Premature E-Shaqulators - Alec Kerr

I’m sure all of you have been patiently awaiting the results from Thursday night’s intramural tournament opener (actually you probably could care less than when Kentucky Kingdom closed), but for those of you in agony, wait no longer. As I stated in my last post our team (whose name I’m yet to learn, maybe it is because I choose not to and frankly I don’t care since it isn’t the “Premature E-Shaqulators” that I wanted, but as far as I’m concerned that’s what it is) was up against an 0-3 squad.

The chances of us losing were a lot worse than the chances of Wil Van Dyke getting a girl pregnant just by staring at her, which may or may not actually be possible from WVD. With my knowledge of terrible teams in intramurals I thought it would be a typical game where we could possibly win with 4 players, I could make every pass a behind the back pass for the whole game, and pull NBA range trey pounders multiple times. Come to find out this isn’t your average 0-3 team. Naturally, undaunted by their record we chose not to stretch or warm up, this is where went wrong (obviously for me, my favorite part of the game is making it rain in warm ups, dating back to high school when even though we went 26-1 my junior year, I’m still convinced the 4,000 fans at every game were there to see me drain 3’s, and do my signature pro hops and spins resulting in missed finger rolls before the game started).

Their main threat was a 5’8” point guard who had such a cool beard even Grizzly Adams would be jealous, he claims he didn’t play basketball in high school and that he was a “soccer player” which was a blatant lie. Since we hadn’t shot around yet, I felt the first play of the game would be the perfect opportunity to show off my silky smooth jumper. I came down the court and yelled “computer blue” which is not a play whatsoever, we don’t even have plays, yet it distracted my defender just enough to do a fade away 3 that missed, barely touched the rim, and resulted in an easy basket for the other team. As the other team took an early lead and we called a timeout because I was “dyin” out there, I continued to say “yo, I haven’t eaten all day” and “told you we should’ve warmed up."

Luckily Pat and “tall kid” took up the slack and started hitting some shots, as we took a 10 point lead. We started playing our game, this when “the block” happened, as Moses drove down the lane and tried to put up a floater, I had a Dikembe Mutombo like block that sent it back a good 5 feet, easily becoming one of the better defensive moments of my basketball career. Of course not stretching took me out of my mindset of being a lock down defender late into the first half as I got tired and my man started knocking down some 3’s. Pat said “is that your man?”, of course that’s my man, that’s like saying “watch my stuff I’ll be right back”, no shit I’m going to watch your stuff, who wouldn’t say something if some random person came and grabbed your backpack, so what if I’m too lazy and my man single handedly brought their team within 1 before halftime? Long story short the second half was much like the first until the last minute, when things got juicy.

With about 20 seconds left we threw up an ill advised attempt at a game winner with the score tied at 55, the beard wielding soccer player got the rebound and threw a full court pass to his teammate where I tried to block his lay up for the last second shot, I obviously fouled him and he missed the shot with a no call from the ref. Now this could be because he feels bad for not calling a foul earlier in the game when I was cracked in the nose and had no idea where I was at for about 10 possesions or it could be because the fact that we share the same love for Kirk Cameron in Growing Pains (with Kirk Cameron and Jeremy Miller as “Ben”, who couldn’t love that comedic duo?) I’m not sure what it was but that reluctantly took us into overtime.

Overtime we basically just took over, sure it was highlighted by my jumper with about a minute left to put us up 4, but I wouldn’t take all the credit. I’d like to think I was a real contributer after I said “all day” when I hit that jumper, but with a stat line like 6 points, 2-15 from the field, 3 turnovers, 1 assist, and giving up 15 points it was anything but that and I hurt the Premature E-Shaqulators if anything, so I’d like to think I was more of an intimidation factor. Nevertheless we got the W and moved one game closer to the championship (and thank God we won, Pat, considering the thought of overtime was making me feel like the HYPER was going to turn into a scene of a bad Okwerdz rap battle). I would also like to commend Terrell on a great game, he made up for Wil Van Dyke's absence and then some, which I miserably failed at doing at Delts later that night (grinding on every bitty at the party, making a huge scene, and waking up in the formal with just compression shorts on is harder than it looks).

"Sure I've been called a xenophobe,but the truth is I'm not. I honestly just feel that America is the best country and all the other countries aren't as good. That used to be called patriotism."

The Real Turk - Matthew Ruffing

"A Few Good Moments with Matthew Ruffing" will return next week as regularly scheduled, we decided to do more posts on the reg this week, to preview some of the awesome shit to come.

Coming off a three week binge of doing nothing every day and the fact that I quit my job, I no longer have any cheddar. Becoming sober for the past few days has been more painful than sitting in a room with Kiel for an extended period of time, but this time of sobriety has brought me to reflect on some of our hot, curvy and sexy country’s news and controversies.
After laying in bed completely inebriated on vicodin for two days I was forced to watch the Tiger Wood’s speech dominate the entire ESPN network (I was too faded to find the remote for multiple hours). I have only one question about it, why the fuck is he apologizing to the general public for his completely human and relatively American love for having absurd amounts of sex? What he does at night, in his own time, should only be the concern of him, his wife, and his family. People are putting their money on whether or not he bends the 92 other golfers over at TPC, not who he bends over in the hotel room later that night. The only shaft of Tiger’s we need to pay attention to is that of his 7 iron that he just bent after hooking his second shot into the woods back on 13. I’m not saying that Tiger was entitled to do what he did, in fact, I don’t respect him as much anymore (you can’t be a prick on the course, hold your child after winning another title, and then hit up 6 or 7 bitties later that week and still deserve respect) but its not our business to persecute the man for loving his dick more than his wife.

Don’t get used to this kind of bullshit I only did it to pay respects to Frank Therber, the college king of talking legitimate sports news, who now may have a larger erection than Tiger Woods. I respect you thurbs, stop smiling and get me on a beer die table.

On another note I’d like to clear up any questions you may have about the animosity between Reggie and I, I’m cooler than Reggie. Plain and simple. Reggie and I don’t know each other that well..maybe it’s because he was never around last semester.. on the second or third run to the liquor store every night we’d always ask “Where’s Reggie?” “Why isn’t he getting blacked out and breaking shit with us?” “is he sucking his uncle’s dick again?” No, actually he hates his uncle which I can only respect. But Reggie was making his regular trip back to his hometown, sadly all he wanted was some nan, and the only place he could it get was from the guys at his old high school. I’m also cooler than Reggie because I know cooler people than he does, like the University of Notre Dame 2009 football recruiting class.

Yes, its true I know some of those guys, only because one of my best friends Zack Martin is a part of it and brought some of his buddies down to Indianapolis for a night to share in our common American love for unprotected and unplanned sex, outrageous kegstands, and of course, Notre Dame. Zack brought along a goofy but monstrous defensive tackle who got bro-raped more than any of the other guests, a teddy bear lookin offensive lineman, the strongest, and blackest white punter the NCAA has ever seen, and a legitimate guido linebacker who may or may not have had sex with the mother of the house we took over and a skinny tall dude who knows more about Notre Dame than the President of the school. The night started early for the stars, polishing off an entire handle of Beam (completely unfazed them) before they even left for the party. Once they arrived, they immediately went to the keg for some kegstands that went longer than.. well if I had held my breath for the duration of a single stand I would’ve passed out. Towards the end of the kegstand session, every person in the place, which was about 95 at this point, was hammered and chanting for the meatheads to keep going when the thugged out punter spilled some of his beer on the biggest meatstick , a UIndy 2 sport all-star. Who naturally left his catholic school knowledge at the door and felt that “an eye for an eye” was in order and poured his entire beer on his new found rival. If you’ve never been around many drunk meatheads at the same time then A. fuck your life because it must suck and B. stay 20 feet away because you might get stuck in the face. Screaming and pushing ensued. The 30 people that were far enough way to be safe (including me) immediately pulled out their phones and began to record the historic, made for Jersey Shore fight while rolling on the floor laughing. The punter flipped his shit so hard that he had to change jeans after being taken to the car and calmed down by his gang for 30 minutes, who were all pissed they had to stop drinking and getting head to calm down their gangster friend who repeatedly claimed “Where I’m from (Miami, Florida..shouldve seen that one coming) when someone dumps their beer on you, they get stomped.” Seriously, if the dude would’ve had a knife he would’ve gone for the throat of anyone that stood in the way of his opponent. Thankfully everything got sorted out, the punter calmed down, sobered up a little bit, and spent the rest of the night introducing himself to every single girl in the place. While the rest of us were introduced to the infamous “heat” and some absurd way of smashing an unopened beer can on your forehead so hard it opens and then chugging it, and jacking off carlo, Watt, and Tstock (much love. Come back.) I wish I could continue with this story, but pulling from any handle my eye caught, bonging beer after beer, and smoking a ridiculous amount of the illegal substance sometimes referred to as reefer ended my night a little early.. thank you to kourtney Crawford for finding me in the backyard face down in the grass when I didn’t even know my own name. I’m proud to say the owner of the house confidently told me I was the drunkest person in the entire place.

God Bless Goblin, The real turk (not you tuna, you fucking suck) and the sexiest and greatest Country of all.

The Dance - Jordan "Reggie" Kiel

Don’t get your hopes up, this post is not about Garth Brooks.

Throughout my life I’ve been known as somewhat of a disrespectful smartass. I was always the one who would cave in to peer pressure just for a few laughs. Although I have paid the price for many of these occurrences throughout; I have also gotten away with entirely too much. For those of you who do not know me on a personal level as well some others reading this, here is a story to help explain.

When I was 11 years old, I attended a dance. This dance is held every year at the LIT (Lutheran Invitational Tournament). The LIT is middle school aged basketball tournament which is held every year with several Lutheran schools throughout Southern Indiana competing, needless to say. It was our Super Bowl. If your team did not win a single game all season, but you did well in the LIT, and even happen to make the All-Tourney Team (which I did twice, of course). Then it was reasonable to expect that every French kissing lovin’ tween would simply flock to your neighborhood hoping to get a ride around the block on the pegs of your Schwinn Cruiser. Let’s just say if your ass made the All-Tourney Team, the idea of rubbing tongues with you was simply the hottest ticket in town.

Now that you fully understand just how important the LIT was, I will now explain what happen at the dance on that cold February night. As I arrive with a couple of my closest friends. I realize that I do not have the 2 dollars that is required as an entry fee. (I had spent all my money on a box of condoms to take to the dance, I had no intention of using these condoms. I simply bought them so I could fill it with mayo and slap the kid in the face who intentionally fouled me earlier in the day, he honestly thought there wasn’t going to be any consequences for his actions… well , little did he know)

As you might imagine; sneaking into the dance was something that was not a big deal and I proceeded to do this successfully. ( Even if they would have stopped me, I probably would have said, “Do you know who the fuck I am?” flabbergasted that an 11 year old has that type of vocabulary and wittiness. I would have just walked on by as they stood in shock, pondering about what just happen.) Once I got into the dance, my eagerness to grind on opposing teams cheerleaders to tunes such as jock jams, pretend not to know every word to Mambo #5, and to make a huge scene during the ChaCha Slide were at an all-time high.

Unfortunately for me and honestly everybody else at the dance; some things are just not meant to be. While still trying to adapt to the overall vibe of the dance, Cory Thomas and I were talking to some cheerleaders from the Evansville Monarchs. (the mascot which some would think to be a king, they were actually the butterfly version of monarchs. Which was rather embarrassing, also explains why they got 6^th place every single year) As the conversation between us and the cheerleaders starts to run dry, I take advantage of the opportunity to impress them. At that time, the athletic director of the hosting school walks by, and let me tell you, this guy is what I would like to call a doucher. He was the male equivalent of Ms. Trunchbull from Matilda. As he walks by I mutter, “Hey, where’s the beer?” Needless to say, after the shock wears off, laughs are heard throughout the gym. But much to my disbelief, Mr. Trunchbull was one of the few who did not find this humorous. After being dragged to the coat room by my ear by this middle aged man, what started off as a simple joke had just turned into maybe one the bigger stories of the year throughout Southern Indiana. As my ear is throbbing in pain, he begins to scrutinize me and keeps yelling, “WHAT IS YOUR NAME YOUNG MAN!?”(like he didn’t know). The thing is; I was aware that he knew exactly who I was, so I kept replying “Bob” (<--clever, I know.) I was also asked where I went to school, Which I also replied, “Bob.” (Once again, comical genius)

Eventually I was escorted out the dance and my parents were called, (not like they cared, where do you think this sarcasm stems from?) As I look back now, I realize what I did was rather immature, but what is even clearer to me is how immature this middle aged man was for pulling an 11 year old by the ear and pinning him against the wall.

I am proud to say, I am still the only individual to be kicked out of the LIT Dance. My only regret is not being able to do what I went there to do. (Slap the kid with the condom and get my fingers wet)

God Bless America more than any other country
Jordan “Reggie” Kiel

LeBrontourage - Alec Kerr

Intramural sports gives college aged kids a chance to relive their glory days in high school, show off for the bitties, tell stories about how good they were growing up, how "if coach Miller would've given me more minutes I would've led the state in rebounding and be playing D1 right now", but most importantly it gives us a chance to be champions again. As much as I would like to say I'm not one of these typical losers, I find myself doing the same things. I love to show off my slippery wet jumpshot, I do the "guns going off" celebration every time I hit a shot to the three girls who aren't even paying attention and are only there because their boyfriends made them, I see someone at the courts I played against in high school and tell some trumped up story of how I scored 25 that game with "like 12 dimes", but most importantly I'm vying for the chance to make it to Assembly Hall to play in the championship game.

To bring you up to speed our team has unexpectedly won all three games leading up to tomorrow night's tournament opener. Which is very surprising since we look like a lame attempt at an organized basketball squad
and can barely make it up and down the court five times before we call a time out. Yet we are undefeated, so don't let the fact that we took easy route and played in the second best division here at IU fool you. With all white kids, 2 players over 6ft, and usually no subs if we even have 5 players, its a wonder we even won one game.

Our roster goes something like this:

Michael Terrell-5'9'', 150 lbs, Mr. Hustle, coach. Shows similarities to Jackie Moon

Pat Kennedy- 6'0'', 160 lbs, basically he just makes us look good, if we get disqualified in the tourney for bad sportsmanship he's the one to blame.

Some tall kid-6'5'', 180 lbs, second best player behind Pat, chances are I won't learn his name this season.

Alex "Whitey" Miller-6'4'', 180 lbs, He's a banger down low, if you are wandering "does his nickname mean he's not athletic?", to some extent yes, but he will slap the hell out of the backboard during warm ups so get off him.

Chris Adkins-5'11'', 160 lbs, Terrell's twin on the court.

Connor Costello-6'0'', 170 lbs, 1 of 3 players on our team with athletic ability, takes after me with a money jumper, he enjoys Chatroulette.com , and would really like to meet a girl that dispersed hawaiian punch out of her nipples.

Reggie Kiel-5'11'', 170 lbs, he's practically useless inside the three point line, doesn't play defense, thank God he has night classes. He's on the team because he is 62% from 3, yet he only hit one 3 in a varsity game and thinks he is cool because he has ''like 15 varsity letters".....

Wil Van Dyke-5'6'', 170 lbs, more heart than any player, more determination than Michael Jordan, rebounds better than Dennis Rodman (he has been known to dive for balls even in pick up games), in essence he is the 1995-1996 Chicago Bulls in one man. He also also known for his bone crushing on ball screens that open us up, Wil is a great teammate not only because of his hustle, but because he realizes, it's bigger than him.

Matthew Ruffing-6'1'', 160 lbs, went six straight games 2 weeks ago without scoring, Reggie made him look like a fool scoring about 25 more points then him. Although he started for Chatard and claims he is good, his best game in high school was when he scored 15 and gave up like 28.

And finally myself-6'0'', 170 lbs, Slippery wet jumpshot, money from 25 feet with a hand in my face, lockdown defender, I stalk the 3 point line like a voulture, I've been known to pull up for 3 on a clear path fast break, and you may remember me from my 17 point performance in the JV game my Junior year when I hit 5 3's in a row.

Now since most of our class schedules interfere because no one wants to wake up before noon and I made a deal with my legs that they don't work before 1 p.m., The Scoundrel and Wil moved back to Indy, and Reggie is just afraid to play against black people in general, we are in another situation where we were running low on talent. We reluctantly drew an 0-3 team for tomorrow night due to our pure dominance. We are basically indestructible and intimidate all of our opponents, it could be because we use the Space Jam effect with Pat as our MJ, or the fact that we sing This song while we walk in to every game.

Now I have mixed emotions about playing an 0-3 team, it's always fun when they show up and their best player looks like he just got back from a Third Eye Blind concert, they have a player that's like 38, and they have some kid that was probably decent in high school but gained 40 pounds since then and complains when his "trey pounder" isn't falling (this is eerily similar to what my future may hold). As much fun as demolishing a team is, there are always a few obstacles, for example the refs and I have a relationship somewhat similar to that of Tony and the campers in the movie Heavy Weights. Sure, the campers (me) are pumped for what summer events may unfold (like me getting to drop career highs), and Tony (refs) comes in and ruins everything with his strict rules. In the same sense the refs ruin my fun by calling unnecessary violations when I do my signature pro hop and my spin in the lane into traffic. It's also difficult to tune into my game when the opposing team is usually gunning for me. It might be because they saw me draining shots from the volleyball line consistently during warm-ups, maybe it is the fact that I say "pussy" every time I shoot and yell "off" anytime someone else does, but if I had to guess it is because of the growing audience I'm attracting after our last outing. To fill you in, as I was coming down the wing I said, "Whitey, rock", pro hopped, traveled, then proceeded to throw up a shot behind my head hitting the lay up as I turned to the crowd and exclaimed, "are you not entertained?!". It may have been a travel and not counted whatsoever, but I'm putting it on my highlight reel regardless. So I had 5 points, 5 boards, 4 turnovers, and 1 assist, but to those who witnessed that play will pass that story on for generations to come. Odds are the team we play tomorrow has readily been thinking of ways to shut me down (actually odds are they don't even know who I am). So if you play for LeBrontourage or plan on going to the game tomorrow, just know I have too many weapons in my arsenal.

"Sure I've been called a xenophobe,but the truth is I'm not. I honestly just feel that America is the best country and all the other countries aren't as good. That used to be called patriotism."

Reluctantly Excited - Jordan “Reggie” Kiel

As far back as I can remember, blogging was something that I was rather oblivious to. The stereotype of a blogger is a geeky, nerdy, middle-aged man still living in his mothers basement. My idea of a blogger was the kids I use to beat up at recess in grade school, the kids who played right field and batted 9^th in every single little league game, the kids who traded Pokemon cards during snack time in fourth grade while I was too busy spitting game and trying to get my fingers wet. Needless to say, my idea of blogging today has changed drastically to what I believed in during high school. I view the 0.0 experiment as an opportunity to express my extremely dry humor on a means of communication other than as a Facebook status. Lucky for all of you, There is no limit on the amount of characters I can use on Blogspot. To whoever is interested, the maximum amount of characters allowed on a Facebook status is 420. I just have one question for Facebook, why 420?
I just want to say before I get some dumbass text from Matthew Ruffing saying, “yo dude, is 420 really the max. ? that shit is epic dude.” The answer is, “Yes Ruff, 420.” Now that I have that out of the way, my Toby Keith, Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue message tone will not go off extremely too loud in the elevator again.

Now that my introduction is out the way, I can now express my beliefs and opinions on literally anything I want… gay marriage, abortion, global warming, or on a more important note I can talk about how awesome President Taft’s mustache is.

But for the time being, I will talk about the members and some of the already avid followers of this blog.

Alec Kerr -- (One of my better friends and co-writer for 0.0) A true self-proclaimed nerdbasher, I will not lie and say he does not call everyone walking down the street a nerd. But what I will point out to all of you is, this “nerdbash” is usually said at a very low volume. So…. Unless that person has a super duper spy hearing enhancer, you have never heard yourself being bashed by Alec Kerr.

Matthew Ruffing—(WVD story-teller) Me and Matthew Ruffing have what you would call a “love/hate” relationship. What I mean by that is, he loves me and I hate him with a fucking passion. That’s all. Ruff, you suck, go to hell.

Wil Van Dyke—(Pickles) I am still in a state of mourning on the subject of WVD. I will begin to talk about Pickles when my heart mends back together. But until then please invite everyone to join his group on facebook

Theodore Bolser—(Avid Follower) I’ve never seen this kid in anything but a backwards hat. Backwards hats are good and all. But Ted’s are not fitted caps. Which in conclusion, make him look like a complete idiot. (something like this.) Lucky for Ted, he plays football, and from what I hear, he’s not bad. With that being said, his chances of ever hooking up with a girl are now very slim. Instead of not a chance in hell.

Kameron Phelps & Cory Thomas--These two men will be mentioned in several stories I share on this blog. They are friends that I have grown up with, and truly have shaped me into the person I am today. These stories will all be past stories dating back all the way to the age of 5 until today. None of the stories posted will be fictional.

God Bless America more than any other country.
Jordan "Reggie" Kiel

"A Few Good Moments with Matthew Ruffing"

“It looks like a pancake”

When I heard the 0.0 experiment was spreading to the blog world I knew that my words and wisdom would one day have to grace the page. When Kerr asked me to provide comedic relief on the page I jumped at the opportunity like Wil or Kerr jumping into bed with Katie Betancourt. I’m proud to be one of the bigger influences on Alec becoming the anti-nerd and am glad to spread the stories to the world. Contrary to what has been said, never have I been called scoundrel but on more than one occasion have I been referenced to as basher, party animal, Gordon Bombay, and of course Ruff the Killa.

I came into “The Semester” late, meeting Kerr one early November night in Wil’s room. Naturally games of beer pong on the legendary table were being played when the Anti-nerd entered the room; of course I didn’t know that he was the anti-nerd, in fact I thought he was nerd. But, when the RAs entered the room and I jumped in the closet as Pickles heckled them for never partying and Kerr bashfully told them that he didn’t have his student ID, a connection had been made. He had the same love for FIFA, Posner, Sam Adams, and blowing tree that I did. After that night I encouraged Alec to spend nights playing FIFA, make fun of how fat Pickles is and to keep the door open so we could ask bitties, what’s up?

My duty for the experiment is to give weekly accounts of Wil “Pickles” Van Dyke and provide anecdotes of the Troll’s past as a Kinger and his high school days where seeing Wil’s genitalia was nothing but an every day journey for every person that walked the dark halls of Chatard. So without further adieu..

This week Wil was faced with his first roadblock on the road of his new life. His UPS job that he had been masturbating to for the last week and a half, fell through. Wil has now been forced to join me in the search for a job that will supply us with narcotics and an apartment. Although it has not been easy for Pickles he has been coping with it by talking non-stop about how cool it will be to have an apartment as well as his constant threat of buying a poster for the apartment. Wil hopes to have the apartment in three weeks so that Kerr and Smelly Reggie can come party during their spring break. As I picked up Wil this past Sunday to resume our search for residence he told me about his previous night. (Cuddled up in shotgun with his allergic reacted face I couldn’t bear to look at the sewer rat.) He explained that he drank all day and all night and started fights with University of Indianapolis football players and proudly exclaimed he got into a bar. He then told me how hungover he was and requested that I stroke him. Then pleaded for me to pull over so he could throw up. Which leads to..

On a hot evening in the summer of ’08 Pickles, another friend who won’t be named due to the gruesome disgrace that this story persists of, and I ventured to broad ripple for some food. After our meal at Qdoba that Wil managed to get all over his face, shirt and pants, Wil headed to the bathroom before we left. Wil came back from the bathroom with a look of fear in his eyes and explained the restroom was occupied. Not thinking anything of it, we left and headed back to the Kennedy household, we stopped short at the closest gas station to pick up some goods for the evening much to Wil’s displeasure. “ Dude seriously just take me back to pats I really need to go to the bathroom.” Wil cried. Laughing at the pain I was putting Wil through we continued to the gas station. Wil was shaking in the back seat literally at the verge of tears. We left the gas station and mere moments later words interrupted the tears from the backseat, “RUFF PULL OVER! I NEED TO SHIT.” I didn’t know if I heard correctly but I agreed knowing we were about to encounter one of Wil’s nastier moments. Wil jumped out of the car before I could fully stop and jumped into the bushes for a couple minutes. Tears streaming down my face from laughter, Wil came back to the car and felt compelled to explain what just happened: “O my god I just shit so hard. It was like I was peeing out of my ass. It was like a pancake! Go look at it!” For some reason I still don’t know I agreed to get out and check out the damage that Wil just put on those bushes ( I think it was the pancake comment.) Whether or not it actually looked like a pancake no one but Pickles will ever know because before I got within 7 feet of the excretion I caught a smell of the most heinous unhuman odor any person has taken in and proceded to throw up all over the parking lot. Wil joyfully got back in the car thinking he had conquered his battle. Unfortunately, a mile or so down the road Wil began to cry again and with the fear of having that nasty smell and Pickle’s shit in my car I immediately pulled into a nice neighborhood. Wil jumped out of the car and ran to the nearest house’s bushes and went for round 2 of not being able to control his own bowels. Sorry to the nice family that had to encounter that in the morning.