A brief preface: Every once in a while I'm reminded that there really is some semblance of sense in our universe. Call it what you will, but for me, myself, I like to call it the great plate of shrimp that binds each and every one of us together in the swill of human soup. Did Preston Lacy know where we'd just gone yesterday when he'd sent this later the same day? Honestly, I doubt it, making this just another leaf on the lattice of cosmic coincidence. Anyway, as promised, in briefs, today's debate: Do two so wrongs make a so right? You be the judge.
Dickhouse,
I've been doing some research experimenting with powdered laxatives. I took a double dose last night. When I woke up this morning, I couldn't poop at all. I went to Dos Burritos for brunch; three tacos and two cups of coffee later my belly started to rumble and ache. After ignoring the repeated, "No public restroom!" pleas from the staff, I made this beauty:

Preston Lacy
(Photo by Rick Kosick; Hollywood, California 2012)
A not so brief epilogue: Where there is coincidence, karma is sure to follow. Yesterday, while fluffing the @jackassworld Twitter feed around noontime, I sent out a link to the pooey post saying "For those about to lunch... we salute you." A jerk move, sure, but it's not like anyone is really asking for alien anal probes either. Later that night, however, I was finishing up my dinner and decided to check my email. Up popped Preston's poop, right out of the gate. You would think this would have had an adverse effect on my appetite and tummy, but no. Nothing whatsoever. Instead I started to giggle, rather loudly, while continuing to eat, which then prompted my wife to ask what I was laughing about. I couldn't bring myself to tell her ... and not because of the disgusting (but impressive!) image. To do so would have opened up a morally flawed can of worms that I'm not ready to get into just yet. Beyond the psychologic pale, what further tickled my funny bone about this photo was that Rick Kosick was the one who shot it—or so Preston claimed in his email. So, if true, Preston would've had to exit the bathroom without flushing, return to the table and tell Rick about the breathtaking movement he'd just experienced, and then send him back into the thick of the shit to get the logjammin' shot. Amazing.