I live... in a world... of poop.

It's 8:30 at night, and I've grabbed my laptop and am trying to bang out a few quick tweaks to this comedy script while my wife bathes our 3 year old son.

Before I can even get Final Draft successfully open, a scream pierces the house.

"POOOOOOOPY!"

I sprint into the bathroom. My kid's scrambling to get out of the tub, as a Baby-Ruth doppelganger floats amongst the rubber ducks and GI Joes. My wife's curled into a horrified ball on the bathroom floor.

I get the kid out, rinse him off with some CLEAN water, disinfect the tub, and put him, and my now catatonic spouse, to sleep.

At last... everyone's asleep. I can write.

I snag the laptop and sneak into my home office where I write much of the time. In that office is a cage, where "my wife and son's" rabbit lives. You'll note I put "my wife and son's" in quotes, because 3 days after raising hell that they wanted a pet rabbit, they both pretty much stopped acknowledging its existence.

So... that leaves me to clean up after it, feed it, and give it any attention. In this case, "attention" means letting it out of the cage to run around my office while I write.

So anyhow, I'm writing. Doing ok and making some progress, so I decide to take a break and grab a soda.

Push back my chair, stand up, and experience an odd crunch/squish under my feet. I glance down and realize I'm in the middle of a rabbit crap minefield. Little pellets are EVERYWHERE. I wonder what in God's name he's eaten to have pushed out what looks like an entire boxfull of coco puffs all over my office carpet. And trying to get out of the room's like playing a real life game of minesweeper. Trying to clear a path through the field of alfalfa marbles.

But I grab my laptop and negotiate my way free of the dung-maze. "Screw it," I think to myself. I'll go downstairs, finish writing, and then come up and sweep up all the bunny droppings. Its not like they really stink, or stain or anything. I do have the presence of mind to toss the Rabbit, and his overactive ass, back into his cage, at least.

So I'm going down the stairs, and what do I see at the landing?

Two giant dog turds.

By now, you have to think I'm exaggerating or joking, but I swear to you that it was just one pile of feces after another last night. Everywhere I turned.

So I clean up the crap left by my decrepit old dog, who's bowels are so cobweb-ridden that the strain of climbing the stairs can result in an unexpected (and usually unrealized) dump.

I clean up the crap left by my insolent, unloved rabbit, who's apparently eaten a supersized McDonald's value meal and passed it onto my office rug.

I plop down on my couch, open the laptop, and stare at what I've written.

And then I close it and go straight to bed.

I can only be responsible for so much crap in one 24 hour period.

--- Charlie

Keywords: b movie, Siege, screenwriting, screenplay, scriptwriter, script, movies, b movie writers,poop, Charlie Flint,