Before I begin with the Grapes of Wrath – II, I would like to make a correction concerning the column issued the week before last, “ no gnus is good gnus”. In last weeks article it was reported that Pete D. is a closet Homosexual, well folks for the first time in my life, I was wrong, that’s right I was wrong. It seems that Pete D. and his spouse are with child, so of course HE CAN’T POSSIBLY be gay!
Unless…. No, this is too awful to think about… Turkey-Baster? So stay tuned folks, because he might come out or slap me with a big fat defamation lawsuit, either way its gonna be big fun.
Grapes of Wrath – PT. 2:
….the smell was over-whelming; it was like a giant rotten grape with morning breath was consuming the Van. My uncle screamed through his gag, as he also rolled down his window. (for those of you born after 1980, you had to roll down the window with a crank type handle…I know its amazing, isn’t it?).
We rode in the sewer stench for about 10 minutes until he pulled over at a gas station and had my cousin wash up in the bathroom sink, while my uncle cleaned the seat with paper towels. Meanwhile, I waited outside, next to the open Van doors, laughing and laughing with tears in my eyes, and telling every hillbilly that passed by “she pooped!” Funny, funny stuff when your 8, but being raised a catholic I should have know better and heeded the CCD teachers message that “GOD SEES EVERYTHING AND HE WILL GET YOU!”
And he did somewhere on the PA Turnpike.
My uncle let us ride in the back of the van abandoning the seats that still had the smell burned into them (the mess, my god, the mess!)
It started with a small fart, you know the kind were you wonder what it was that you ate that could make a smell like that. I ignored it because we were so close to Hershey Park. I was busy thinking about the Chocolate River, the Kiss covered trees and Ompa-Lompas (I was 8, give me a break!). While I was silently humming, ompa ompa opa-de-de to myself, I got the first wrenching cramp. I squeezed as far back into the van as I could get, if my uncle heard/smelled me he would stop and we would never get to the park and the Ompa-Lompas and the candy would be all gone, so I dug into the carpet and held on. I kicked my feet, I curled into a fetal position, I bit my lip until it bleed, I rocked (which I don’t recommend – it only speeds the process), I yanked my own hair, and stared intently at the back of my uncles head, willing him to DRIVE FASTER.
45 minutes of gyrations, finally some good news, we were in the parking lot of Hershey Park… Bad news, I was frozen in poop-paralysis. My Uncle opened the side door to let me out and I couldn’t move – WHY ME GOD! I had held it all this time only to be foiled by the simple act of walking. I remained frozen in position until the poop went in to remission. I wasn’t going to blow it now, all that work and effort was going to payoff, besides I didn’t have a change of clothes with me so if I moved I was totally out of luck.
An hour later the site of the bathroom was like water in the desert, codeine after the root canal. I will never forget it, with its giant Hershey Kiss atop (which now that I think about it, is an entirely inappropriate bathroom decoration) … I had made it, 2 pounds of grapes and 4 hours of bumpy highway, I had done it!
All I had to do was finish my business and all that fun was mine.
The excitement began to disappear somewhere into the second hour of sitting on the potty. My Uncle and cousin abandoned me in the bathroom to go “look around” and only returned hours later to tell me that was it was time to go home. The trip was over and I hadn’t seen one ompa-lompa, or picked any Hershey Kisses off trees.
All I got to see was the inside of the bathroom; I had sacrificed everything for the sake of clean underwear.
NEXT WEEK: I don’t know, I just don’t know.
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