Sitting on his green couch the other night, Blogging Boner noticed some stuff in his belly button that wasn’t supposed to be there. So he carefully dug it out.

Of course, afterwards, he had to smell his finger.

Ever notice that belly button funk smells just like toe jam and that goop that gets stuck in your pierced ear hole? Blogging Boner isn’t really concerned, though, about how a person can find this one-of-a-kind smell in more than one place. Nor is he curious about his body’s unique fermenting process that produces this natural pheromone.

He really wants to uncover the fascination with smelling his finger each time he ventures into one of these dark bodily caverns.

It doesn’t exactly smell like a southern barbeque.

Nonetheless, it never stops him from putting his finger to his nose after taking a swipe. If you smell someone else’s – even your partner’s – it can put you off.

But Blogging Boner’s smells … interesting?

He’s not alone. It’s one of those universal quirks of human nature that virtually everyone does, but just never really talks about unless you’ve got a bottle of wine – or its equivalent – sitting sweetly in your tummy. Kind of like looking in the toilet bowl – or at the toilet paper – after you’ve worked overtime on the can to see what your intestines have created this time.

Sometimes Blogging Boner thinks about what he ate the night before, and tries to guess the color. It makes pooping fun.

Anywho, one day Blogging Boner is going to bottle this funk … like fart spray. It hasn’t gotten nearly the respect it deserves despite the unheralded – albeit unspoken – role it plays in today’s society. Tell me that won’t make a million bucks.

You would totally smell it.

There he was. Sitting all alone on a big long pine bench. The poor fella must’ve been abandoned by his owner.

It wasn’t an abused puppy or a Russian orphan. Rather, a dark, oblong dingleberry hanging out in the locker room.

Blogging Boner literally did a triple take just to make sure his eyes were not playing tricks. But it wasn’t a mistake, it was indeed a bona fide dingleberry sitting all alone on a big long pine bench.

Blogging Boner has seen a lot of weird things at the gym. The dingleberry, though, tops the list. For years now, Blogging Boner has thought about delving into the bizarre sociological phenomenon that is male gym locker room behavior.

Where else in America, besides a nudist colony, do heterosexual grown men find it normal — and necessary — to talk to one another … naked. We’re not talking about Ronnie Coleman’s here. The demographic profile is traditionally white male, over 50, out-of-shape, excessive body hair, small dick.

Yeah, you can’t not look sometimes. As hard as you try.

Anywho, back to the dingleberry sitting all alone on a big long pine bench. Check out this great definition from the Urban Dictionary:

A delinquent partial turd that grasps anal shrubery causing brownish crust to accumulate in ones boxers.

CLASSIC sentence usage:

My wife tells me that I need to wipe my ass better because my dingleberries are making my underwear a nasty mess, however, I like the idea of her down in the basement doing laundry and cleaning up my foul nasty underwear.

That’s great stuff.

Two things really intrigue Blogging Boner about his locker room turd encounter:

1. The dingleberry must’ve been there for sometime. Blogging Boner can’t be the only person to have seen it. What did other people think? Is anyone else talking or blogging about the dingleberry sitting all alone on a big long pine bench?

2. Was the dingleberry just a casuality of hairy grown naked men spending way too much time talking about how much it sucks to have Diabetes and high blood pressure? Or, was it purposely plucked and planted there so the world could ponder its existence?

Such a small fuzzy dingleberry. So many infinite questions.

Blogging Boner thought — for a nanosecond — about doing something about the dingleberry. But he didn’t, because he thought that maybe, by some grace of God, some other naked freak would use a nearby locker, get engrossed in conversation, and possibly step-in — or sit on — that dingleberry sitting all alone on a big long pine bench.

Wouldn’t that just be total locker room karma for all the normal gym-going folks everywhere? Or, maybe that’s just way too weird.

Weirder than a dingleberry sitting all alone on a big long pine bench.