My poor Butt Itches

Due to a lack of material (that I can publish), today’s post is about two people - both of whom you know.

To follow suit with the stories of the last week or so, I must share a story that Auburn Aries shared with me, Hot Toddy and Thor a couple of weeks ago.

Picture me, Hot and Thor on my deck off the dining room. It’s one flight off the ground. Within our hands there was a Patron Margarita, a Maker’s Mark and a Captain Morgan’s and Diet Coke, respectively.

Picture Auburn Aries playing on the play structure in the backyard.

“I have a story to tell, wanna hear it?”

The three of us focused our attention and the story began.

“Once upon a time there was this woman who had a baby girl and she named her baby Butt Itches.

When the baby grew up to be a kid she had to start school. On the first day of school the Mom said to the little girl, ‘Now, whatever you do, don’t tell your teachers your real name.’

So the little girl goes to school and forgets she wasn’t supposed to give her real name and the teacher asks, ‘What’s your name, little girl?’ and the little girl says, ‘my name is Butt Itches.’

The teacher didn’t believe her and asked her again. ‘That’s not your real name. Tell me what your real name is.’ The little girl was, like, ‘No, my name really is Butt Itches.”

The teacher got mad and told the little girl she was going to send her to a different teacher since she wouldn’t tell the truth.

The little girl goes to the other classroom and this teacher asked her, ‘What’s your name, little girl?’ and the little girl tells her, ‘My name is Butt Itches.’ Well, this teacher didn’t believe her either so she told the little girl, ‘If you’re going to lie to me about your real name, I’m going to have to send you to the Principal’s office.’

So the little girl went to the Principal’s office. The Principal called the little girl into her office and said, ‘I understand you won’t tell the truth about your real name. Would you please tell me what your real name is?’ The little girl sighed a big sigh and said, ‘MY NAME IS BUTT ITCHES!’

The Principal got angry at the little girl and told her that if she wasn’t going to tell the truth, he was going to have to call the Police and have her taken to jail. (Hey, it’s not my story, people).

So the Policemen came and took Butt Itches to the police station. They asked her what her name was. When the little girl told them her name was Butt Itches, they put her in jail for lying. The Policeman called Butt Itches’ Mom and told her to come and get her daughter.

The Mom got to jail and when she walked in, she saw her daughter in jail. She started to run to her and was yelling, ‘MY POOR BUTT ITCHES.’ The Policeman said, ‘What?’ and the Mom said ‘MY POOR BUTT ITCHES.’

Thuh End.”



Today several of us went to lunch and I witnessed probably the most funny thing I’ve seen in, well, days. (I keep pretty funny company and am never at a loss for laughter).

While walking back to our office, one of the people in our group (who was leading the walk back) announces, “My butt itches.” I started to laugh.

I saw the reach around, albeit brief, jokingly attempting to scratch said itch. I was shocked. “What the hell was that?!” I blurted. This person would never scratch in public. I called out to said scratcher “MY POOR BUTT ITCHES “ and kept laughing.

Then this person jokingly reached around with their soda cup and pretended to scratch the itch with it. We kept walking and laughing all of us sucked into the vortex of comedy.

As we neared Company X, said person walked up to a parked van, turned around and started doing a butt rub against the corner of the van. I couldn’t get a hold of myself.

We proceeded to the light post at the crosswalk to wait for the signal, at which point the scratcher turned and placed their bottom against the pole. Up and down, back and forth in search of that soothing relief. (It was a long light!).

Why is it seeing someone do something completely out of character is so hysterically funny. Especially when they are doing so to the extreme to make you laugh.

We crossed the street at which point said butt scratcher walked up to a three foot pillar, turned and backed up to it and started rubbing against it. Not realizing the pillar wasn’t secured in the ground the attempted butt scratching failed having almost knocked the pillar over. The rest of us were dying. I had to pee and if the comedian didn’t stop, I was going to be in big trouble.

We walked past the bushes in front of the building and the comedian turned and side-stepped along the bushes so the bushes would whack said person in the ass. “Oh, man, my butt itches.”

I was about to lose it. 20 ounces of Dr. Pepper with lunch. This wasn’t good.

As we approached the steps to Company X, the comedian was ten or fifteen feet ahead of me. I was concentrating on not peeing my pants at this point, I was laughing so terribly hard.

It was at this point that the comedian walked up to the handrail that runs up the center of the front steps, straddled them and started to grind on the handrail.

I stopped dead in my tracks. “You ass” I yelled, “You’re killing me. I’m going to pee my pants! Stop it!”

I couldn’t move. I had to think of something else to get my brain off the last five minutes. All I could think about was the hand scratch, the cup scratch, the van scratch, the crosswalk post rub, the pillar rub, the bush whackin’ and the handrail grinding. The images flashed through my mind in succession.

There I stood paralyzed, eyes closed, praying for a break in the comedy.

“I love it when I make her laugh so hard she almost pees her pants, look at her.”

Our group focused their attention on me and now I had become the comedy. My pain was their pleasure. How dare they?! It’s funny when Butt Itches is in pain, but not so much when it’s me, the dirty bastards!

I did make it up the elevator ride and to the ladies room. Good Luck Comedian… better luck next time!