Re: Foods Your Bowels Dont Want
Date: November 26, 2013 02:26PM
I'll never forget Thanksgiving 1985, Aunt Alice and Uncle Sylvesters house.
After dinner, we all gathered around the television to watch the game between the New York Jets and the Detroit Lions.
Suddenly, I was besieged by a bowel bulging that snapped the buttons on my jeans and browned my BVD's.
With all the nonchalance I could muster I waddled to the bathroom, which thankfully was unoccupied.
Even though the extremely hard, dry stool had bypassed the usually dependale Schphinkter muscle , like the iceberg that sunk the Titanic, it was only partially visable.
The tapered end of the stool had sullied my shorts, but the lions share was still moving with agonizing lack of momentum.
Now, the beer drinkers were pounding on the door, demanding potty time for their own relief, oblivious to the fact that I was attempting to extradite a turd the length and width of a rugby ball.
Spurred on by the frantic pleas of the impatient pissers, and my own embarrassment, I called upon my Schphinkter to perform above and beyond the call of normal human duty.
Fueled by adrenaline and the horror of impending discovery, I pushed with such force and gusto that I felt consciousness begin to slip away.
Then with one last final heave, the gargantuan log finally unjammed and cascaded into the water, much like a rockets reentry into the earths atmosphere and the ocean. What a splash!
Oh, and the pain! Pushing a large object through such a small orifice with leave you with more than a benign injury, I'll tell you that!
Well, I devised an ass napkin from toilet paper to stem the flow of shit caked blood , threw my god forsaken underpants out the window, and walked out of the bathroom, seemingly unaffected.
It took all my will to last out the evening, and I believed that I had gone through the ordeal undetected. I was wrong.
Turns out the criminally massive movement was so dry and large it damaged the plumbing; it did not take rocket science to trail back to the offending turd, and its creator.
Needless to say, Aunt Alice and Uncle Sylvesters holiday invitations abrubtly ceased. Eventually any and all invitations to any gathering..holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, weddings and funerals were conspicuous by their absence.
My name is BEH, and I suffer from IBS.