What’s So Damn Funny?

What's So Damn Funny?  #award-winner #humor #hilarious #writing #blogging

So then…you ask, “What’s so damn funny?”

Apparently me! WooHoo!

I just won 1st Place in the National Society of Newspaper Columnists competition for the Category: Online, Blog & Multimedia Columns (under 100K monthly visitors)!

I’m so excited! Congrats to the other winners too!

Judge Mae Israel, veteran journalist who worked at The Washington Post for nearly 20 years said this about my writing:

“Darcy Perdu writes with wit and clear-eyed energy, with just the right pace and rhythm, eliciting hearty chuckles and nods of solidarity with her tales about raising children and family life. She packages her columns under the label “So Then…Stories,” and plunges lightheartedly into crisp storytelling like a friendly next door neighbor who stops you at the mailbox and lassos you with such engaging language and good humor that you look forward to the next day’s adventure.”

WOW!  Thank you, Mae Israel!  I’m literally blushing!

Can you believe it? I’ve entered 3 writing competitions since I started blogging 18 months ago – and I’ve won awards in all 3 of them! Humor BlogHer VOTY 2013, Humor BlogHer VOTY 2014, and now the National Society of Newspaper Columnists for Blog Category!

3 for 3!

With that winning streak, I feel like I’ll win EVERY contest I EVER enter for the REST OF MY LIFE!

(And I ALSO feel like I should NEVER enter another competition AS LONG AS I LIVE, so that I can maintain my 100% record!) Ha!

And I know what you’re thinking: “Darcy, honey, three humor awards? It’s time to quit your corporate job and write full-time! Focus on your hilarious blog stories, finish writing that uproarious murder mystery, polish up those funny sitcom pilots, pitch those freelance articles, and write the treatment for that kick-ass comedic travel TV series!”

OH.MY.GOD. That’s exactly what I was thinking too!

And if you’re ALSO thinking: “Darcy, honey, I believe in your writing talent SO much, I’ll happily send you enough money to pay all your bills while you’re pursuing your dream” – well, then, I WILL quit my corporate job and write full-time!

And I’ll be so grateful, I’ll have crazy-hot-sexy-time with you! (or just send you a thank you card, whichever you prefer)

But if you don’t have the financial net worth for that kind of patronage:

DO NOT DESPAIR!

There is STILL something you can do to support this worthy cause!

1) Rack your BEAUTIFUL BRAIN to think of any connections you might have in the publishing or entertainment world. Tell ‘em I’m frikkin’ hilarious and link ’em to So Then Stories!

Think hard – is your cousin’s barber’s mechanic’s parole officer’s fiancée a newpaper editor? Literary agent? TV producer? Screenwriter? Magazine editor? Book publisher? Network exec?

If so, let ‘em know that the (cough cough) award-winning humor writer Darcy Perdu is available for hire!   (darcy@sothenstories.com)

2) Press your FABULOUS FINGER on the Share buttons below my humor posts! The more you share my funny stories on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and Google+, the more laugh-loving readers will find my blog, increase my traffic, and capture the attention of publishers and agents who like to see a large following when they choose writers.

3) Use your DARLING DIGITS to type in your email address right HERE so you can automatically receive 2 NEW funny So Then Stories per week. Then forward those emails to your friends/family/lovers/prison pen pals so they’ll start reading the blog too!

I wish I could have flown to Washington DC last week to accept the NSNC award and party with all those cool columnists, but my day job required me to – you know – work, so that I could afford to pay for – you know – food. (Damn that pesky food addiction of mine!)

For the NSNC Competition, each entrant had to submit 3 posts representative of our writing style. These are the 3 that I submitted, so please click the picture below if you haven’t read that one yet!

And THANK YOU for reading So Then Stories! I LOVE reading your COMMENTS!

Love & kisses, The (cough cough) award-winning Darcy Perdu

Most Outrageous Party Guest Ever! #funny #parties #birthday #party #events

Telling the Teacher a Big Fat Juicy Lie! #funny #teacher #student #lying

Oh, She Did NOT Just Say That! #funny #school #drama #volunteer #pta #pisces #cosmetics #hairstyle

 

FUNNIEST Hotel Conversation EVER!

Funniest Hotel Conversation Ever

So then…I strain to see outside my car window as I’m zipping home, searching for a nice hotel in the neighborhood to recommend to my friend Natalie when she visits next month. I’ve only lived in LA a few weeks, so I’m not that familiar with the area.

Suddenly I crest a curve and see a big beautiful building way up on a hill with a huge sign saying Plum Tree Inn. Most of the building’s obscured by huge trees but it looks really cool.

Natalie’s tired of the chain hotels she stays at for work, so I know she’ll enjoy the local flavor of a unique boutique hotel. But she’s in her late 20’s, like me, so she’s not rolling in cash — and I know I better check the rates.

At home, I kick off my shoes as I call directory assistance, who connects me with the Plum Tree Inn. Then I have the most bizarre conversation with a woman with a thick accent.  And the end of our call’s a real kicker!

Me: Hello, can you please tell me how much it is to reserve a room?

Her: You want reserve room?

(Um, yeah, why else would I call your hotel? I think to myself.)

Me: Yes, is it expensive?

Her: No, no, not expensive. What room you want?

Me: I don’t know, just a regular room I guess. How much is it?

Her: What night you want room?

Me: July 18 and 19.

Her: Which one?

Me: BOTH nights. July 18 and July 19.

Her: BOTH NIGHTS? You want BOTH NIGHTS?

(omigod, why is she so surprised? Is the hotel so bad, no one ever stays a second night?)

Me: Yes, yes, I need a room for BOTH nights.

Her: How many people?

Me: Just one.

Her: JUST ONE?!

(seriously, what is wrong with this woman? Can she not hear me? She’s surprised by everything! Is this her first day on the job?)

Me: (impatiently) Yes, just one.

Her: You want a room for TWO nights for just ONE person?

Me: YES!!

Her: What they want eat?

Me: What?

Her: What one person want eat?

Me: I don’t know! (frustrated) Can’t she just decide when she gets there?

(seriously, has she EVER taken a hotel reservation before?)

Her: OK.

Me: So how much is the room?

Her: Maybe one thousand dollars.

Me: ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS? Are you kidding me?

Her: You want whole room, right? Probably one thousand dollars.

Me: “Probably?”

(do their hotel rates just change on a whim? Are we GUESSING now?)

Her: Depend what eat.

Me: What? Who cares what she eats? How can you charge one thousand dollars for a hotel room?

Her: What? Not hotel. Restaurant.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

And NOW we realize who’s the crazy one.

And it ain’t her.

Just take a moment to re-read that conversation above – and imagine what SHE must be thinking of ME as I ask these questions to reserve a room at her restaurant to throw a dinner party – for ONE person – for TWO nights in a row.

Go ahead. I’ll wait.

Pretty funny, right?

OK, but to be fair – IN MY DEFENSE, YOUR HONOR – why is a restaurant called the “Plum Tree INN?”

Doesn’t “inn” imply hotel? Or bed & breakfast? Or quaint boutique hotel?

Remember? “Mary & Joseph, there’s no room at the INN, so you gotta sleep in the barn?”

Inn = Hotel, people! You’re gonna get some calls for room reservations if you put a “hotel” synonym in your name!

You don’t see Hilton calling themselves Hilton RESTAURANT, do you? No, you do not. They call themselves Hilton HOTEL.

Do you see signs for Barnes & Noble Shoe Stores? No.
Or IKEA Medical Centers? Nope.
How about Victoria’s Secret Movie Theatre? Oh, wait. People actually WOULD go to a place called Victoria’s Secret Movie Theatre. (makes note for future business idea – call Shark Tank)

But you get my point – you can see how I might make assumptions about the services the Plum Tree INN offers, right?

Many years later, I see that the Plum Tree Inn has been torn down. And of course I wonder if they’ve gone out of business because of their fatal branding flaw – “hello, business manager, how about – oh, I don’t know – Plum Tree RESTAURANT?!

But every time I pass that spot, I chuckle to myself to think what that woman must’ve been thinking when I called.

She probably thought I was some sort of crazed Howard Hughes-type character who enjoyed a good meal out, but simply couldn’t tolerate eating around other people. Of course, in LA, there probably ARE some eccentric billionaires who’d rent out a whole restaurant for a quiet meal.

And then I think: what if she had quoted a more reasonable price like $150 a night? I might have made the reservation, still not knowing the building’s true identity.

And I can only IMAGINE the look on Natalie’s face when she showed up with her luggage to “check in” to a fancy Chinese restaurant!

— Darcy Perdu

For more of my hilarious humiliations, subscribe right here!

(OK, people, ‘fess up! Share some of YOUR bodacious blunders and asinine assumptions! Ever been on one side of a funny misunderstanding? How about some odd or confusing business names? Do tell!)

Surprising Secret My Boss Revealed One Night

The Surprising Secret My Boss Revealed One Night

So then…our boss Kate packs some files in her bag and says, “Hey, are you free for drinks after work tomorrow? I want to talk to you guys about something.”

Becky and I look at each other and say, “Sure.”

Kate says, “Tito’s?”

“Yeah,” we say.

As soon as Kate leaves, Becky says, “I wonder what she wants to discuss.” (Kate’s only a few years older than us – she’s mid-30’s and we’re in our late 20’s. She’s really smart and funny, so we love joking about our clients with her.)

“I don’t know,” I say. “We usually go to Tito’s after work in a group. Sounds like she has something confidential to tell us.”

Becky murmurs, “Yeah.”

“Maybe the company’s getting sold or we’re merging or something?” I suggest.

“Nah, I think it’s something personal,” she speculates.

“Oh!” I exclaim suddenly. “I know what she wants to tell us!”

“Me too,” says Becky.

Me:                  She’s pregnant!
Becky:             She’s gay!

My jaw hits the floor.

“What? Gay? She’s married to Peter!” I say.

Becky says, “Have you ever actually met Peter?”

“No…” I admit. “But I’ve only worked here a couple months. But she talks about him all the time – he works in finance downtown – he travels; they go running together.”

“Yes, but you’ve never actually MET him,” she asserts. “I’ve been here awhile and he didn’t attend the summer picnic or the holiday party because he was on ‘business trips.’”

“Oh, I don’t know…” I say dubiously.

“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow night,” says Becky.

As I head home, I ponder the secret Kate plans to share. I’ve already started thinking about decorations, gifts, and cake flavors. But am I planning a Baby Shower or a Gay Parade?

That night I tell my boyfriend the mystery – and the two different theories.

He shrugs indifferently and asks, “Well, could she be gay?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know any gay people!” I say.

He laughs. “Of course you do,” he says. “You just don’t KNOW they’re gay.”

“Oh. (pause) Really?” I ask skeptically.

I’m from a small conservative town in Louisiana – and I attended college in Des Moines, which is not exactly a thriving metropolis. I’m not very sophisticated, but I sort of figured if I met someone who was gay, I’d know.

He teases me, “It’s not like they’re gonna wave a rainbow flag at you and wear a nametag saying ‘Hi, I’m gay!’”

I laugh. He’s probably right. I probably know people who are gay but I just don’t know they are – which makes me wholly unqualified to determine if Kate is or not.

And of course, I like and respect Kate regardless of her sexual orientation – but it would surprise me so much since she’s MARRIED.TO.PETER!

And no one’s ever come “out” to me before, so I go to the mirror to practice my casual head toss and shrug like “no big deal, man” so she’ll know I’m a sophisticated live-and-let-live chick.

The next day, I keep glancing at Kate to check for a baby bump.

After work, Becky and I meet Kate at Tito’s and order chips and salsa and margaritas.

Kate says, “I feel like I’m close enough friends with you guys to share something personal – I’m gay.”

I shrug and say, “That’s cool.”

But inside, I’m thinking: “OMIGOD OMIGOD! She IS gay! I can’t believe it! I totally thought the news was pregnancy! And did I just say “that’s cool?” OMIGOD I used a tone of voice like I was letting her know that her gayness is “cool” with me! Who am I to give approval over gayness or not? OMIGOD I’m trying to act all sophisticated and nonchalant but I’m coming across like a total moron! THANK GOD Becky gave me a heads up last night so my jaw didn’t drop open IN FRONT OF KATE – and so I didn’t ARGUE with her that she can’t be gay since she’s married to Peter and OMIGOD what IS the story with Peter? Does HE know? Shouldn’t she be telling PETER instead of us? Maybe we’re the practice run for Peter! OMIGOD am I handling this right? Am I frowning judgmentally? Am I smiling maniacally? Do I look confused? I want her to know I’m her friend no matter what she tells us — and that her gayness is fine with me. No, it’s MORE than fine – it’s terrific! I LOVE her gayness! How can I convince her I’m not anti-gay? I’ll tell her I LOVE gays! I’ll tell her I’M gay!”

As I’m whipping myself into an existential liberal crisis, Becky is smoothly thanking Kate for confiding in us.

Kate shares that she encountered some bigotry at her previous company when she was open about being gay, so at the next company, she just didn’t mention her girlfriend. But then everyone at that company tried to fix her up on blind dates. So at this company, she figured she’d just give her girlfriend a different name (and a different gender) and then she could speak freely about their activities, vacations, etc.

She said that worked for awhile, but as she gets closer to her coworkers, she feels deceptive to leave that detail out – so now she’s telling us.

Oh thank GOD! “Peter” is really Marnie. And Marnie DOES work in finance downtown, travels, and runs on the weekends – and she is absolutely lovely and we like her instantly when we meet her later.

And based on how well we handled the news that night at Tito’s, Kate comes out to the whole office, which all goes smoothly. And Kate and Marnie soon take in foster children, eventually adopting 2 kids.

And I’m convinced that this happy ending is all due to my ability to react to Kate’s secret so casually. (I was practically like The Fonz in a black leather jacket, with a shrug and a thumbs up, like “Aaaaaay, that’s cool.”) Totally awkward and goofy – but hey, that’s me.

This is henceforth known as The Night I Blessed All the Gays – (Even Though They Didn’t Actually Need My Blessing).

— Darcy Perdu

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(Has your boss or coworker ever confided a secret? Are you sophisticated and worldly – or awkward and goofy like me? Have YOU ever confided a secret to a colleague – how did they react?)

Look, I’m Not SAYING She’s an Airhead…

Look, I'm Not SAYING She's an Airhead

So then…I hear our office manager clip-clopping down the hallway with the newest receptionist to introduce her around to the staff.

I roll my eyes because history has proven that the revolving door of receptionists at this particular company are hired more for beauty than brains. Whoever’s selecting them seems less focused on a 60 WPM typing number and more interested in a 36-24-36 number.

And sure enough, as they round the corner and pop into my office, I see a young lady in her mid-20’s with sky-high heels, push-up bra, tight skirt, and enough cosmetics to paint the Sistine Chapel.

(I admonish myself not to be so judgy! Stop judging this book by its skimpy cover!)

I smile cheerfully as the office manager says, “Darcy Perdu, I’d like you to meet our new receptionist.”

“Nice to meet you. Welcome aboard,” I say.

She smiles and introduces herself.

Since we’ll be adding her to the email network and phone directory, I say, “So how do you spell your name? Is it J-a-c-k-i-e? Or J-a-c-q-u-e?”

She giggles and says, “Oh, whichever.”

Um…what?

I furrow my brow. Maybe she didn’t understand the question, so I repeat it. “No, I mean, how do YOU spell your name? Is it “k-i-e” or “q-u-e” at the end?”

She giggles again and says, “Oh, whatever you want.”

WHAT!? Whatever I want? It’s her name!

What if I want it to be spelled “B-o-o-b-i-e-H-e-a-d-e-d-D-i-n-g-B-a-t?” Is she OK with THAT?

Now look, I totally understand when people are indifferent about what they’re CALLED:

As in, “Do you prefer to be called Kathy or Kathleen?
Dave or David?
Jim or Jimmy?”

And the person says, “Oh, whichever is fine.” That’s cool.

And I’ve certainly seen people behave completely nonchalant when asked questions like:
“Do you prefer butter or cream cheese on your bagel?”
“Do you want to sit near the window or the aisle?”
“Do you strangle or stab your victims?”

“Oh, whichever” is a perfectly fine response to ANY of THOSE questions.

But when someone asks you how you SPELL YOUR NAME, isn’t that something you should have an opinion about?

Isn’t she signing her name fairly frequently – on forms, notes, checks, tax returns? Does she spell it DIFFERENTLY each time, whatever the mood strikes her that day?

Or does she have a system?

Maybe it’s “Jacque” for resumes –
“Jackie” for restraining orders –
“Jakkeee” for love notes –
And “Pjackey” for her computer password (the “p” is silent).

I’m cracking up because it’s just mind-boggling to me that after 20-some-odd years on this planet, she hasn’t yet made a definitive decision about HOW TO SPELL HER NAME.

I can just imagine how decisive she’ll be in her new job here.

Caller: “Hello, can you please connect me to your billing department?”
Jackie/Jacque: “Sure.” (presses “whichever” combination of buttons strike her fancy)

Warehouse Employee: “Does the boss want this shipment to go to our Dallas office or the New York office?”
Jackie/Jacque: (giggling) “Whichever is fine.”

Delivery Person: “Here’s the lunch order for the meeting. Looks delicious. Should I put it in the conference room or (chuckle) just gobble it up myself?”
Jackie/Jacque: (giggling) “Whichever is fine.”

Boss: “Your work performance is very poor. Should I try to re-train you to be more decisive – or just terminate you?”
Jackie/Jacque: (giggling) “Whichever is fine.”

And then she’ll giggle her way to the nearest Hooters (or is it “Huuturz?”)

Now before you think I’m being too hard on the poor girl – she’s 24! Not 2! Giggling and uncertainty might be acceptable at 2 – but at 24? Nope.

And it’s not like I asked her to explain the Quantum Entanglement Theory of Electrons – or the highest-grossing agricultural export of Paraguay! I asked her how she SPELLS HER NAME!

“Um…okay,” I say. “Just let us know whatever you decide and we’ll add your name to the roster.”

She ultimately chooses “Jackie” but I shall forever think of her as “Pjackey” (the “p” is silent, of course).

— Darcy Perdu

For more absurdly funny true tales, subscribe right here.

(Any of your coworkers (past or present) who seem a bit challenged in the common sense department? Any examples of odd answers to simple questions? Any funny name stories to share?)

The Funny Secret the Nun Told Me

Funny Secret the Nun Told Me #humor #sing #church #nun  #school #kids

So then…I perk up as soon as I hear the opening notes of my favorite song. I immediately stop fidgeting with my blue plaid Catholic school uniform.

I grin widely. I love this song! I LOOOOVE this song!

I straighten my shoulders and stand proudly amongst the other 5th graders in our pews in Friday morning Mass.

Here it is, here it is! I joyously sing the awesomely odd lyrics to my favorite hymn:

Sons of God, hear His Holy Word
Gather ‘round the table of our Lord

Eat His body, Drink His blood
Now we’ll sing a song of love

Allelu
Allelu
Allelu
Allelu-u-ujah!

Of course it doesn’t even occur to me that the song’s a bit morbid…
and perhaps even a bit cannibalistic…
what with all the talk of “eating His body and drinking His blood.”

But to a 10-year-old, it makes perfect sense that we’d gobble Him up – then “sing a song of love.” Nom nom nom. La lala lala.

And you have to remember that “Twilight,” “True Blood,” and “Vampire Diaries” had not yet burst onto the scene with their lustful carnal blood-suckery

so this was all just common, everyday slurpin’ up some Jesus juice.

Nothing bizarre here, folks. Just a friendly invite:

Gather ‘round the table of our Lord
Eat His body, Drink His blood
Now we’ll sing a song of love

It’s really just like saying, “Hey everybody, come on over to my house and pull up a chair. Let’s eat Swanson chicken pot pies and drink some Tang – then break out the guitar and sing Kumbaya!”

I smile happily at all the students and teachers crowded into this chapel at our school.

My brunette curls jingle-jangle as I boisterously belt out the chorus of the song.

I LOVE the “Allelu’s.”

I’m really getting’ into it – hips swayin’, face scrunched, eyes closed, crooning away.

Now granted, I possess much more ENTHUSIASM than TALENT –

and, in fact, it’s widely known in my family that I’m tone-deaf –

but I still roar that tune LOUDLY and PROUDLY.

As we file out of the chapel, one of the nuns sidles up next to me, puts a caring hand on my shoulder, smiles kindly, and whispers gently, “You know, God loves the lip-synchers too.”

Oh.My.God.

Did she just say that to me?

Yes – yes, she did!

Is she an Angel of God? My own personal Celestial Messenger, with a note from above –

“The Lord hears ya, babe, and while He appreciates the effort – please remember He is omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent – so no need to actually VOCALIZE your tribute – He can hear you telepathically. So go easy on the eardrums of your fellow humans and just THINK the lyrics, mmmkay?”

At least, that’s how I interpret her remark: “You know, God loves the lip-synchers too.”

Of course at age 10, I don’t realize how hilarious this is – so I just nod piously, with big eyes. I harbor no ill will toward the dear old nun – she is, afterall, the music teacher, quite elderly, with sensitive ears, and seated directly next to my boisterous bellowing at the chapel.

I pledge a secret vow of silence whenever singing is required at Mass – which lasts exactly one week until the next Mass – when I gleefully and loudly rock out to…

Allelu
Allelu
Allelu
Allelu-u-ujah!

— Darcy Perdu

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(Are you a wonderful warbler – or musically-challenged like me? Regardless of your skill level, what’s a song that you blissfully belt out with joyful abandon? Any teachers/coaches offer you some “helpful” hints when you were a kid?)

Hilariously Inappropriate Father’s Day Gift

So then…I stumble upon a BRILLIANT business idea while perusing potential Father’s Day Gifts. And if you recall the idea from last year, where the hell is your investment check for my SPECTACULAR invention? Mama needs seed money, yo. I need to Shark Tank this shit, fo’ sho’ –

Click HERE for HILARIOUSLY INAPPROPRIATE Father’s Day Gift — and my NEW start-up business. Seeking visionary investors…

Boob Tube for Men Sacha Baron Cohen

Even Sacha Baron Cohen gives two thumbs up!

— Darcy Perdu

For more ludicrous posts, put your email here.

The Topic is TABOO — But They Give Me a Humor Award Anyway!

I Won An Award 430
So then…I win another Humor Award!

What the what what?!

Yep, I entered the BlogHer competition in 2013 and 2014 – and I won a Humor VOTY both times!

So now I think I’m all that.

And I shall be insufferable and insist on a human umbrella holder to accompany me at all times – even indoors. I shall demand that no one look me directly in the eye or breathe in my direction. I shall require Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream to be served at all my meals…BY Ben and Jerry themselves.

So what’s a VOTY? BlogHer communications and media organization invites writers and bloggers to enter a competition for Voices Of The Year in 4 categories: Humor, Heart, OpEd, and Exploration. The winners are celebrated at the annual BlogHer conference.

Out of thousands of entries, they choose 25 VOTY winners in each category – and I’m VERY EXCITED to be a winner in the 2014 Humor category!

And I’m especially thrilled that it’s for one of my favorite posts!

My Secret Accomplishment is about an AMAZING feat that should probably REMAIN secret since the topic is a bit…indelicate for polite company. But hells bells, people, we ain’t polite!

So here’s the winning post in all its inappropriate glory!

My SECRET Accomplishment
(Photograph-Forbidden)

So then…I poop a Q.

An amazing, perfectly-shaped Q.

It is truly a remarkable thing to behold, but I cannot think of even one person that I can show.

It’s not exactly the type of thing that you can point out to a co-worker –

Like “Hey, Brenda, come look at the Q I pooped! Come quick! It’s an UPPER CASE Q!”

And probably not the type of thing to gather the family round for a group viewing –

Like, “Hey, kids, look what Mom just made!”

It’s one of those things I will have to keep to myself.

I consider taking a photo.

But I couldn’t text it to anyone. And I couldn’t post it.

And I certainly wouldn’t want the Costco photo guy to have to print it out –
or for some relative to stumble across it years from now in a faded photo album and say, “What the hell is this?”

Or DO I?

It is a pretty incredible accomplishment.

“That’s the time I pooped a Q!” I’d say proudly.

“No shit?” they’d say admiringly. And we’d have a good laugh at the unintended pun.

I check my exquisite sculpture and marvel again at its uncanny resemblance to the letter Q. I almost wonder if perhaps tomorrow I will produce another letter – and if, in fact, someone is trying to send me a message.

Since today is a Q, the rules of spelling would dictate that tomorrow’s letter would need to be a U, so I’m wondering what letters would come next. Over time, would I be spelling out Queen?

Quail?

or

Quick, Get Me Outta Here – I’m Trapped in Your Lower Intestine!

My God, that would take weeks to spell out. But you can be sure that I’ll be checking to see if such a message is forthcoming.

I’m not entirely sure when I first began examining my output. I know there was a time when I wouldn’t have given a thought to checking the bowl – just take care of business, wash hands, and out the door.

But at some point awhile back, I started the habit of a quick glance.

I’m not sure if it is curiosity – or a health check – or just that my daily life is so devoid of real accomplishment that my confidence needs the occasional boost from creating a successful bowel movement. Sort of a Defecation Celebration, if you will.

But oh today, I am quite proud. I’ve produced a perfect Q — and with no conscious effort!

This was not deliberate, I assure you. Don’t envision me intentionally leaning, rotating, gyrating to create this letter – this was all perfectly natural. And a delightful surprise!

And yet, there is no way to preserve my masterpiece. No bronzing. No shellacking.

A quick flush and it will be gone forever.

I can only write about the existence of it in this post – with no evidence to support my claim.

But I assure you, it is a perfect Q.

– Darcy Perdu

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(Comments: I seriously considered not allowing comments on this post since I usually encourage you to post a RELATED story – and I’m not quite sure I can handle reading lots of comments about YOUR poop, your KID’S poop, and your PET’S poop that resemble other letters, shapes, states, and celebrities. BUT…you were gracious enough to read about my Q – so bring it on – deluge me with stories of your funny feces! Keep it as clean as you can!)

Voty-Announcement-2014 430
FOR SOME GREAT LAUGHS, click 2014 BlogHer Voices Of The Year Winners to read the winning entries of my fellow Humor Winners — and check out the Winners in Heart, OpEd, Exploration, and Photos!

In the Humor category:

Aussa Lorens from Hacker.Ninja.Hooker.Spy receives the People’s Choice Award for Humor for 7 Ways Your Life Is Like High School , and the readers for Humor will be:

When the Entertainer Invites You On-Stage to Reveal Your Naked…

When the Entertainer Invites You
So then…the comedian announces, “For this next bit, I need a young lady to join me on stage – who will volunteer?”

The audience in this dark little New York comedy club looks around jovially for a victim…er…volunteer.

My friends start waving and pointing at me. We’re all in our 20’s, working in midtown Manhattan firms, out for a night of comedy and drinking. I shush them, but the comedian spies the commotion and calls me up on stage.

Now I love watching live comedy – but I’m reluctant to actually participate in the show since comedians typically skewer innocent audience members. I won’t even get up to go to the bathroom during someone’s set, for fear of the scathing mockery that usually accompanies such an action.

But my friends are insistent — and the drinks are potent, so I finally agree to hop up on stage.

The comedian points the microphone at me and says, “What’s your name?”

I blanch. I’m not sure I want to reveal my name to the 300 people squeezed into this club, especially if I’m about to be embarrassed! So I keep it on a first-name basis.

“Darcy,” I say.

The comedian says, “OK, Darcy, and what do you do?”

“I’m in public relations and advertising,” I say.

“Oh,” he says. “And who do you work for?”

“Um…I’d rather not say,” I answer.

He frowns comically. “I don’t think you understand how advertising works, Darcy.”

We all laugh.

“In order to help PROMOTE the company, you might need to tell people the NAME of the company…” he continues. “Really, it’s sort of Advertising 101, dontcha think?”

He affects a high-pitched voice to impersonate me and addresses the audience, “Hey, you guys!  Let me tell you about this FABULOUS company with these AMAZING products.  You’re going to LOVE these products!  You can’t live WITHOUT these products!  You MUST buy them right NOW!  Go right NOW!  BUY THESE PRODUCTS!  Oh, you want to know the name of the products?  I can’t tell you.  It’s a secret.  Shhhh!  It’s a SEEEEEEEEE-CRET!

We all laugh but I stay mum.

He says, “OK, I needed a volunteer because I want to show everyone what I learned when I lived in a monastery.”

People laugh.

“No, no, I’m serious,” he says. “I actually thought about becoming a monk, so I lived in a monastery for a year in deep and spiritual contemplation. And I want to share what I learned.”

He says, “Take off your sock and shoe.”

I sit on the stool and obey — albeit warily.

He takes my bare foot in his hand, closes his eyes, assumes a pious expression, takes a deep breath, and hums a meditative note.

Then he takes his other hand, grabs my big toe, and intones in a solemn, holy voice,

“Haec paulo porcellum ad forum.”

Between his religious invocation, the crowd’s perplexed laughter, and my ticklish toes, I’m giggling like a school girl.

Then he grabs each successive toe and sonorously chants:

“Haec paulo porcellum domo manebat,
Haec paulo porcellum manducat bubulae,
Haec paulo porcellum, non
Et hic nobis paulo porcellum nos clamabat nos in omni via per domo-o-o-o-s!”

“And THAT, ladies and gentleman, is the Latin translation of ‘This Little Piggy Went To Market!’”

He raises my foot and takes a bow.

Thunderous applause. For both the chant — AND my naked foot.

So now I can add “Entertainer (Partial Nudity)” to my resume!

Which reminds me of my friend’s husband’s attempt to solicit photos of naked feet for a rather dubious reason…

— Darcy Perdu

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(Have you ever been called on-stage – and if so, what did you need to do? Any partial nudity involved (mandatory – OR voluntary)? Do you know any odd songs, rhymes, or phrases in another language? Do tell!)