Misanthropy Today

Entry From Special Guest Blogger, Steve Busch:

A few years back, I lived in a small studio apartment in Brentwood,
CA. It was a shitty apartment, with no stove, and a mini fridge. For
how shitty the apartment was, I lived there for quite some time.
The front door to the apartment was right on the main street that runs
from the south end of Brentwood, all the way up into the really nice
ritzy area where picketing television writers, and bleeding heart
liberal politicians call home. Even though Brentwood is a pretty
nice community, its not quite as nice as Bel Air, where television
actors and conservative politicians call home. Bel Air has a fence
around it.

Anyways, back when I was living in the shitty apartment on the
main road through Brentwood, a lot of weird things happened.

One time, a girl driving home from the local watering hole crashed her late model sport utility vehicle into a good 15 parked
cars, before she somehow t-boned the last car on her rampage
and severely damaged front end. Thats a whole other story.

Another time, middle of the day, a motorcycle man, thinking it would be
a good idea to show off in front of the local female UCLA students
that populate the area, raced up the roadway at a very high speed,
only to get t-boned (a lot of t-boning happened on that street) by a
car pulling out of an alley. The dude flew through the air, and
landed in a bush. He only suffered a broken leg, and a slight
concussion. Lucky son of a bitch. He probably moved to the southbay
where stunts like that garner more attention from stoned female
kottonmouth king fans that populate that area.

That apartment was a goldmine for cat calling women going for a morning jog, watching retired celebrities walk their high priced dogs. An ex Fox
News anchor lived upstairs from me. I guess the Fox retirement plan
isnt as sweet as you’d think. This is why I invest heavily in my
401-K.

All of those exciting stories dont hold a flame to one of my
most beloved/appalling Brentwood memories , nay, one of my most
beloved/appalling life memories.

The experience i am speaking of my friends, is the time Al Gore took a shit in my toilet.

It was late on a Friday afternoon, in the mid spring, and I am not sure the
circumstances surround the incident, but I hear a knock at my door,
and upon opening it, I find a man in a black suit who pushes me out of
the way. The dude was big, and looked like he knew karate, so I just
stood dumbfounded as he quickly viewed my apartment. He darted for
the shitter in the back of the single room apartment, and then turned
and opened the closet door. He then came back, to the main room,
cornered me and started speaking to no one in particular, or so I
thought. A moment later, another man walked in, followed by Al
fucking Gore. He walks to the opposite end of the apartment, and
enters the bathroom.

The door shuts and the two men stand in my apartment as if nothing is out of the ordinary. I make an attempt to break the silence, only to be interrupted by the smaller of the two men, who says:

“It must have been the fish”

I thought about this for a brief moment, and just as I was about to respond, the door to the bathroom opens and the Vice President appears, ten pounds lighter.

He makes a bee line for the door, and disappears into the outdoors. The
two men quickly follow, and shut the door behind them. I sat back
down on my couch, and returned to my television program.

A few hours later, when nature called, I discovered that the son of a bitch didnt flush.

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