The reptard is constipated.

Actually, scratch that. The reptard used to be constipated. He isn’t any more.

I’m getting ahead of myself. Suffice to say that the reptard had an issue with not being able to poo and we’ll go from there.

Crud, I said I wasn’t going to call him “reptard” anymore, didn’t I? Fine, his name is Spiky, because, you know, he has spikes. That, and he was named by a six-year-old.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. The reptard… fuck! I mean Spiky, couldn’t shit. He didn’t shit for about two weeks because the dumbass little bastard wasn’t eating his vegetables anymore. All he was eating was the wormerpillars. We stopped buying him fucking crickets a few months ago because they were such a nightmare and he loves those worm-things so damn much that it just made sense to stick with them all the time. Well, one exception is that a few weeks ago we celebrated Spiky’s second birthday by getting him some crickets as a treat, but that was it.

Yes, you read that correctly. We had a birthday party for him, and we bought him a present, and we sang him happy birthday. Welcome to my life.

Geez, this freakin’ story just keeps going off into the rhubarb, doesn’t it? Let’s finally try and get it back on track, with “on track” meaning a bearded dragon who can’t shit.

So, other than his birthday crickets, Spiky had eaten nothing but wormerpillars for about a month. We gave him his usual frozen mixed veggies everyday but he just ignored them, then he’d trample through them and kick them around his cage, then they’d rot, then they’d start to stink, and then I’d start to hate the little fucker all over again.

Have you ever noticed that my reptard stories contain considerably more profanity than the rest of my blog posts?

I guess it was a trade-off, because while his cage had rotting vegetables, what it didn’t have was shit. Let this be a lesson to any of you low-carb advocates out there. A low-carb diet is not only a massive failure from a sustained weight-loss perspective, but it makes you get all backed up with poo as well.

He got so constipated that he wouldn’t even eat his wormerpillars anymore. We put them in a plastic dish and usually he is so voracious that he leaps onto the dish and sends the little buggers flying everywhere and then he stalks them around the cage on a seek and destroy mission like Kirsty Alley going to town on a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips. Last weekend we gave him eight worms, but he only ate three of them, then he just sniffed at the others and let them be.

My daughter was crying because he was getting so fat from not shitting, and now he was not eating, so she was worried he was going to die. I had a perverted image in my head of him exploding and blowing reptard guts and digested wormerpillars all over the inside of his cage.

“Please eat, Spiky,” my daughter said.

“Yeah, Spiky” I added in a French accent. “It’s wafer thin.” Then my wife punched me. She never did like Monty Python.

Even though Spiky wasn’t eating his veggies, we kept giving them to him in the hopes that he would eat. In the past he had munched them down, eating everything except the lima beans, which made me think he might not be so reptarded after all because lima beans are just gross, but now he just ignored all of it. A few days ago we ran out of his frozen veggies and my daughter decided to make Spiky a nice little salad.

In other words, she took a handful of my expensive, organic, pre-washed mixed greens and gave him that.

Well, Spiky chomped it all right down, so we gave him more, and he chomped that down too.

The next day was an Armageddon of reptilian excrement.

Seriously, I never put any faith in cleanses as a legitimate weight loss treatment, but there might actually be something to it because Spiky looked downright anorexic. Oh, and there was a gigantic pile of shit in the middle of his cage. Not only that, but emptying things out perked Spiky right up, because he was dancing about his cage, running to and fro. In the process, he trampled through his poo and smeared it everywhere.

Apparently I’m the only one in the family who doesn’t have a powerful gag reflex, so guess who cleaned it up?

Anyway, Spiky is all better now.

The moral of the story, boys and girls, is to eat your vegetables, because if you don’t then you might explode, and I’m not going to be the one to clean up the mess you leave behind.