As Mr. Diapers stood atop the rubble after the fire, mesmerized that the only remnants of his childhood home were a vintage porno and his journal from the 5th Grade, he could only weep as he read the drunken offensive ramblings and raunchy marginalia of his 11-year-old self.
Mrs. Diapers clutched the only remnant of her ex-lover that remained. The stained couch cushion in her arms was the site of Mr. Diapers’ last-known poopstain, the color a mesmerizing blend of purple, chartreuse and gold.
Nigel was mesmerized by the idea of never having to get up to use the bathroom again–it was like the remnants of his babyhood were returning to him in all of their lazy glory. After Nigel had adopted his new look and way of life, Nigel’s friends dubbed him with a nickname that would stick with him forever–spiritually, physically, legally–and Mr. Diapers was born.
The remnants of our play session were all over the room -shmears of defecate somehow reached the ceiling- I found myself mesmerized by the enema’s force and sweet Jones’ evident corn and beet obsession.