Last week I went into the teachers’ lounge to make my ham sandwich for lunch. Usually, I would bring the sandwich, but that morning I didn’t feel like preparing the sandwich at home so I threw all the shit in the bag and left. the ham, cheddar cheese, and bread, I overheard 85-year-old Frank telling Edna about his recent trip with his wife to a nail salon. Frank described, in gross detail, about how

While I stood at the counter and handled the ham, cheddar cheese, and bread, I overheard 85-year-old Frank telling Edna about his recent trip with his wife to a nail salon. Frank described, in gross detail, about how the woman had to grind and sand down his toenails before she cut them.

C’mon Frank fuck really?! To be honest, I really shouldn’t complain about hearing Frank’s scrumptious story to the nail salon. I text my wife each morning after I arrive at school while I drop off my morning deuce. To be clear, I literally tell her that I’m “deucing” with some clever catch phrase. I love a great fart, shart or bowel movement story…but only when I tell it. So why am I disgusted hearing old ass Frank told about his toenails while I’m making my ham and cheese???