Wednesday, February 26, 2014
The Best Fertilizer in England
"It's the best fertilizer in all England, and we're proud it's produced right here in Lloyd's Crossing!"
"You should be, Mr. Watkins! We wouldn't purchase any other for our string of nurseries. What's your secret?"
"It's a bit unusual, Mr. Soames. Every day all the townsfolk in Lloyd's Crossing are required to scrape up and carefully collect everything they've dumped out of their ..."
"As I was saying, every man, woman, and child must take their dumpings and store them, usually in a box kept in their bedrooms."
"But that can't be!"
"Why not? And at the end of the week, the family lumps it all together, wraps it in a big package often with a pretty bow, and walks it over to the company."
"Think I'm gonna be sick ...."
"You ... you ... collect all your shit to make fertilizer?!!"
"No, spare change we dump out of our pockets. To buy supplies."
I hope you won't poo poo my little tale this week for the Friday Fictioneers. I've tried very hard not to make it stink.
If you do think it smells a bit, however, please feel free to click on this highly sanitized link for the other Friday Fictioneers, who may greet you with blood, mayhem, and gore, but hopefully very little BM. Or Number 2. Or doo-doo. Or whatever other discrete and more socially acceptable term you prefer to call it.
Hope your week ahead isn't a shitty one! Bye.