The most horrible morning
I have a story to tell you.
It's not a happy story. In fact, it's rather sad.
It began after a night's sleep that was both good and bad. Good, because I dreamt that I had met the "Woman of My Dreams" (what a coincidence). It was a nice dream because our "relationship" was pervaded with the sense that She Understood Me, and of course there was a steamy sex scene. The night's sleep was also bad, however, because I kept waking up with a rumbling in my tummy and sleepy cramps.
Eventually I got up earlier than I normally would have, due to the sheer discomfort of my sleep. (Of course, by this time, my Woman of My Dreams dream had ended.) I did the usual morning routine: turned on the radio, rubbed my eyes excessively, looked out the window for awhile.
Then I noticed that it was 8:15. If I hurried a little bit, I would be able to make it to breakfast before it ended at 8:30.
When I got up to put on a shirt, however, a felt the need to fart. So I farted. Only when I farted it didn't sound like my farts usually sound. It sounded...juicy. I stood still for a moment processing what had just happened.
Then I realized I had pooped my pants.
You have to understand that this is something that doesn't usually happen to me. I'm usually a very clean person. It's not that I'm scared of dirt or anything; I don't mind dirt at all. But I hate poop. It makes me slightly upset when poop is not where it belongs. In this case, it was on my butt and inside my boxers. And that is not okay at all.
Needless to say, I didn't make it to breakfast on time. In fact, I spent the next half hour cleaning and re-cleaning my ass to make sure I got all the poo off. It wasn't pleasant but eventually, with the aid of a hand-held shower head, I got the job done.
And now I'm sitting here, ass squeaky-clean, recovering from the mental trauma of having pooped my pants as a 21-year-old man. I have a feeling my day is going to be a bit off.
But I think I'll make it, as long as I know I did not soil myself in vain. So all you non-pants-poopers out there who might chance to arrive at my words, know this: if your tummy hurts in the morning, think twice before letting one rip.
3 Comments:
Since this morning, I have been informed that what happened to me is actually called a "shart"--combination of shit and fart.
My diahrrea has also progressed further than I even knew it could, giving an entirely new meaning to the term "butt pee."
I'm becoming more convinced that I ate something very wrong...if only I knew what...
The thing is, if you've already got poo on your face (and if it really was a wet one, it's probably in your hair and elsewhere), there's not going to be any way to effectively clean that up without a full-on shower.
So, in my opinion, the best practice would be to yank up the pants and confront the crap-catapulter on neutral territory, the bathroom floor, being certain to wipe as much poo on him or her as possible.
Then again, I have much lower standards of self-image than the "average joe," so the idea of appearing in public with poo on my face isn't necessarily that bad as long as I view it as a necessity. I guess it's a pretty personal dilemma, which certainly the most perplexing kind.
Now that I re-read this, I feel almost certain that some villain must have intentionally poisoned me. I have never since had such bad butt-pee. Let me offer a reward of a punch in the face to whomever can provide me with information leading to an arrest.
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