Oh god. The horror, the horror.

Does this mean you've become a brown-noser?

Har de har de har de har.

Sure, I'm a brown-noser -- for my OWN ASS. And let me tell you, folks: sniffing your own ass doesn't get you very far in this world, but at least you know where you've been.

I still don't quite understand how the poo got on your hand but I imagine that will be revealed in the next thrilling installment of this 465 part series titled "Better Know Your Bunghole."

I'm ... troubled ...

Dude, I am frightened. This story must be brought to its conclusion!

Somebody forgot to cauterize the bunghole.

"I still don't quite understand how the poo got on your hand"

The poo got on my hand during the course of events.

"Dude, I am frightened. This story must be brought to its conclusion!"

We're getting there. It's my intention to wrap it up and then hide it beneath a glut of inane photographs that will help you understand what my dogs are up to.

"Somebody forgot to cauterize the bunghole."

It's to elicit comments like this, that I am telling this story.

The "course of events" will surely be explained during the next installment, no?

What you get is what you get.

Haven't you ever wiped and then not everything went on the toilet paper?

Come on!

AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO HAS LIVED?

You know I've endured some gastrointestinal horrors in my time...the sorts of thing that would drive many men to madness. Still, I don't think I've ever had poo get on my hand. I mean, like, how could that even happen? Do you only use one square at a time? Sheryl Crowe has gotten to you, hasn't she?