Day CCCXVI

Tiny Tom's Turd

     Just as he did that I spied Tom and Joe smiling, and giggling as though they were privy to some dark private joke. I walked over to them, and

     “You two na sompem we don’t, uh?”

      Suddenly Joe became scared, as little Tom became hysterical, laughing all the more as he grabbed his belly. So I said,

     “Come on ya can sha wit me, ya won’t get ina any trouble, I promise. Scouts honah,” I said, as I held my hand up with the Cub’s two finger salute. Joe was silent, and bowed his head, but the little man…he had a tiny, devilish smirk on his cute mug. By this time the rest of the cubs had gathered around us, and when little Tom said,

      “Welll…I wanned ta poo ina woods, but Joe wudn’t let me go in em, so he made me doodit ova da!”

     He said it as he proudly pointed his little index finger to his turd. Then he added,

     “He said he promised dad he would keep his eye on me.”

     Before he finished his sentence, all the kids broke out in guffaws,

       “Aha ha ha ha…Haw haw haw haw haw…Ho ho ho ho…He hee heeeee…he ate ca ca…ha ha ha…he poo poo eater!”

     The cubs were uncontrollably rolling on the ground, holding their tummies, and pointing their fingers at Jack. His face was redder than a ripe tomato, he was blushing at the news that he was so dead wrong. I could almost swear I saw smoke coming out of his reddened ears. He was so humiliated he nervously pulled out a butt, lit it, and walked off into the wood. He must have smoked at least two packs that morning as he desperately tried to get the taste of tiny Toms turd out of his mouth.