Self Mock #6: Really Big Poo

It’s all bullshit.  Seriously.  A guy can hardly swing a dead cat these days without hitting some story about how the human body is some amazing freaking machine.  In fact, when I googled the phrase, “The human body is an amazing machine.”  I got 24,300 results…everything from some kid that claims he played Hal0 2 for 27 hours straight and only went to the bathroom three times to that scientist that’s always claiming that the brain can perform thousands of functions simultaneously. If I ever run into that guy, I’m going to ask him why my body is capable of performing these thousands of functions, but when it comes to poo, it can’t seem to keep from attempting to pass something the size and consistency of your average brick through something that’s roughly the diameter of a walnut.

He’s  extremely likely to give me some condescending lecture about my “food choices” and my “lifestyle”, but I know that’s a load of bunk.  I would happily trade in a few hundred brain functions if my internal control panel could somehow recall the total elastic capacity of my interior sphincter before the waste reaches my rectum.  I know it’s an unpleasant subject, but what can I say?  Today’s a day for unpleasant subjects, I guess.

So anyway, I was getting ready to go into class tonight when I felt my stomach grumble a little bit.  I decided to “sit down and think” for a couple of minutes before class so I might have a couple of new places to store all this new knowledge.  I got down to business and after a couple of unremarkable events, something gigantic slammed into the “exit door” like so many William “the Refrigerator” Perrys slamming into the backs of the 1985 Bears’ offensive linemen.  The pain as my skin began to stretch to homosexual proportions caused me to jump a little bit as I tried to remember exactly when I had eaten a cue ball.  I thought about all the beer and coffee that I’d had in the past few days and figured I should have been fine.  Then I remembered the pizza from last night…oh sweet merciful Jesus…all that cheese.

It was like I was attempting to move some extra large couch into a dorm room by myself.  I was halfway in and I couldn’t figure out how to get through the door and I also could no longer figure out how to abort the mission and get back where I came from.  I suddenly thought of my great-grandmother who always said that, “God never gives you more than you can handle.”  I quickly decided that, despite the fact that this is probably not what she meant,  gramma’s advice had  proven to be technically incorrect.

I thought that I could probably push it through, but I knew that it would hurt like a bitch.  I was also considering various scenarios that I might use to explain away the ass-blood on my khakis and my inability to walk properly.  Some of these people were mere months away from being referred to as “doctor”, they certainly weren’t going to buy some cockamamie ass-blood fairy tale.

I considered taking my briefcase off the hook on the back of the door where I had hung it before I sat down to do my business and taking out a pen with which I might perform an emergency episiotomy.  Unfortunately, I had too many ribs that prevented me from bending into the required position for such a procedure.  I also lacked the necessary mirror, which would have probably put me into therapy if I had seen the torture that my “amazing machine” of a body was putting me through.

Like John Holmes on prom night, I went very slowly and coaxed the gigantism-inflicted waste out of my body –  centimeter by painful centimeter.  I hobbled on to class swearing that I would never eat cheese pizza again.

Other Items of Interest

Fuck You Carl!
Major Retailers Guilty of Humiliating the Abundant
The Name-Dropping Network Specialist
Rules for Self-Checkout at the Grocery Store