I know I had you at turd...

It's closing in on 4 a.m. and I'm still up, catching up on blogs but really trying to make my brain tired that it will shut off. I'm at my friend's house tonight debating on whether the couch will be the lucky recipient of my post-sleep drool or whether I will actually make it to the bed they've made up for me. It's still a toss-up, but in the meantime I will share a story that had me laughing my ass off. Literally.

We were talking about our pets tonight ('cause we're nerdy like that) and what they do that makes us laugh. I could bore you with hours of stories of how clumsy Kao is, but I won't. I won't tell you how he ran headfirst into a recyling bin or how he rolled off of the one couch we let him sit on, his gangly legs taking out a whole coffee table and everything on it. Instead, I have two words, a name actually: Turd Burglar. I never get tired of saying it. Turdy-Turdy Num Num. Nom Nom Nom.

Now that I have your attention (I had it at post-sleep drool, didn't I?), I will save you from your curiosity and tell you about the origins of the Turd Burglar name. Apparently, it's quite common that dogs eat their own and others' feces. My friend Dar's dog, Cody, liked to go one step above and beyond by raiding the resident cats' litter box. With multiple cats in the household, it was a buffet. A smorgasborg. Free-range grazing for turds.

Cody, whose name shall now be written as Turd Burglar, loved the little nuggets, raiding the box at every turn. Of course, we were all disgusted, throwing up in our mouths disgusted, but somehow curious. What made the litter box so appealing? I for one used to hold my breath whenever changing it but to Turd Burglar it was heaven.

I must be deliriously sleepy now, since I'm still giggling and repeating over and over again... come on, repeat with me - Turd Burglar, Turd Burglar. Turd. And I'm wondering why everything about shit makes me giggle. Another friend relayed a story a while back about his first post-puberty date where he stretched out to look cool while he shared a moment with the girl du jour, ready to make the move and put his arm around the object of his adoration only to reach his hand back on the grassy knoll for more leverage only to find a pile of shit. That's right, Brady Brady Shitty Hands (as he is now called) put his hand square in a pile of shit.

See? That shit is funny. Now if only I could stop saying Turd Burglar and Turdy-Turdy Num Num. Bloggers, I really need sleep. Or a life. Both would be great right about now.

Scribe out, but never forgotten.

Turd Burglar. (Still funny).