“DESIGNATED!” I said, laughing heartily. “A FUCKING WAGON WHEEL!” I added, pointing their flag as tears of mirth streaking down my cheeks.
“Fuck you!” Pajeet scowled back. “We have a fucking space program! We’ll be a superpower by 2020!”
I howled even louder in laughter, just as an Indian might howl as his asshole was burned by the spicy curryshit he was taking while he squatted on his designated street.
“Surely you’re joking!,” I laughed. “You expect me to believe that you’ll be putting men on the moon when you don’t even know to put the poo in the loo?”
“You’ve mocked my country for the last time! We’ll show you!” Pajeet screamed, walking away, his shoulders tensed, doubtless because he needed to go shit in the street for the eighth time that day.
Later, I was quietly asleep in my bed, when all of a sudden I was awoken by a sudden noise. It was a wooden-sounding rattling, one that I could have sworn that I could recognize, yet I didn’t until it was too late. My window shattered, a giant fucking wagon wheel came spinning through the scattered shards like a whirling dervish, castling flecks of accumulated poo, no doubt accumulated as it rolled down the designated shitting streets as it made its fateful way to me.
I screamed as the wagon wheel crunched into my torso, smashing my ribs and bursting my organs like the bloated corpses of dead children floating down the Ganges River. I think I soiled myself in that moment, but honestly I couldn’t tell, partly because I was in too much pain and partly because the smell was already too bad. As consciousness drifted away from me and darkness closed in, it was almost as if the scattered mounds of shit that had been flung across my room were moving – no – dancing. I could almost swear I hear their voices of the shit piles as they jigged up and down.
“Take the poo to the loo…” They seemed to whisper. “Take the poo to the loo…”
