Yesterday, I felt a big one coming on. My daily exercise must have sped up my metabolism because I was shitting as if I were a rabbit, but with the volume of a rabbit my size, 160 lbs, and the exception that the shits were not little black spheres but instead long, orangebrown, streamlined cylinders.
After meditating on it a few moments, I went to the depository to have a go. I strained mildly, this felt like a small one, and I was able to release. *Plop*
I looked down beneath my legs to examine my Fresh Kill when to my wonder I found nothing at all. No, I saw nothing but unmarked white ceramic toilet bowl. I leaned over, gaining a more obtuse angle to vantage a glance into the receptacle but I could still see no remains.
I stepped off of the loo and crouched down, peering deeper into the plumbing, shifting from right to left. There was nothing there. Was my little Deceptacon able to eel itself down the hole?
Or is it possible I did not defecate at all?
Did I take a Phantom Shit?
I swore I could have felt my anus and intestines flow the little bugger out. And, I knew I had felt my the sphincter of my rectum allow the exit and then pinch the loaf. But, my deuce was no where to be seen.
The remarkable part is that this has happened to me before. The Phantom Shit has struck previously. No, it doesn't count when you sit too far back and high up on the crapper and end up shitting against the seat, your lower back, and down your crack. That's different. I have definitely found those, just not in the bowl. Strangely, my mother often found those escapees before I did and forced me to clean them manually. (I dare ask, what is a mother really for but not too clean her child's escapees?)
A day later I am still miffed. Was my body playing a foul trick on me? Or did another little bugger slip away?
2 comments:
There seems to be a theme that is developing in your writing Bitch Killer. I wonder, is this a secret obsession? Did 2 girls 1 finger send you over the edge?
Capitol writing. Good jumping off point for the magazine. Very entertaining. Escapees!
you weird fuck. You write about your 'systems' like a third grader fishing his dookie out of the goddamn bowl...the bulk of your writing centers around your functions. You are a damn poop kid, Max. A poop kid.
I am always furious to release the sharks in airport restrooms, or other 'autoflush' locations...nothing more frustrating than turning around to admire your accomplishment and be denied, catching a little brown something from the corner of your eye, whisked away from appreciation by a quick-draw komode. Disappointing.
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