I was outside having cigarette at work when my coworker asked me what had happened to my arm. Huh? I looked down and saw two or three dark, ominous-looking splotches that I couldn't immediately identify. So of course I shrieked as though I were being chased by rabid leopards and started slapping frantically at them.
The resultant sticky ooze told me I had just smeared birdshit all over my arms.
Well, bleah, but of course it was birdshit. The benches in the smoking area are always at least a little shitty, and what the hell did I think those blotches were to elicit such a disproportionate reaction? Rapid-onset melanoma? Leeches?
Well, it wasn't as serious as all that, but it was extremely disgusting. I went inside to scour my arm up to the elbow for a while.
When I came back out, I treated myself to another cigarette, and that's when my coworker Larry called me Joolie Poo-lie. You need a timely, clever, and hopefully very short-lived nickname? Go see Larry. Tell him Ol' Poopy Arms sent you.