Tag Archives: shitting

Book of Lamentations

1 Oct

Job.boils2

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 →

Tags: , ,

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 →

Tags: , ,

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 →

Tags: ,

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 →

Tags: ,