So Ham, after much nagging, goes out in search for a job. Luckily the place where he'd detoured for snacks had an ad posted in the window. "Work on a Farm!" it said. "Great!" Ham thought, of course he could do that, being on a farm is practically in his genes. Not being one to read any more than absolutely necessary he took down the number and ignored the boring details.
As it turns out, working on a farm wasn't quite what he had in mind. At first he was delighted at being hired on the spot, I mean, the owner himself said "perfect" under his breath as Ham poked his head around the barn door. That must be a good reaction, right? But Ham was soon puzzled by his uniform. "Standard issue" the farmer said swiftly, brushing off Ham's concern.
No sooner had he gotten changed the farmer suddenly appeared and wrote something in marker pen on his rear. A "#1" was now written in as the batch number on his butt, but Ham couldn't quite bend that way to see. "Now get to work" the farmer said while exiting the barn "Fill 'er up". Fill what up with what Ham wasn't sure, but he was now left alone with seemingly nothing to do...
Several days and eighteen batches later it had become abundantly clear what was expected of him. This farm supplies other farms with only the finest home made fertiliser, and it's gotta be made somehow right?
Ham at gotten so good at his job in fact that the standard issue "Disposable Individually Attached Padded Excrement Receptacle" wasn't quite enough to contain his daily workload!
Business is booming.
Originally uploaded to FA 8th April '16
, messy diaper
2 years, 10 months ago
30 May 2016 12:46 CEST
Full Size: bf00332900079edb53a1d07323273bcc