One day later, in the swampish area that lay between the ocean and the intercoastal, Ted really needed to take a shit. He’d needed to take a shit for the past couple hours, actually.
But he hadn’t taken the shit, because, as his partner-in-crime Vinnie put it, “We’ve gotta hide out in this area until the Sun goes down. Only then can we jack the boat. Don’t shit on the job, buddy. Only losers shit on the job.”
Ted, not wanting to be a loser, had decided not to shit on the job. His mother had called him a loser. So had his father. Actually his grandmother had called him a loser too, which seemed pretty weird, since grandmothers were supposed to be nice and friendly, but Ted assumed his family was just a little harsh. Or, perhaps he really was a loser…
Long story short, to spite the ghost of his vindictive, bitchy grandma, Ted had stayed crouched in the swamp for several hours, not taking a shit. (You might say he gave a shit about not giving a shit, but I the narrator wouldn’t say that, because I’m not a shitty writer. You, a philistine, should feel free to say what you want.)
Soaked through with sweat, smelling the awful swampy smells and trying to ignore the thought that ants could swarm him at any second, Ted said, “I blame gay marriage.”
“What?” Vinnie asked.
Ted, a raging homophobe and really kind of a jackass, said, “You know, I was thinking about The Owls, and how they all died when that one chick summoned the demon. And how that red-headed science nerd was on television talking about how close the demon had come to killing her, and you know all the pastors are saying that happened because it was the same day that the Supreme Court legalized gay marriage, and I was thinking–”
“That’s your problem, Ted. You shouldn’t think.”
“Jesus, Vinnie. I can’t think, I can’t shit. What can I do?”
“Help me steal this boat,” Vinnie said, cocking his gun, which was completely pointless, because they had about another hour before they could safely steal the boat.
In truth, Vinnie liked the sound it made.