1. Staring at the similarities of the tile under my feet, I come to the realization that I haven't done anything but force gas out. As my legs begin to become, completely asleep I feel a glimmer of hope. My bowels shift. I pull a leg up. Then the other. My feet are now on the toilet seat. Prepared for lift off. Now, I'm not someone who is easily impressed by poops but what transpired next was nothing short of amazing. I finish and look (as I usually do) and see that its my white snow mobile Batman toy from 1994. Batman action figure and snow mobile both in tact. So naturally I reach in to get it. Heres where it gets weird, turns out it was a Superman toy, not my Batman one I thought it was. But I never owned a Superman toy. So now I'm on hold with the producers of X-Files.
2. As the viscous fluid trickled slowly from its storage, I notice a squirrel peering in at me from the window above the bath tub. I try to initiate small talk in an attempt to defuse the awkwardness of our eyes meeting while I am doing my business. But before I could do let a word out, my other end decides to speak first. Having only broken the sound barrier on only one other occasion, it is safe to say this was about double that. Give or take a few decibels. After wiping for what seems like the length of any of the 3 Lord of the rings movies (take your pick as to which 1 of the 3) I flush my trophy, leaving only the fond memory of the way it jutted out of the water and swirled to meet its friends and family.
3. Apparently the food I ate yesterday was the perfect combination to induce laxative like effects on my colon. I'm almost positive the poop to toilet water ratio in my toilet right now is drastically uneven, leaning more towards a heavily poop saturated mixture. In my heart of hearts I know this is going to take a lot of precision wiping. Not too soft or I'll miss some, not too hard or I'll poke a finger through and end up with a brown finger diagnosis. I look to the left, empty roll. I look to the right for good measure, with a small amount of hope. Nothing. Having descended from hunter gathers I knew what I had to do. Let my instincts take control, and guide me through the task at hand (or the task at anus, however you want to look at it). The cabinet is within arms length. Note to self: call, set up a meeting with, and personally thank designers of bathroom for having me in mind during their blueprinting.
4. I typically can sit through any smell. I frequently try and sit next to the unwashed, greasy, Columbine type on the bus as a challenge to myself, sort of like when Asian people put small octopi (plural of octopus?) in their respective partner/drunk friend/grandmother's vagina to bring honor to their family. Needless to say I can handle a wide array of odors, but the shit I just took had me running out of the bathroom, and judging by the poop on my carpet I wasn't finished shitting when I started my sprint.
5. In a familiar near Christmas situation again, my legs nearly dangle. Why the hell is my mom's toilet so tall? As my legs fall asleep and the cold tile floor makes my nipples hard, the floor doubles not only as a brisk nipple hardener but also some kind of ancient tool to increase the scarcity of shit. The first little love nugget makes its daring leap from colon to water, but strangely enough only after I put both feet on the toilet seat. A healthy sized Three Musketeer's bar works its way out of the exit, only to cut itself into its fun size counterpart the second my left foot grazes the tile floor. Convinced there is a myth in the making I call Grant Imahara from Myth Busters. He confirms it, and Asians are a George Washington race, they are incapable of lying. I put my left foot back onto the toilet seat and instantly shit double my body weight in what looks like oatmeal. A great day so far :D
6. Hunched over like a popular Notre Dome myth involving a bell tower I push. With my ass. I've been sitting here, toes curled, trying to exercise the Emily Rose of turds for awhile now to no avail. Finally one good push sends her on her way. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stand to see the face of this beast when I notice a red tint. Blood. Maybe I pushed too frantically for my own good, too late now though. I peer into the bowl, past the oxygenated red blood and to the attention grabber. It has a few brown hairs and a familiar unconscious stare. It looks about 32 years old, but well maintained. This is when I realized I just shit the late Brittany Murphy. I get close, my nose within centimeters of her and begin to cry. My tears chipping away at her soft exterior. Proud of what my blood, sweat and tears could accomplish I wrote in my poop journal.
7. I awoke at 7:30 knowing what I had to do. It had been less than 24 hours since the last time I had the urge but this time was different. I could feel it pushing through, not allowing itself to be contained. A sort of urgency that beckoned the attention of all of my senses. Using what I learned from a few Self Help books, I took control of the situation (no that's not a Jersey Shore reference). As I'm finishing up my Tour de France (the way I was sitting made only 1 testicle visible so I felt like a 1st place Lance Armstrong) I take the initial wipe. Success! I carelessly toss it at the toilet, only it doesn't land IN the toilet but rather on the seat. So I do what any man in that predicament would. Get down on the floor beside it to blow it into the toilet with shear lung power. Only I didn't inhale until I was already down on the floor next to it. I fear I'll never get this taste out of my mouth.
