Brobdingnagian: An unintelligible word people use to feign intelligence; or to express their unintelligible thoughts or emotions..

Example 1:   "What do you think of Nietzsche's "Beyond Good and Evil?"

    "It's Brobdingnagian."

Example 2: "Oh my God, your cat died! How do you feel?"

"Brobdingnagian. Very Brobdingnagian."

Asleep on the toilet. Napping while crapping. An unexpected rest session of an unsanitary nature.

Those are the only ways I can fathom to try to describe what I was watching through the bottom of the door.

You see, I had to use the bathroom after an exam, and so I asked my teacher for permission. I entered the bathroom, found the stall locked. I wondered who was stuck there, and when they were going to come out.

I asked once, "hey, how long 'till you come out?"

No response. I asked again. No response, again.

"You know, people tend to respond where they're asked a question. Rude!"

No response.

So, I looked under the door. And I saw it all. His arms were hanging downwards, in tragic harmony with his unsightly, unbuttoned pants. His shirt covered down there, thankfully. In fact, it only covered down there because his entire body was arched downwards. Gravity had pulled it into that position. Gravity, by the way, was discovered by Isaac Newton.

In other cases, like when planets orbit around stars, gravity is useful and harmless.

In this case, gravity made him curve like an ostrich hiding in its hole. That image permanently harmed me psychologically. It's a miracle I don't go to counseling because of it.

I decided to wake him up. He had to get to class, I imagined, and frankly putting him out of his suffering was the best thing I could do. I found a conveniently misplaced broom by the sink, removed the brush, and started to poke him. Poke, poke, poke. No response.

Poke, poke, poke. No response.

POKE, SHOVE, STAB. He woke up.

“Huh?”

The first thing he saw was the broom. And at that moment, he knew he was both literally and figuratively in deep shit. He asked me how long it had been—twenty minutes, I reckoned—and then thanked me, pulled his pants up, buttoned his buttons to hide his underwear, and left.

The poor guy was so embarrassed he forgot to wash his hands and flush. He came back when he saw the soiled toilet paper, stuck to his hands like this entire twenty-minute fiasco. I, meanwhile, was laughing uncontrollably at the entire ordeal. I told everyone I knew, and they laughed, too. We told the legend of the napper-crapper for years, and we still tell it today. Even the napper-crapper started laughing about it. A diabolically funny aspect of us humans is that we laugh at other people's embarrassment. However, I don't think it's all that bad when the embarrassed join in the fun. It's almost like comedy communism, except it doesn't end with millions dead or in gulags.

That being said, I’m sure some of you will doubt that this really happened. “There’s no way that this could happen to anyone!” And sure, it seems so embarrassing and stupid and silly you’d think someone made it up. But it is all true.

Except for one bit.

You see, you can’t tell an experience when you were asleep during most of it. One can only write so many “ZZZ” before the reader shuts off their brain, and leaves to some better-crafted story. But, for the witness, this experience was hilarious. So, I swapped the witness with the crapper-napper in order to write about it, and share  the joy with everyone. Like Jesus in the new testament, but without all the blood and gore and death that preceded him in the old testament.

I was not the witness. I was that poor crapper-napper.

Dear Diary:

Why?

Why did things end up like this? 

Is there some cosmic force who is overjoyed right now? Are they sitting in some Dr. Strangelove-like room: drinking whiskey, playing pool, hooking up with hookers like life's the Wolf of Wall Street, or any other fun; as the rest of us suffer? 

How I wish the bastards had invited me to the party.

It's been one day. One freaking day. One dark, miserable day. It's been one day and I'm already at wit's end.

Dad got eaten twenty minutes after it started. In hindsight, it was obvious he'd be the first to go: He spent twenty-five years gorging on ridiculous amounts of burgers, fries, chocolate, and his favorite bread; he was so out-of-shape the zombies went faster than him. Talk about getting your just desserts.

Oh, and I had to throw Locke--my one and only best friend, who taught me how to stand up to authority and what I was capable of--to the man-eating dogs. Dad gobbled him up like he'd gobble up a Big Mac. He wasn't kidding when he said he'd "kill that fucking kid for teaching you this shit." 

Mom came back and ate Lily--poor little shit thought Momma had come back from God's garden to save us. Wish she was here, going on about how great Justin Bieber and One Direction are; so I could show her how they devoured each other in what I can positively say was literally the only slightly tolerable part of the day. 

Thankfully, since people don't get brains when they add them to their post-mortem diet, I got to the top of the attic, with some supplies and a flashlight. Then, I closed it off, and I've decided to stay here until I stop hearing their hungry-teenager cries. 

That being said, it really sucks to a) have nothing to do, b)have no-one to chat with, and most importantly c)be in a fucking zombie apocalypse. My main concerns went from videogames, porn, and school; to food, water, and even a bed. Needless to say, I'd much rather live the life of a horny good-for-nothing teen than live the Bear Grills 3k experience.

By the way, piss tastes like yellow water. And I don't want to detail what yellow tastes like--except that "not good" is the biggest understatement anyone has ever said in the history of understating shitty shit.

So, I went from your average teenager to a piss-drinking orphan. In one day. The universe literally went "here, fuck you, your family, and your friends! Oh, and...eat piss and shit. Because fuck your horny ass."

By tomorrow, I'll probably have eaten shit, gone insane from starvation, and killed myself because life will stop having any meaning. So, if anyone gets to read this ever again, I my gravestone to read:

   "My life motto was 'the ends justify the memes', and I followed it to the very end. Insert SadPepe.Jpg"

Please and thank you.