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.
Above the towel rack in my bathroom, a picture of Elvis hangs on the wall in remembrance of a man who rose to the heights of adoration, only to die on the toilet. I put it there to remind me to stay humble, and to never get too narcissistic. Seeing that picture now made me think that maybe THIS is what Elvis experienced as he sat on that bowl in a hotel room, minutes before his colon finally exploded from the buildup caused by 12 pounds of undigested meat, killing him painfully. Is this what Elvis’ bathroom smelled like at the end? Were these pains in my stomach the same pains that The King experienced? I don’t eat fried peanut butter and ‘nana sammiches, NOR do I take Phenobarbital, but is my diet any better?
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.