Cro Story - The Big Brown Moose

For those of you who don’t know, Cro and I work in buildings that are adjacent to each other. Because of this proximity, we dine together often during our lunch breaks. So during one of these lunch breaks in December, I told Cro of how I pooped my pants the night before I had to report to court to testify as a witness. I don’t know how it happened; I woke up in a pool of sweat at like 4 in the morning, only to find that I had voided my bowels in my PJs. Cro thought this was amazing that a grown man could poop his pants. He thought he was so far above such a juvenile, but hilarious act. He laughed in my face, called me names, and bragged about not being able to remember the last time he pooped his pants. I would have my revenge sooner than I had anticipated.

On Tuesday January 8th, around 12:30 PM, Cro and I left the premises for a 5-Star lunch at T-Bizzy (slang for Taco Bell). He had called out of work the day before, claiming a stomach ailment. However, the next day he felt he was up to go South of the Border. Cro, refusing to think outside the bun and try something new, got his usual 3 Supreme Gorditas, no sour cream. Because sour cream is icky.

We sit down in a booth in the back corner and begin to eat our meals. About halfway through, Cro proclaims that he has to fart, but was feeling gun shy since he was still recovering from a bug that had caused him diarrhea only 24 hours prior. Keep in mind, when I pooped my pants, he bragged that if he ever was unsure about a fart, he would squeeze cheek until he could sit on a bowl, thus preventing shitty pants.

For whatever reason, Cro leans to his left and decides to let fly. Silence follows. After about 30 seconds of staring at the table without speaking, Cro looks at me and says, “Dude, I’m not sure” ... “I think I may have.”

You can imagine my face at this point. My eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas. Cro is beside himself at what just happened, and says to me “I think I better go check.” Cro proceeds to slide out of the booth and make his way to the bathroom. He is not 2 feet away from the booth when I burst out in laughter. There is a wet spot right over his b-crack where the shart had leaked through. It was true! The impossible had become possible. Cro, a man who takes every known precaution for every known activity, had shit himself in public.

To make matters worse, Cro had to return to work for the next 3 ½ hours. He was still stunned that he had pooped his pants. He asked me for advice, since I was apparently an expert on the matter. The following dialogue ensued:

“Dude, if I were you, I would through those things out, and buy news ones at Target.”
“I’m not throwing these out.”
“What, why not?? You can get boxers for like 4 for $10”
“Not these boxers.”
“What, do you wear Abercrombie boxers too?”
“Yes.”
“HAHAHAHAHAHA.”

Cro did not buy new boxers. He parked on the upper level of the AIG parking garage, stripped down to his bare ass. He worked the rest of the day commando. What happened to the shitty boxers you wonder?

They were placed in his trunk, where they stayed until Cro arrived home around 5:30. Another pair of Abercrombie boxers salvaged. Thank God.

UJ