..and the answer is...
About two pounds.
What's the question, you ask?
Bear with me my sexy toothless poodle in the leather mask and Indian moccasin puppy shoes, and I'll tell you.
You know..sometimes I don't get where this shit comes from, either.
My cell phone rang the other morning while I was at work.
Me: "YAY! My heroin is ready!"
Helpful tip: Never yell that shit out loud while at work.
Unless you work at a heroin factory.
The phone call was from my wife.
She was calling about our new dog, Sophie.
Wife: "Sophie has worms in her shit."
And 'good morning' to you, too, honey.
As I cleaned up my freshly vomited oatmeal from my desk, I continued the conversation.
Wife: "I took her outside to go to the bathroom and thought I saw straw or something in her poop, but when I turned around and looked closer they were moving."
So far this is ranking right up there as:
Worst. Conversation. Ever.
Well, I'm no underworked yet ridiculously overpaid Quality Assurance Engineer for a privately held company who makes world-class networking products...
...but I would say that having squiggling worms in your shit probably isn't right.
I meant 'doctor.' I'm no doctor.
That makes much more sense.
Shit + worms in it = just plain fucking wrong right there, my friends.
I've always been good at math.
Having explained the above quantum mechanics to my wife, we decided to take the dog to the vet.
The vet asked for a stool sample from the dog so they could examine it.
They specifically said 'from the dog' because of the last time I brought in my own shit after eating 3 ears of corn and a bag of peanuts and thought it would be funny.
They didn't think it was funny.
However, they did find that I had heartworm, so that was a plus.
When I got home, I grabbed Sophie, opened the fridge to grab the bag of shit and left for the vet.
Yes. You read that right.
I opened the fridge to get the dog shit.
Apparently, dog shit is best kept refrigerated after opening.
Good to know.
The fridge shit was in a brown paper bag marked, "Sophie."
I did not open the bag.
I had no desire to look at a container of shit.
I do that enough in the red light district on weekends.
You pay extra for that. I'm not sure why.
So with a big bag of stanky fucking dog shit in hand, and a song in my heart, I went to the vet.
Checking in, I handed the paper bag to the receptionist...and after waiting like a fucking 1/2 hour finally got to see the doctor.
Doctor: "So..what color were the worms?"
Me: "I don't know...my wife saw them..I think she said they were white."
Me: "You know...I brought in the stool sample."
You know...if I could rewind the clock 20 years and imagined myself there today...
...standing in an office that I just carried a paper bag full of dog shit into while discussing the color of the fucking worms we found in it..
..I probably just would have shiv'd myself in the fucking eye.
Time travel: Fixer of lives gone awry.
The doctor then leaves to get the stool sample.
She comes back a few minutes later.
In her hands are two containers.
Doctor (still laughing): "Okay...okay...just so you know...when you bring in a stool sample, we only need this much."
She holds up one of the containers.
In the container is, like, a cotton swab with a tiny spot of brown shit on it.
Doctor (STILL laughing): "This is what your wife collected."
She holds up my wife's container.
So...you see the answer up there?
About two pounds?
Here's the question:
How much dog shit can my wife stuff into a container the size of a finger?
ABOUT TWO POUNDS.
The container looked like my wife had taken all the shit she'd found since the beginning of time, smushed it into the container...
...tamped it down like a guy paving a driveway...
...then stuffed even more shit into it.
How that thing didn't shatter under it's own weight of shit is beyond me.
The poor doctor could barely hold the fucking container up to show me.
It was pretty funny, actually.
You know...minus the whole worms plus shit plus vomiting thing.
..and the scene of me holding a cold bag of poop.
I seriously need to invent time travel.