ORIGINAL: Hooker

I just pooed myself.

Actually I think the correct term is "shart" myself.

Here is the story:

After returning home from a weekend of heavy drinking and consuming copious amounts of greasy food (i.e. hamburgers, pizza, Tex-Mex, etc.) in Houston, I thought it would be a good idea for a little afternoon run. I'm going to be at a conference Wednesday through Friday in Nashville, so the only day I would be able to really work out this week would be tomorrow. I thought I should atleast go for a short afternoon run this evening. I have to keep this body in shape for the ladies.

So, off I went, fully prepared to run anywhere between 2 or 3 miles. Just enough to get the hurt rate up and work up a good sweat. At about the 1 mile mark, my stomach began reminding me what I had consumed all weekend. I became excited with the prospects of a good poo when I got back (Pooing is a magical experience for me). Well, at about the 2 mile mark, s*** got real. I quickly realized that I was not going to be able to make it back. I ran the fastest mile I have ever ran in my life on the way back while clinching my cheeks together.

After running over a little kid on a bike and almost kicking down my door, I made it to the promised land, but not without leaving a little something extra in my boxers.

Moral of the story: Don't exercise kids.