The other
day started out like most others…I woke up and took a shit. I have a very
regular cycle when it comes to making a doody, and although the consistency and
volume of my dumps may vary, you can pretty much set your watch to their occurrence.
This particular morning, however, started a day that would go down in the
annals of shit history. After I was done with my relatively moist, but mostly
normal morning movement, I reached over for some TP…fuck.
I manage a
retail store, and in my position I’m in charge of ordering supplies for my
establishment. On a normal basis, I order two 12 packs of toilet paper every
week and take ONE home. Why do I go through so much at work AND at home? Well,
at work, that much toilet paper gets used because I went and hired 2 fat chicks
who shit more than a Taco Bell sponsored football team. I use that much at home
because I like to be thorough down there AND because my dog thinks that TP is a
toy. She’s even figured out how to open the cabinet under my bathroom sink by
smacking it with her paw until the door bounces back open, and then rifling
through my ass towels like she’s searching for something in a Watergate hotel
room.
Because I’m
such a fucking scatterbrain, I forgot to order my latest batch of butt napkins.
So there I sat, with no TP. In my head, I ran through the list of OTHER things
people will use when they find themselves in this situation, but I STILL came
up empty. I didn’t have any paper towels, there were no napkins from last
night’s takeout order, I don’t use tissues, I had no notebook paper, and I
didn’t even have a fucking bottle of aspirin with cotton at the top I could
use. Thank god I have a removable shower head. Usually I ONLY use this devise
to gently massage my balls with warm water while I masturbate in the shower,
but this time I hobbled into the bathtub, squatted down, and shot a warm burst
of cleanliness right up my pooper. AND, since I was down there anyway, I tossed
one off for good measure before I went out to start my day.
I drove to my
job in shitty stop and go traffic, I did the morning paperwork, I listened in on
a mind numbing conference call for 40 minutes, and then I sat in the back room
and played ‘Bloons on the computer for most of the day to avoid customers. The
only time I would go out onto the sales floor was when my employee had to take
a 40 minute shit.
This
particular employee is just about one of the most customer friendly individuals
a manager could ask to have working for him. She’s patient and kind with
everyone who comes into my store, and since she’s worked for me for nearly 3
years now, I almost consider her a sister. My ONLY problem with her is that she
takes 40 minute shits at least 3 times in a 6 hour shift. Most women like to
make you believe that they NEVER shit. Not this one. She’s SO big, that her
dumps are immediately proportionate to whatever she just shoved into her
festering gob. If she eats a tic tac? 30 seconds later she makes a shit the
size of a tick tack.
To me it’s
all very scientific. It reminds me of the Principle of Mass/Matter
Conservation, which states: mass cannot
be created or destroyed, although it may be rearranged in space, and changed
into different types of particles. This implies that for any chemical process
in a closed system, in this case my employee’s colon, the mass of the reactants
must equal the mass of the products. It’s almost as if her body takes NO
nutrients from the food she shovels into her mouth, which comes as no surprise
to me because I’ve seen her snack on fucking crayons. As much as I may love her
as a person, she realizes that the price she has to pay for being that big is
that I’m going to point it out from time to time.
Anyway, this
story isn’t about HER shit, it’s about mine, so let’s get back to it.
Before I
left work that day, I made sure to grab a few rolls of Cottonelle for the next
morning’s sabbatical. As I drove home in the shitty traffic of a Monday on
Harlem Avenue, I did something impulsive and incredibly stupid. Because I was
hitting the brake, and then the gas intermittently for about an hour, my
fucking leg started to hurt. Plus I had to piss the length of the golden gate
bridge. Up in the distance, I could see a sign that was not only inviting, but
captivated my growing hunger as well. A sanctuary that would let me rest my
tired leg, let me shoot out a relieving stream of hot urine, and while I was
there? Hell, I may as well grab some dinner: White Castle.
I haven’t
had a white castle hamburger in many years, mostly because I know the price one
has to pay for eating that crap. You see, I found out that all fast food places
have a certain amount of laxative in their recipes. The corporation’s thinking
behind this is that you will shit sooner, which will empty your stomach and
make you hungry again, and then you’ll buy more of their food. It’s the same
reason that they have so much salt in their food; because you’ll get thirsty
and buy more pop from them. AND why the straws are so wide you could drive a
fucking monster truck through them; you’ll suck that shit down before you know
it, and be ready for another one.
I don’t like
corporations patronizing me with their conspiracy riddled menus, so I rarely
eat that crap. Don’t get me wrong, I eat SHIT, I just don’t eat THEIR shit.
This particular day however, I ignored my usual fast food boycott, and got a
sack of ten cheeseburgers.
When I got
home, I took my dog out for a nice grass poop, cleaned my kitchen, and then sat
down to watch the previous evening’s television offerings with dinner. I
usually don’t watch shows as they air, but I download them while I’m at work
the day after, and then watch them when I get home. This saves me from having
to pay for stations like HBO and Showtime. I prepared my evening meal by
arranging the White Castle hamburgers in a neat circle on a plate, and then I
put hot sauce on each one. I sat down in the living room, turned on True Blood,
and began to shovel food in my mouth while hoping that I would see Anna
Paquin’s titties in this episode.
I got THREE
hamburgers in, when I felt a massive discomfort in my belly. I sat back on the
couch with a concerned look on my face as sounds of churning question marks
filled the air around me.
UUUUUUUURRR?
EEEEEEEERW? OHHHOOOOOOOWR? My dog, lying on the couch next to me, snapped her
head up and tilted it to one side. Her right ear sprang to attention and she
stared at my belly, half offended, and half shocked. There was a rumbly in my
tumbly, and much like Pooh Bear after eating too much honey…I had to GO!
I felt a
sudden sense of pressure building up on my sphincter, and while sitting on the
couch still, I immediately clenched my cheeks together and squeezed my asshole
shut. Going to the bathroom during this kind of ass urgency has to be timed
JUST right. The initial build up has to be held in until it subsides a tiny
bit, allowing you to get up and do that march to the bathroom where you don’t
bend your knees, but you move as fast as you can.
As I waited
for the first round of pressure to relax, I had just enough time to ponder
‘what the fuck is going on here?’ I wasn’t sick, I hadn’t eaten anything all
day, and I NEVER shit after noon. Finally the buildup subsided just enough to
allow me to stand, but as I made my first steps toward the bathroom, the
urgency came back and I shuffled along the carpet as quickly as I could while
holding my ass cheeks together with enough force to pulverize a diamond.
This was no
ordinary wave of a needed release, so understanding the stakes of what was
about to happen, I pulled down my pants and underwear as I marched. I knew that
time was short. My stomach was making that sound still, and I could feel pain
right behind my pubic bone. I cornered the entrance to the bathroom, and
slammed my ass down on the toilet seat JUST as the lit fuse hit the dynamite.
I was
expecting an explosion; however, what happened felt more like the slow release
of a baby through a birth canal. I could feel something cresting my chocolate
starfish. It was big, and it wanted out, so I pushed with all my might. The
cords in my neck popped out, I noshed my teeth together, and strained like a
bodybuilder lifting a car over his head. My face looked like David Banner as he
turns into the Hulk.
As this
planet came out of the universe of my colon, I could hear the sounds of trapped
air being released from pockets imbedded deep inside of its mass. PFFFFFFFFT!
PFFFFFFT! PFFFFFFT! It sounded like hundreds of silenced pistols being shot off
at once.
It felt as though I were passing a watermelon,
and as it reached the bell curve of its circumference, I could only sit there
and be relieved that my asshole didn’t tear.
As the bottom half of this massive load came out, and I tried to relax
my holiest of wholies, my annular muscle went against me and decided to clench
up instead. It guillotined the beast at the head, and the ensuing splash
sounded like Ted Kennedy’s car dropping into the water. Why doesn’t the poo
wreath act in accordance with our wishes?
I knew that
I would have to wipe the remnants of this cannonball, out of my chaplet for the
next hour or so. But now that the damage was done, I leaned back against the
cold porcelain of my toilet, wiped the sweat from my brow, and tried to catch
my breath. It was over, or so I thought.
As I sat
there breathing deeply, my body limp and relaxed, the dog came prancing into
the bathroom without a care in the world. She walked up to me, sniffed around,
and then lay on the tile floor and put her paws over her face. Just as I
started to laugh and reach for the toilet paper…Round two hit me.
The sound,
once again, came first. Followed by the discomfort. I grabbed my stomach in
pain, and leaned forward. I could FEEL things moving DOWN inside of me, and the
pressure against my winking corona was building. I pushed with all of my might
to get this satanic mass out of my body, and the eruption that followed was
biblical in its proportions.
My asshole had
cut off the first chunk, and left part of it lodged in the back door of my
poopenshaft. The volatile nature of the churning ass lava behind it turned it
into the cork on a violently shaken champagne bottle. As I pushed with all my
might, the cork POPPED and a frothy carbonated liquid mess came shooting out of
me like an upside down ‘old faithful’. It was like when you were a kid, and
you’d drop an entire pack of ‘Mentos’ into a 2 liter of Coke.
I could hear
the spray hitting the back of the porcelain inside of the toilet bowl, and it
sounded like someone had pointed a garden hose at a brick wall, put their thumb
over the opening, and turned the nozzle to full blast. My dog shot out of the
bathroom with her tail between her legs, and I could hear her whimpering from
under my bed in the next room.
My back was
almost completely horizontal now, as I leaned forward, putting most of my
weight on my toes and hovered a quarter of an inch above the seat. The stream
continued, and I began to fear that I would shit myself inside out.
Finally the
wave subsided and I sat back down on the toilet seat. Directly in front of my
toilet is a metal towel rack with 4 shelves made of wire grids. Without knowing
I had done it, I had put my fingers through those grids, and squeezed so tight,
that they were now broken and mangled.
The smell
that came wafting up from underneath me as I sat up can only be described as
horrific. It was as if a filthy goat had eaten old leather, pickle juice, and
rotted fish, then threw it up, ate it again, and then shit it out a week later.
I took the
roll of TP off of the dispenser because I knew that I would need ready access
to it. The backsplash from the spray of shit hitting the inside of the bowl
meant that I had a shit ring in the shape of the toilet seat opening,
completely covering my under carriage. I wiped furiously and quickly until all
that was left was my asshole itself. I wrapped paper around my finger, and
began cleaning as deep inside as I dared to go without being gay. Then round 3
came.
This one was
completely different. There was no pressure build up, there was no warning. Seemingly
from out of nowhere, a thick paste of poo came pouring out of my ass like a
Snoopy Snow Cone Machine. It had the consistency of hot caramel being poured
from a can, and as I looked between my legs, I could see it folding into neat,
one inch long squares as it hit the previous shits. It just kept pouring out of
me in a continuous, unbroken flow.
This one
didn’t hurt, so much as it burned. It was like lava flowing down the side of a
mountain. What the fuck could I have eaten to have induced this kind of
combustible ass juice? It felt as though I was shitting Tobasco sauce. The
burning pain lingered as the flow began to ebb, and I seriously considered
going into my freezer, grabbing a Popsicle, and shoving it up my ass to relieve
this sensation.
The smell of
violence and hatred permeated the air. Like the gun oil from the rifle that
assassinated Martin Luther King mixed with angry mosh pit body odor, smoke from
the ovens of Dachau, hospital dumpsters, and gassy bloated dead bodies washed
up on a beach.
I had to get
out of that bathroom or I would drive myself crazy. I didn’t even bother to
wipe, I squatted down in the shower as I had done earlier in the day, and
sprayed my ass clean with the removable shower head.
As I went to
leave the bathroom, I looked down at the mess inside of my toilet bowl. I
forgot to flush. What I saw filled me with horror and wonder. It looked like
the Trash Heap from ‘Fraggle Rock’. There was no water. It seemed as though my
shit had absorbed all the moisture in the bowl. What was in there looked like
the kind of river mud you get your boot stuck in when you’re dumping a body in
the rain. And right in the middle of this turbulent mess, sat my initial turd.
It looked like a bowling ball covered in chocolate cake icing. Moss had started to grow over it, and vines
were slowly creeping their way up to the rim. What came out of my body was
forming a new eco system. My ass was like the Genesis Device from ‘Star Trek
2’, it was creating life, from lifelessness. Does that make my ass a god?
I grabbed
the plunger because I knew that I would have to fight this one, and pushed down
the handle. Water began to cover the top of my mess as it came pouring down
from the inside of the bowl. I took the plunger in both hands, and leaned in
for some labor. I was afraid that a plunger wouldn’t be enough. I might need a back
hoe or a diamond tipped drill bit for this. But before I could even stick the
plunger in, an ominous moan came from the depths of my toilet. It sounded as if
Satan were making that moan through the very pipes of my building. The moan
drew nearer, and a large bubble began to form over the top of my disgusting ass
goo. It grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger, as the sound of the moan rose:
‘MMMMMMMWWWWAAAAAAAAAA’. Finally and suddenly the bubble burst, like a deep
breathy exhale. Tiny droplets of shit went flying from my toilet and landed on
me, the walls, the floor, even reaching the bathroom mirror over my sink. The
shit slowly slid down the sides of the bowl, and gurgled into the hole at the
bottom, leaving streaks of butt mud half way up to where the water level rose.
Beyond that point, above the water, where my second round had splattered on the
porcelain, were stalactites of shit dangling precariously like a cave ceiling
where gravity has no meaning.
I took
another shower, and then cleaned my bathroom from top to bottom like a murderer
cleaning the scene of the crime. As I went to the door to leave, I took one
final look behind me and hung my head. The last two hours may have been the
most harrowing experience I’d ever spent in a John, and leaving it was like
leaving an old friend. I had to forget about what just happened and go on with
my life as though everything were normal. But it wasn’t…it never would be
again. I had experienced something bigger than myself, something that was
disgusting and yet profound in its beauty.
I threw out
the other seven White Castle hamburgers and made a vow to never eat there
again. I still can’t fathom the physics behind the fact that I only ate 3
burgers, yet shit out 37 burgers worth of poop. I never understood those guys
who take 40 minutes in the bathroom. They bring a magazine or a book in there
with them like they’re going to go lay out on a beach. Normally, I feel the
tug, I shit, I wipe, and I’m gone. But NOW I understand it a little better, but
if they’re wrestling a shit EVERY time, like I did just that once…I think we might
have a serious problem in this country.
Life has
pretty much gone back to normal for me since that afternoon. My dog stays away
from the bathroom now, but other than that things have drifted back into place.
I try not to dwell on that day, but sometimes when the dog makes a steaming
pile of carpet cigars, or I see the pile of Triceratops poop in ‘Jurassic
Park’, or when I go bowling with my friends…I’ll have ‘Nam-style flashbacks of
that event.
I don’t know
if I’ll ever truly be able to forget that day, and my eating habits haven’t
changed a bit. But one thing I know for certain is this: I haven’t learned a god-damned
thing from this experience.
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| Elvis' Death Certificate; Cause of Death: Impacted Colon |
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