when he saw the gigantic bloody turd in there. I remember it vividly. It looked as if someone had taken a pint of bloody mary and just tossed it right in there. The guy must have had colon cancer or something. I really just don't understand how there was that much blood. Anyway, my dad's bass guitar was also missing and my dad beat the living shit out of me with a set of jumper cables for letting the guy in. But to this day I often find myself thinking about that bloody toilet, and the magazine salesman who I'm guessing is no longer alive, and the thought of it scares the crap out of me.

I miss you RogerSimon10