The other day I was at my desk, and after about the fourth cup of coffee, nature was calling on both ends.
Wait. Let me back up twelve hours. Dinner the night previous was large to say the least. After I had finished jogging, the nuggets, sandwiches and waffle fries from Chick-fil-A, were just not doing it for me; and the need to eat almost an entire Hungry Howie’s large pepperoni pizza was undeniable. Gorged and happy, I rolled myself off the couch and went to bed.
When I awoke the next morning, the movement had not yet begun. The 'I ate too much' discomfort was still with me, but I thought nothing of it. I was completely unaware that the upcoming day was going to turn out to be one of the most special days of my life.
So, when the feeling came I was quite relieved - and I’m not going to lie – a little proud and anxious to see this loaf of a shit I was going to lay down. Would it be a two-flusher? Maybe, would it need three? I ventured fourth to the toilet and left all reading material behind, because I knew I would need all my wits about me. I would have to use my full concentration and commitment to get through this alive.
I sat and prepared with the usual moderate shifting to get oneself ‘in alignment’; and not wanting to strain myself, I kicked one leg out by the stall door and one back by the base of the bowl for added stability. Then, for just in case, I reached out and firmly grasped hold of the handicap bar on the adjacent wall. Now that I was all ready and poised for Armageddon, it was time for The Big Push; and to my surprise with the first little squeeze, my little number two shot fourth from my sphincter like a torpedo exiting its submarine host.
Before I had a chance to process what had happened, a feeling of instant relief ran throughout my body. The tingle that coursed through it let me know I once again had enough room for all of my organs, and after taking a deep breath (yes, everything happened so fast and I took a deep breath in the shitter, not my best hour) I was at peace.
Quivering with relief and satisfaction, it was time to inspect my prize. Timidly I lifted up and forward to get a glimpse of this monster. Using both hands to move my generously-sized man handle, I peered down and… what did find?
Nothing! That's right, I had my first actual ghost shit, a self flusher. The Poltergeist Poo!
I was aghast to say the least. I was so dumbfounded, I admit, I even peered over the side of the bowl to make sure it hadn’t somehow escaped. I was half expecting to see the little demon floundering around on the floor like a freshly caught fish in the bottom of a boat.
I have heard speak of these before, usually nothing more than a whisper in the hushed corners of the illicit and unmentionable. Uttered with more conjecture and hearsay than anything else, they have been claimed to have occurred to a friend of a friend of a friend; so never in my wildest of dreams did I think this most elusive of events would ever happen to me.
I have thought about my phantom often since it came into my life and now with each movement since. Now that I’m sure there are more to come, there is a half second of anticipation as I peer down in to the bowl, hoping that the ghost poo will cross my path again.
If you have not heard of said rumors and stories, there are many key elements one must consider in the science of said little banshee:
1.) Significant mass and density; a floater or even semi-naturally buoyant poo wont doo. It must sink like a stone.
2.) A proper angle of departure; if anything less than exact turd angulations are executed, the ghoul is doomed to the basin.
3.) Adequate propulsion; a critical speed must be reached to break through the barrios and overcome the friction.
4.) Shape; torpedo-like construction is essential to a straight and true flight.
5.) Bowel and siphon architecture; if the depth of the water is too great or the angles of the drain are too severe, the feat is impossible.
