High fiber crapblogging
Ever have one on the way, and know it’s going to be a doozy? A rocket propelled crap of such volume and proportion as to leave the bowl’s porcelean etched with the imprint of it’s passing?
I had one of those. It was on it’s way. It was going to come along like a freight train, and if I didn’t hang on,I was gonna be swept along in the tide. I completely disrobed because I knew there was a shower at the end of this movement, no question.
So I plant my ass on the throne, toes clamped around the base of the john for support, leaning hard against the edge of the bathtub, prepared to grab onto the sink for support if need be.
And I loosened those special muscles, preparing myself mentally for the gates of hell itself to be unleashed. And then the noise came.
“Poit”
WHAT?????
One solitary, sturdy turd, not much bigger than a grape, had shot out and made an armstand back double-somersault with one and a half twists, and entered the water as cleanly as a knife.
And nothing else came.
I squeezed, I groaned, I lifted my right leg up over my lap and bent down to eject the rest of the movement I just knew was there, based on the gut rumbles I’d had before. What was this about? Why would I have such warning bells and whistles for one measly turd?
My disapointment knows no bounds. Now I have to drink a gallon of coffee and eat a bigass bran muffin. I will shif if it kills me- which it might.
11 comments Og | Uncategorized
Your turds are girly because you’re not eating much of anything, ya moron.
Incidentally, I’ll be walking down your road soon. Surgery… yum.
Being a singularity, the density at the center of a black hole is technically infinite. If your superintestines were able to achieve even an infinite fraction of that, your ‘grape’ may represent every morsel of food consumed during your life.
The aftereffects may provide some indication. Did it hit the water like a .50 BMG fired at a kiddy pool? Either way, throwing bran at the problem seems like an exceptionally dangerous idea.
mmmm bran. jim you make my heart atwitter in anticipation.
This post brought a tear to my eye.
Og, please don’t get too atwitter unless you’re wearing a parachute. If basic physics still applies to your condition, you’ll liable to shoot into the upper stratosphere.
I couldn’t take another hit to the blogroll since Dick left it.
Anyway, wear a parachute — something with a dragchute — cause you’re going to expirence a true Apollo-class re-entry.
This post is useless without pictures. ;>)
“Poit”!!!???!!!
Bwahahaha- that’s funny shit, right there.
I know the sound…
Ohhhh… you just wait. It’s only a matter of time. The “build up” thing, ya know.
Or, er… maybe you don’t. But you will. {Yoda} You WILL. {/Yoda}
“I will shif if it kills me – which it might.”
Great new verb. “Shif.” That’s when you take one of those craps that you thought was gonna be una mierda inmensa and instead you get one of those little anemic jobbies that hides in the back of the bowl where you can’t see it, leaving no evidence that you even took a shit.
“Shif.”
“Poit”
OK, that did it – with this post I read the belly-laugh trifecta!! First the Viewmaster, then the winmill slapping, and now the under-represented crap disappointment!!!
My cube neighbors are asking to be relocated even as I type this. I. Must. Stop. Reading.
(exits, laughing hysterically and convulsively)