NOTE: Since the pandemic, I’ve been slowly working on a collection of short stories and was gonna do a “ta-da!” when it was done, maybe in the spring. But appropriately, it’s just a matter of time before someone else drops this one somewhere. So, #JokeSquat. And yes, this is very stupid. But I stand by the ending.
Clifford felt worried.
Everyone else was having a great time! Emily was happy watching the balloons float by! Her father, Mark, was tapping his toe to the marching bands! And her mother, Caroline, snapped pictures while checking her watch – hoping she didn’t overcook the turkey! But food was the last thing on Clifford’s mind that day.
Because Clifford had to take an enormous shit.
He wasn’t even sure what brought it on. Maybe it was the branch he was gnawing on earlier? Maybe he drank some bad water out of the brook? It could also be that family of deer? Whatever it was, Clifford badly, desperately, and anxiously needed to shit!
But shitting wasn’t an option. For if Clifford were to squat then and there, hundreds – maybe thousands – would die. The military would be summoned – tanks struggling to maneuver through his estranged feces, fighter jets scrambled to combat the flies that would gather. So here was Clifford, in the middle of the Big Apple, burdened with a Very Big Shit.
But Clifford’s family kept having fun!
“I hope the turkey’s not overcooked!” said Caroline.
“Speaking of birds, Woody Woodpecker’s coming up!” said Mark.
“Do you think I could sit on your shoulders, Dad?” asked Emily.
Would anyone notice if I shit in Queens?? thought Clifford. But there was no way he’d make it there in time. We’re not talking about a regular, manageable shit – the type that goes back up into your stomach if you hold it hard enough. This time…the shit was winning.
“Where’s Woody??” asked Emily.
“I’m holding you as high as I can!” said Mark.
“Maybe you should sit on Clifford!” said Caroline.
Maybe you should shut the fuck up, Caroline thought Clifford. It was already bad enough he had one turd crawling around inside him – he didn’t need another one antagonizing it. Then Clifford had his scariest thought yet. What if there’s two of them? Or three? An entire army of craps marching leaning on his Big Red Rectum – ready to strike at the slightest movement.
It was then Mark spoke up. “Are you having fun Clifford?”
“Yeah, you having fun Clifford?” echoed Caroline.
“I’m not sure he is,” said Emily. “He’s not wagging his tail! Clifford, if you’re having fun, wag your tail right now!”
Bitch, you have no idea! This was a full-on Code Brown. If Clifford happened to wag his oversized tail at the point of release, it could trigger a war. Overseas enemies would no doubt be covered in his big, stinky waste – an international incident unlike any before. Do they let you serve time for jail crimes in dog years?? But finally, Clifford caught a break.
“Hey look, it’s Santa!” said Caroline.
“Where??” exclaimed Emily.
“We better move closer to the front!” said Mark.
And as one big, red bastard made his way down the street, another took off. A mix of running and waddling, so as not to provoke, Clifford scurried off without anyone noticing. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he knew soon – soon he would be. Then there was trouble.
It was the cops.
“Slow down boy!” said the first cop. “What’s the matter??”
“I think he’s trying to tell us something,” said the second. “Did you see a burglary??”
No – but my ass is about to have a goddamn jailbreak. Clifford played along just to get rid of them. “Woof, woof!” he faked, nodding his head down an alley.
“Good boy!” said the first cop. “Let’s go!” They ran, and Clifford could continue.
Then, the firetruck stopped right in front of him.
“What’s the matter, boy??” said the first fireman.
“Is there a fire??” said the second fireman.
Yeah – in my Big Awful Anus! And honey – your hoses got NOTHIN’ on it! Again, Clifford played along. “Woof, woof!” he barked, nodding down a side street.
“Good boy!” said the first fireman. “There’s an orphanage down there!”
“Wouldn’t we be better off just letting it happen, then?” asked the second fireman, as the truck sped away. But Clifford didn’t hear him. In fact, he was having trouble hearing anything. For this shit no longer took up residence in his innards, but in each of his senses.
And that’s when he heard her.
“Hi there, big boy…” she cooed.
Clifford looked around but saw nothing.
“Around the corner…” she beckoned.
Avoiding any sudden movements, Clifford crept his Big Red Head around the corner. There she was – the Statue of Liberty. She raised her robe over her thigh.
“Like what you see?” she said, gesturing at her green, toned femur. “A nice, big leg – perfect for a good boy like you. It wants you, Clifford. And you know you want it.” Clifford could barely believe what he was experiencing – but before he could do what everyone secretly wants to do to France, he realized he was hallucinating. So, before the Empire State Building transformed into a Snausage, he made a desperate run for the river.
Clifford could feel his stomach turning. He could hear it gurgling. His vision was fading – and at last, the shit was coming. With reckless abandon, Clifford leapt into the Hudson, the water splashing up long enough to partially conceal the single biggest shit Clifford would ever take in his life. A shit so big, Clifford wondered if it would turn him inside out.
“Ugly” was too kind a description for Clifford’s Big Fugly Shit. It looked almost lifelike – as if it, too, needed to relieve itself of waste. In fact, Clifford stood by nervously, wondering if the shit would try to fight him. And if it did – could he defeat it??
“Smelly” was too gentle an adjective for the shit. It was an aroma unlike any Clifford had experienced – foul past the nose and throat and all the way down to his toes. Was its spirit trying to reenter Clifford’s body and haunt him forever? Was this just the beginning of his nightmare??
“Terrible” was too nice a critique for this one-of-a-kind shit. It was truly heinous. It was abhorrent. It was absurd. It was repugnant. It was unforgettable. This shit was here to stay.
And for eight years, Chris Christie would serve as its Governor.
