Hat Tricks Are The Poop

Last night I came home from work and made an exquisite meal; a grilled steak that I had let marinate all day, a baked potato, steamed broccoli and a cucumber and tomato salad drenched in Wishbone Italian dressing. It was as heavenly as it was succulent. I than put my dishes in the dishwasher and sped off to my hockey game. On the highway, my lower intestines began rumbling telling me to relieve my bowels immediately. I arrived at the rink late, with barely enough time to get my gear on and drop a deuce. So I tempted fate and decided to play with full insides. I tallied a hat trick and an assist in the contest and attribute it to the upset nature of my large intestines as I played the game with a sense of urgency that only a man who needed to take a shit could. From here on out, if I feel the tickle before any game, I will not close the deal until all is said and done.

On A Related Shit-Versus-Performance Note: If you are ever betting on hounds at your local dog track, keep your eye on the dogs before they reach the blocks. The first dog that stops to take a dump on the track before the race is the one you want to bet on.

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