In 1970, in an act that would define him for generations to come, Milton Metfesser, with a crowd of fellow teenage boys swarmed around him, drank a glass of milk with a piece of shit in it. Tripping on acid, the whole group had just gotten in a bidding war about the gross things each of them would do for money after reading in High Times that Jimi Hendrix had sucked a slushie out of Grace Slick’s crotch on a dare. The things each of them would do got grosser while the price for which they would do them shrank, until Milton sat back and said, “Hell, I’d eat a piece of shit for five dollars!” Wayne Martin, the leader of the crowd by virtue of being the supplier of their drugs, took him up on that bet, and Buster Wisdom told him he would supply the shit. Milton Metfesser left Lawrence shortly thereafter, and when he’s mentioned now it’s usually as The Shit-Eater. The Milton Metfesser Story has been told and retold to me by Wayne Martin and Buster Wisdom so many times that I can tell it as well as they can. Now, when our Chihuahua eats its own shit to prevent us from finding it, I think of Milton Metfesser. Milton Metfesser is not his real name.
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