Thirsty Thursday. Time for a good old-fashioned bro-nanza at the bar. We're walking to the Ale 'n Wich, our neighborhood bar, when Mark stops us.
"I may have pooped in my pants."
"What?!" Anthony asks.
"I'm going to check at the bar," Mark replies.
"Don't you want to go home and check?" I ask.
"No, I'll wait to go to the bar."
When we reached the bar, Anthony went to buy a pitcher, I saved us a spot at the table, and Mark made a beeline for the bathroom.
"Everything's alright," he assured us after he came out. "No poop."
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