10 of 99.

10

Shamshiri Grill in Westwood has always been a favorite dinner destination spot for us. It’s close by, serves immense portions for cheap, the food is fresh and tasty, our kid digs it, and it’s open late. Trust me, when you’re a new parent on the Westside, all these things really matter.

Last night we ordered the usual—Beef Koobideh with a side of fries. My wife and I, in our shared morbid humour, have constantly joked that the long, clumpy logs of delectable beef look a lot like the trains of digested material which our bodies dispatch every so often. Yes, quite a disgusting synonymity, but we would shrug it off and dig in (to the Koobideh, that is).

But last night was nearly an exception; for me, at least, after taking a trip to their restroom and being greeted with a clogged toilet, stuffed with too much toilet paper and crinkly butt protectors. The real clincher (no pun intended)? A huge, honkin’, curled up fecal super-mega-log on top of it all, which stared up at me like, “Hell no, I ain’t goin’ down!

I’m not easily disturbed…in fact, I actually seek obscure morbid morsels…but this was definitely something I didn’t want to see before chowing down on something that looked remarkably identical to it. So I turned towards the urinal and did my business, but that shit sausage wouldn’t leave me alone. It was like a horrible traffic accident—you know it’s terrible, but you can’t help but look.

Ugh. My stomach reeled for some seconds and surely my face twisted in disgust. I tried to flush the toilet by extending my foot to the flusher. The toilet gurgled to life and made the mess rise even higher. “Aw, fuck!” I gasped, and prepared to stand on my tippy toes as I watched the icky shit stew fill the bowl—if that log could laugh, I’m sure it was howling—but thankfully, it didn’t overflow. What a relief.

I finished up and got outta there, wondering if someone was going to be waiting to use the bathroom. Nobody was there. But I’m sure it was gonna be a treat to whoever went next. Then there’s the person who has to actually clean it…

I’ve decided to immortalize this momentous occasion by drawing the log in all its glory. And there you have it. 10 of 99.

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