1/20/2009
I Will Cherish This Inauguration Day Porta-Potty Turd Forever
A National Nitwit Inauguration Exclusive
By Evan Banister, D.C. hipster
Change Has Come…to Banister’s Bowels
Years from now, long after America has recovered from this economic tailspin, and our standing around the world returns to its hallowed status, and I’m all old n’ stuff having forgotten the sweet glory of a blowjob, I will turn to my grandchildren and say, from whatever side of my mouth the stroke leaves working, “I shat on the National Mall the day Barack Obama took his oath of office.”
Now I know some folks find the Porta-Potty to be a disgusting cesspool of filth and disease, but let me tell you: after fifteen Miller Lites and three of those bad-ass Vegan enchiladas Susan packed in the cooler, I had no qualms about spreading my cheeks on the same seat as my fellow countrymen, regardless of whether or not they had crotch crickets.
Today was about hope. Today was about change. Today my catastrophic whale-bellow farts reverberated off those thin plastic walls while Aretha Franklin’s soulful voice crooned over this nation’s fair capitol.
So when I tell my grandchildren, through bouts of drool and hacking, that I pooped a mere five hundred yards from America’s greatest president on the day he set a straighter course, they will gently pat my ass with wonder.
And then promptly change my Depends.
By Evan Banister, D.C. hipster
Change Has Come…to Banister’s Bowels
Years from now, long after America has recovered from this economic tailspin, and our standing around the world returns to its hallowed status, and I’m all old n’ stuff having forgotten the sweet glory of a blowjob, I will turn to my grandchildren and say, from whatever side of my mouth the stroke leaves working, “I shat on the National Mall the day Barack Obama took his oath of office.”
Now I know some folks find the Porta-Potty to be a disgusting cesspool of filth and disease, but let me tell you: after fifteen Miller Lites and three of those bad-ass Vegan enchiladas Susan packed in the cooler, I had no qualms about spreading my cheeks on the same seat as my fellow countrymen, regardless of whether or not they had crotch crickets.
Today was about hope. Today was about change. Today my catastrophic whale-bellow farts reverberated off those thin plastic walls while Aretha Franklin’s soulful voice crooned over this nation’s fair capitol.
So when I tell my grandchildren, through bouts of drool and hacking, that I pooped a mere five hundred yards from America’s greatest president on the day he set a straighter course, they will gently pat my ass with wonder.
And then promptly change my Depends.