Marty's Adventures With the Whoopee Cushion

Steve was sitting in the kitchen at the table reading the newspaper when Marty staggered in.

Marty looked like he had been riding a horse for a week. "Hey, old buddy, what the hell is up with you? I was just about to head off to bed.”

“I’ve got real problems, Steve. I‘ve got to sit down, hang on." Marty gently lowered himself onto the chair on which he had placed a blow-up whoopee cushion.

“What the hell?” was all that Steve could manage.

“You know how I went out last night with my two mates, Dipali and Randicort? Well, Dipali wanted to take us to this new Indian restaurant she had found. I don’t really like Indian food; it is a bit too hot for me and gives me indigestion.”

“Everything except water gives you indigestion. It is because you are a cranky old bastard. Punishment, my friends. Punishment, but continue,” said Steve.

“Well, I have not wiped my bum so much since that damn colonoscopy I had last month. Forget that horrible prep they give you, just have one of Dipali’s Vindaloo curries. My God, my backside is red raw. I bet it looks like a baboon's arse on heat.”

"Well, I’m definitely not going to look for you," Steve said, trying to hold back his laughter.

“So that explains the whoopee cushion; does it help?”

“Sure does. I don’t think there is anything left inside me, thank goodness. Never again am I going to go out with them again,” said Marty with venom.

Steve was not going to let this go; it was too much fun seeing Marty in so much discomfort.

“You know, Marty, I was thinking about this the other day, and this might help you a bit. Why don’t dogs have to wipe their bums when they go to the toilet?”

“What!” said Marty in sheer amazement, "where do you come up with these crazy thoughts?”

“Not just dogs, all animals, for that matter. Cats, birds, even cows, and look at how much they go when they do!"

“How on earth would a dog or a cat wipe its bum? You are just crazy.”

“Well, I know that, but just think about it; how come we are the only animals that have to do that, especially if we are so smart? That didn’t work out that well, did it?” said Steve, stoking the pot.

Animals do wipe their bums. Obviously not with toilet paper. "Haven’t you seen Mrs Lonely’s dog scooting around on her prize Persian rug like some out-of-control dialect from Dr Who?"

They both chuckled at that as Steve tapped away on his phone.

“What are you doing now,” asked Marty somewhat intrigued.

“Looking it up. I want to know why we are the only ones that have the pleasure of doing this.”

“Here we go,” announced Steve, somewhat pleased with himself.

“Humans must wipe themselves because of their upright posture, large buttocks, and fleshier anatomy that traps waste. Charming. Conversely, most animals have flat backsides, anuses that sit exposed, and straight-down elimination that minimises residue. They often have a high fibre diet that also helps.”

“So, there you go, my friend. It is because you don’t eat enough grass, and you have a fat arse,” concluded Steve.

“Don’t you just love our little kitchen table chats?”

“I don’t know why I put up with you, you are a crazy old bastard!” said Marty, hoping to put an end to it.

“You’d be lost without me. I feel sorry for you. So tomorrow night I will cook dinner, Ok?”

“I think we will have chilli con carne, what do you say?” offered Steve with a big smile.

“Got to go, I don’t think I am finished yet,” said Marty, getting up and hobbling off with some urgency.

“Got to love him,” thought Steve.

Till next time,

Calvin

[A/n: Republished from an earlier version with a revised title.]