Tag Archives: shitting

Book of Lamentations

1 Oct


My asshole bleeds and bleeds now. From shitting so much. I shit, I wipe my bloody ass, grind the shit right into my bloodstream. Shit that is filled with third world parasites. I should see a doctor. But what are they gonna do. Been through this before. Round 1: ride it out for a few more days, they will say. Stay hydrated. Eat a high fiber diet. On your first visit, a doctor gives you as much new information as the warning on a pack of cigarettes. “Uh, try living healthier. Do healthy things you’ve heard about on TV.” Continue reading

Traveler’s Diarrhea

23 Sep

red worms of maguey on tortilla

Woke up on the toilet. Forehead against the edge of the bathtub. I was dreaming about the Red Worms of Maguey. We ate them out by the pyramids, they were a specialty of the restaurant. Some kind of Aztec staple. In the dream, of course, they came to life and squirmed around on the beans and the authentic® blue corn tortilla. Raised little blind heads at me, waved pincers. I had a bath drawn. It had gone cold. I got in it anyway. Had to wash out my ass. I couldn’t wipe it anymore. My asshole and the inside of my crack were swollen. Pulpy. Touching them felt like picking up a rotten beached jellyfish half baked in the sun. Toilet paper felt like Freddy Krueger fingerfucking my colon. I climbed into the bath. Shivered. I fell asleep again. Bad dreams. Woke up, my skin felt like a dead man’s. Little chunks of brick red shit in the water. Cat hair from when I was writhing around on the rug. I had to shit again, bad, and the water was already fucked up. Why not just let go. No. Have some dignity man. Continue reading

Women: Why Don’t You Read When You Shit?

22 Aug

 woneb's colege duke

image stolen from flickr user “Lesley Looper.”

Or do you? Is it just every woman I know who doesn’t? I’ll be out with a girl. A real she-bro with whom I can talk honestly. She’ll remark that she has to take a shit. An odd choice, the “social hours” shit– the wise person knows to train his body for the morning one-two punch: shit/shower. If your schedule is off, sleep holding it in. Let your bowels marinate a fuming hot sauce log. Suffer dreams of goblins gutting you with hot knives. With one night’s pain you reset the clock. You buy the ultimate human achievement: blissful ass purge followed by the hot womb of the steam. Every day. A perfectly clean asshole. Think of it like beating jet lag. Continue reading

Work Diaries: Work Shit

11 Feb

December 2012

It’s too fucking cold.  It’s too cold and I may have to take the dreaded work shit.  Breaking a covenant I made with myself long ago, that after every shit would come a shower.  They scoff at me for this, society.  What’s the matter, can’t you wipe?  Yes, I can, but this is not an FDA-permitted 3 rat hairs in your can of chili situation.  Any amount of shit on your body ever is unacceptable.  I wipe till the paper comes up clean or bloody, but that is not enough.  If I shat on your hand, would you give it a couple dry passes with a napkin and call it a day?  No, knave, you’d wash your fucking hand.

I live in mortal fear of any pair of underwear I own getting skidmarks on them. The white bits turning brown from my musky taint sweat is not an issue; holes are not an issue– there are boxers where my distended left nut hangs fully outside the garment and grinds into my car keys. I still keep them around.  But once I see a skid mark, those underwear will be immolated.  No exceptions. Continue reading