Super Pooper-Scooper

Matt Bors

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You’re the woman I saw early one morning walking the dog that looks like a cross between a Shetland pony and a mangy bear. Unless you had bags in your pocket, I’m pretty sure you’re also the person who allowed your behemoth to take an extended crap all over our apartment complex. Apparently, you use that all-too-common technique in which the dog gets dragged along the minute his butthole starts to crown because you don’t want to actually let him produce something you might have to clean up. This would explain the multiple cross-sections of poop that looked like someone cut a tube of oatmeal cookie dough into eight big chunks. I know there are other dogs in the complex, but they’re all small, so unless one of them can actually crap its own body weight, that leaves you and Cujo as the main culprits. Do me a favor: Let your dog take a decent dump, then get a backhoe or whatever heavy-duty machinery is required to remove the results and clean it up. How would you like it if someone busted into your apartment dressed as a giant dog and pulled you off the toilet right as your turd was about to taper off and hit the bowl with a resounding thud of relief? It can be arranged.

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