Mike and I are out at a fine dining facility, to celebrate our immense victory at Savage. It was a hard fought bopper war, Scully exploded into a thousand pieces, the fans went wild, it was crazy. The fans mauled Finn, and nearly killed him, but I pulled him out of danger enough to pin him for that sweet win, and the Bopperweight Championship. Mike and I decided to go out to a fancy restaurant to celebrate, but there was a wait list, so we slept in the lobby for three days until we got a table, I survived by eating the plastic plants in the lobby, and drinking my own urine. Mike was fine, there were flies for him to eat. Finally, we were able to get a table at Applebee's. I knew exactly what I wanted to eat, but Mike needed to read over the menu, so the waiter had to come back in a few minutes.

"Sir, you can't have a lizard in here. I thought you said you wife needed a minute, but that's a lizard."

"I will not have you insulting my life partner like that. I demand to speak to your manager."

"I don't think that's needed, you''ve got a lizard here...."

I cut him off by shouting at him at this point.

"Ma'am, I will not be spoken to like this. Get me the manager, or I shall scream and cry like a baby."

The server looks at me and pauses and starts to say something. I begin to loudly cry and scream like a baby, even going so far as to shit myself in frustration. He just shakes his head, and walks off to get a manager. Or the police, I am not even remotely sure which one is gonna happen, that's always fun, and never once has it caused me to shit myself in fear. I save the self shitting for jubilicious events, bar mitzvahs, Britot, birthdays, and work luncheons, or times when I'm trying to make a point, and right now I was really trying to make a point. So, while the waiter was off fetching the manager, I dug deep into the poop in my pants, and I shoved it right back up that ass of mine, as hard and fast as I could. I was pretty much a machine at this point. It was amazing, and I probably could have won an Olympic gold medal if I wasn't banned for being three small children in a trench coat, and Groucho Marx glasses. That's right, they found out that I used to be 3 small kids in a trench coat and Groucho Marx glasses back in 1926, and it was a mess.

Honestly, I'm not even sure how I recovered from that scandal, but it blew up all over social media back in the day. Of course, this was during the Corn Cob wars, so our social media was yelling into Pigeon's mouths and throwing them at each other, but that's another story for another day. The manager comes over, right as I finish shovelling the poop right into that ass o'mine, and licking my fingers clean. She's a handsome and tall man, of about 4 foot 19 inches tall, with white eyeballs, two of them, and a nose. It was a nose used for smelling, which is good, because smelling stuff is one of life's purest pleasures. She looked at me, and I immediately let loose a torrential downpour of bowel juice. It was such a force, I fell to the side, a little and giggled. It dripped down on the bench and even onto the floor. There were twelve eggs in there, which were my dinner eggs, but obviously they're no good now.

"Corey says you wanted to see me?"

"Yes, sir I did. Your man, Becky here insulted my wife, calling her a lizard. He is a majestic dragon, and I will not be spoken to like that. He also said that I smell like rancid orange juice, which is rather insulting, as I don't drink orange juice. I demand a plate of green beans, and as many flies as you can find for my bride."

She sniffs the air, having just caught wind of my anal excretions. and not seen it yet. She must be blind, this is sad. Her fingers go up to hold her nose, and her voice changes.

"HIS name is Corey, and we don't serve animals or dragons. They're only allowed in here if they're service animals, and we ask for proof."

Aha! Mike is registered as a service Lizard, and I have the card.I keep it in my anus, so it's probably floating in the river of poo coming straight out of my delicious anal canal. I throw my hand down there and root around for it, to no avail. This slightly worries me, but not as much as it apparently has worried the manager, Clarabell.

"What exactly are you doing? You know what, no. I do not want to know. Get out, go now. If you're not out within 1 minute I will call the cops. Go"

Without a hesitation, I grabbed Mike and ran for the door, slipping and sliding in my own poo along the way. Luckily, I timed it, and got out the door in exactly 47 and a half seconds. Thus I avoided jail time, and got banned from an Applebee's. This could only signal my win for the universal championship this warfare, when I beat Detective Agency James.