Blame The Hickman.
So… as it turns out, there’s a BIT more to the “Bonus Story” from Paris than I initially offered. I excluded it in the interest of my own sanity and to protect the good, decent folk of The Internet from potential mental anguish. Nevertheless, The Hickman wants the Whole Truth to be known and – as we all know – what The Hickman Wants, The Hickman Gets.
Continue reading at your own risk:
I’ll pick up after my run in with the “SAVAGES!” guy.
Most of the dookie now scraped from my boot and with a light rain beginning to fall, I shambled back to the hotel and up to our room. It was our last night in Paris and my lovely fiancé was in the bathroom, packing up various bits of make up and such, preparing to head home. I grumbled at her and then headed out to the small balcony of our room for a few more minutes of additional wiping and scraping – but it was clear that no amount of paper towels and hotel pens were going to fully resolve the problem.
Frustrated, I had an epiphany – our shower (being stupid and European) only had one of those crazy, detachable showerheads that seem designed to offer no help at cleaning an adult-sized person while also shooting a maximum amount of water across the bathroom at the same time. While this shower had irritated me every morning for a week, it was clear that it would be PERFECT for de-pooping my boot.
So into the bathroom I went – past Aubrey and to the tub. I cranked up the hot water, pointed the high powered spray at my soiled footwear and vaporized the remaining doodoo.
Literally.
The boot was now totally poop-free, but I’d managed to create a poop-laden cloud of steam in the process. It clung about my head, filling my lungs with hot, poopy horror and causing me to drop both the boot and the (still running) showerhead, run past Aubrey and into the main room where I only scarcely managed to keep myself from projectile vomiting all over the room.
A moment later, she came out as well, but she seemed to avoid most of the noxious cloud (presumably because so much of it had been inhaled directly by me). I stumbled back, turned off the water and tossed the boot onto the covered balcony to dry.
In the morning, the poop was dry and poopless.
I’d won.
Or so it seemed.
The rest of the trip wrapped up without incident (aside from Aubrey, Kate and I getting bumped up to Upper Class on the flight home – champagne and massages for EVERYONE!) and I thought the story was over. I typed it up, posted it for all to see and that was that. At least until I got the following email from Jordan in Marketing:
BTW, that may not have been dog poop on your shoe. Paris used to have a big problem with hobos pooping in the streets and as far as I know, there’s still water that runs down the gutters every day to keep them clear.
Dear lord. Everything came into terrible focus. The VOLUME and CONSISTENCY of the initial mountain of feculant “night soil.” Its location – right there in the MIDDLE of the sidewalk. The strange response of the man by the bench. It all pointed to one, horrible truth – backed up by a quick bout of deeply unpleasant Googling:
I’d stepped in a big ol’ mound of hobo-fudge.
I’d managed to clean the boot off completely, so I didn’t worry about dragging it home with me from Paris. After all, who throws away a shoe simply because it once had some doggy-doo on it? But something about the idea that it was HUMAN feces I’d wrestled with all evening made it impossible for me to tolerate the existence of the boot any longer. If I’d had the means, I would have launched them into the Sun or sent them to the bottom of the sea. Instead, I settled for running to the store and replacing them with a fresh, new pair of unsullied boots.
The lesson is clear:
Watch your step in Paris.
Hahaha! Hobo-fudge. Man that’s a classic. In fact, it’s forum signature worthy.
Not to make you worry any more about the “Hobo Fudge” but heres hoping it didn’t contain the taint of Papa Nurgle in it. After all, after you vaporized it you did breath it in.
Ah, Josh, you inspire us so! We couldn’t help it, bro: Your story is headlining at WanderingGoblin.com!
Awesome! Excellent! Epic!
http://www.WanderingGoblin.com
So late last night after re-reading this part of your story inspiration struck. If you haven’t done so yet you need to sit down with Carrie Gouskos and tell her the story and then say it should be a tome unlock in Altdorf.
My idea of it was that a homeless man wonders around Altdorf at night and during the night drops a gift of “hobo fudge” that one player can interact with. Once someone does activate it a squish sound should play indicating they stepped it the poo while unlocking a tome unlock that details the event that has just passed. On top of that they should also get a title called “the Hobo Fudged”. To make it even more humorous have it so the title couldn’t be changed for about 24 hours.
Great idea right? Just imagine running into a high elf titled “the Hobo Fudged”.
*laughs*