Turd Furguson

I made out pretty good this year in the Christmas presents department. Each year can be a crap shoot (usually bad), but overall not to shabby. However I did get one turd. So bad in fact that I’ve even given it a name and end-up making fun of it everytime I see it in my apartment. The infamous present’s name, ‘Mr. Turd Ferguson.’

My routine usually goes like this. I wake up (most times unwillingly and groaning at my alarm), stumble my way into the bathroom, and there it is ... mocking me and I it.

‘Ahh, good morning Mr. Ferguson! You know, something does smell a bit off around here. Kinda like turds. Do you smell anything? You don’t? Well it does seem to be coming from you general vicinity. You're not fooling anyone you know.’ Yes, it’s true I’ve been known to have conversations with it. It's that bad.

What could be worthy of this lame and sophomoric running joke of an inanimate object? A daily joke calendar. It’s one of those tear-off-each-day calendars that when you get it you fake a smile while you think, ‘What the hell?!? Did they just stop off at Walgreens on the way over here? Hmm…I wonder if I could re-gift this?’ Oh well, it’s the thought that counts right? No, actually. No.

Well truth be told, I had such high hopes for this lame x-mas gift. I thought, ‘well this could be cool, right? I’ll put it in my bathroom and each morning it will help wake me up with gift of laughter.’ But I was wrong. Soooo wrong.

So far the jokes it has produced for the month of January have been mediocre to lame at best. And what’s really terrible is not only are the jokes not funny, but they are so bad that most respectable comedians wouldn’t be caught dead telling them at The Moose Lodge in Bumblefuck, Missouri.

But what really tops the cake is so far the jokes have largely been from washed up comedians. Yesterday was Paula Poundstone. Paula Poundstone? WTF??!?? When has anyone seen Paula Poundstone on stage lately? BTW - 1987 called. It wants to let you know it was over about 20 years ago.

Well, Turdy. No matter how bad you get, you’ve taken on a personality of your own and at this point it’s like watching a car accident or staring into the sun. You want to look away, you need to look away, but you can’t … even if you go blind.

So Mr. Furgeson, I guess you and I are in this together. But be warned, if I go down I’m knocking you over into the toilet.