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I Just Learned What A Poop Knife Is And I Refuse To Suffer Alone

Fast forward to 22. It’s been a day or two between poops and I’m over at my friend’s house. My friend was the local dealer and always had “guests” over, because you can’t buy weed without sitting on your ass and sampling it for an hour. I excuse myself and lay a gigantic turd. I look down and see that it’s a sideways one, so I crack the door and call out for my friend. He arrives and I ask him for his poop knife.

“My what?”

Your poop knife, I say. I need to use it. Please.

“Wtf is a poop knife?”

Obviously he has one, but maybe he calls it by a more delicate name. A fecal cleaver? A Dung divider? A guano glaive? I explain what it is I want and why I want it.

He starts giggling. Then laughing. Then lots of people start laughing. It turns out, the music stopped and everyone heard my pleas through the door. It also turns out that none of them had poop knives, it was just my fucked up family with their fucked up bowels. FML.

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