No, no, I’m not talking about crap. I’m talking about CRAP.
If I were a football player, the name on the back of my jersey would be CRAP. If I were a bagel shop, the name on the marquee would be CRAP Bagels. If I were a doctor (perhaps proctologist?), I would be known as Dr. CRAP.
Of this I am sure.
My kids put up with a ton of my CRAP. My wife? She is the Queen of my CRAPdom (God bless her!). My friends and family? Yeah, they’re familiar with my CRAP too.
You might ask, well, why are you telling everyone about your CRAP? Good question. I’m beginning to wonder that myself as I write this post. And I still don’t have an answer…
The reason I am emphatically declaring myself the Lord of the Loo is simple. I want to recognize all my gaffs and the flushable moments that have gotten me to where I am today. And I wish to make a preemptive strike toward all the CRAP that is to come.
I will shout from the tops of the mountains that I am no longer afraid of my CRAP. I will no longer cower in the darkness in fear of what others think of my CRAP. It is MY CRAP. And I am proud of it.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I am off to find more paper.
*Note: No toilets were harmed in this Pursuit of Crappyness