The Fourth Judge

There is a frying pan in my sink with wet scrambled egg remnants producing a smell that would terrify Jesus Christ himself. It’s been in there for a couple of days, but the whole situation has intensified dramatically in the past 24 hours, to the point that it would be an improvement if I took 6,000 shits in a rotting lama carcass and baked the whole concoction at 450 degrees for 3 days straight.

I haven’t cleaned the pan because I know in my heart of hearts that the smell could get a lot worse, and I believe I can live with the current stench level for another couple of days before it becomes completely intolerable. [[MORE]]

I feel like this video is destined to be watched late at night by the child’s mother after one too many vodka sodas, eyes brimming with tears, three years to the date that her daughter was savagely beaten to death by a deranged Brooklyn public library employee. Doesn’t it feel like one of those videos to you?

One of our readers left a comment on the last Fourth Judge installment that he thought I might be gay. First of all, what difference does it make what my sexual orientation is? Second of all, that’s a really personal question and I’m not comfortable addressing something of that nature in such a public space.

For the second consecutive day I took a shit that was about 12 inches long and an inch and a half thick. I don’t think I’ve ever had back to back champions before so I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge that something special happened. If you felt a shiver around 9:32 this morning, fear not, it was only a ripple going through the Universal consciousness, set ablaze with the news of my epochal achievement.

I’m going to New Orleans this weekend for a bachelor party. I was there earlier this year for a work conference, and I have to say that I’m not looking forward to going back. It’s not that New Orleans is a bad city, per se, but you can only do Bourbon Street so many times before you lose what little faith you have left in humanity. As this is a bachelor party where vile shenanigans are most decidedly the focus, I’m pretty sure that’s where we’ll be headed. Something tells me antiquing isn’t in the plans.

This puts me in a funny position, because I’m pretty much as poor as you can get without falling below the poverty line. If you want to feel like a privileged, first world asshole, I suggest you schedule a vacation to the same place twice in one year. You haven’t lived the life of an ungrateful monster until you’ve become bored with a weekend getaway before you even get on the plane.