The Black Sheep
FR EE ... lik beef e yo the u a ha te nd fo fu rb lo re f c ak o fa rn st. ed
• a college newspaper that’s actually about college •
Volume 8, Issue 9 • 3/13/13 - 3/20/13
theblacksheeponline.com @MSUBlackSheep
When Your Poop Turns Green:
A St. Patrick’s Day Epilogue meg enter wrote this
As always, you rocked the pants off St. Patrick’s Day. Not to mention the pants of of the horny leprechaun you picked up somewhere between barfing up a green, jizzum-like shot of some sort of alcohol and stealing a CATA bus stop sign. However, like any fervent and painful story of epic liver-damaging proportions, there’s always an aftermath, and, if it’s anything like the postSt. Patrick’s-Day-wrath served up by all those years before you were a super senior, a whole lotta shit will be involved in your St. Patty’s Day epilogue. While there’s presumably nothing wrong with letting out a solid fart next to your hook-up from the night before, this can become a most dangerous game. The possibility of sharting out a runny, emerald blumpkin presents itself with linearly increasing probability relative to the number of green beers consumed the night before. Everyone is well aware that if you don’t consume ten ounces of liquid green-gold for every time you see the words “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” adorned across some butterface’s breasts, you’re cursing the grave of St. Patrick himself. So, like the innovative conquistador you are, you sleuth your hungover self to the ass gasket before some snarky poo goblins waddle out your unprepared cornhole. Having successfully avoided the beginnings of an unintentional hot carl on the solid five lying to your left, you reach the toilet. Since your supple buttocks are already bare from the sloppy trip to pound town you took after that little charmer in your bed drunkenly asked you if you’d like to see her three leaf clover, you don’t have to factor in the ever-variable pant-dropping time. With the glory of a thousand demon penises up your archenemy’s nose, you experience a poo-phoria so sweet it can only be described as the assquake of the ages. You look down to see the longest, greenest chi-chi gong anyone has ever created. Pleased with yourself, you prepare to return to your sex cave as you feel another emerald storm a-brewin’ in your underbelly. All things considered, you decide to leave your agape anus hovering over the community pool. Without warning, a wild poop soup of mossy green stool projectiles out your bum hole with the fiery burn of the worst ass-piss known to mankind. As you examine what lies beneath you, you try to diagnose what variety of green-dyed Dub and liquor could have lead to this distinct breed of black-green that permeates your poo stew. Your heart runs wild with conflicting emotions, unsure of whether to be ashamed of the concoction you've avalanched out of your rectum, or to be proud that, as a result of binge drinking, you have finally produced the most
good ol' amish lovin'
naturally beautiful thing you will ever craft. You’ve been in the bathroom for a solid half-hour now, and that St. Patty sex partner has long gone, but it’s all moot, as you can sense round three lurking. So, like a good American, you keep your butt cheeks affixed to an already traumatized toilet seat. As a result of rushing to the water closet faster than you can say “asparagus loaf,” you forgot your essential pooping partner: your iPhone. You feel even colder and more alone, as you’re unable to ask Siri important, existential questions including “Oh,
what'’s inside
The True Story of a Yes Man
oil lamps, bonnets and a farm? you know it's about to get cray!
Like an Amish kid on Rumspringa, how quick can saying yes to everything derail your life?
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God, when will it end?” and instead have to resort to reading the shampoo label you’ve nearly memorized. While pistachio colored diarrhea continues to surge through your body for the next few days, you realize it’s merely the darkest before the dawn. And while you may be entirely foggy on the details, you take your days worth of green dumps as a sign of St. Patty’s Day success. Savor the feeling, the whole process only gets worse with age.
Would You Rather: St. Patty's Edition Set your phazers to fun and your judgments to questionable!
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