So I have trouble with my poop. I get the urge randomly, usually at the most inopportune times, and it sucks. Life must go on, however, so I try. I had a date with an incredibly pretty girl, and I was going to make sure I would have nothing in my stomach. I went to the bathroom three times that morning and ate nothing all day, for food must really hate being inside my body -- because it always immediately leaves.
The date was off to a great start. We went to the Cubs game, and I ate nothing there, because ballpark food seems to enjoy going straight from the grill to the toilet. I did, however, drink a beer, because my date bought it for me. One beer on an empty stomach for me is like putting that weird Chinese food into a pot that instantly becomes eighty times its normal size.
As we were driving to the restaurant (I planned on zooming home immediately after the dinner), I began to feel the hard-helmeted, axe-wielding poop factory workers start chiseling a nice, big, unpleasant mass of chunky hell, getting it ready for delivery. As I was driving I could feel it creeping, forming the unforgiving mass. I was white knuckled as a small fart creeped up my clenched cheeks to the top of the crack, fortunately innocent and undetectable. I continued driving, really focusing on the road, she's yapping, and all I can think is shut up, can't you see I'm dying here. If I can get to the restaurant, and make it quick, I'll be OK.
We made it to the restaurant: Ethiopian (bad move). I quickly tell my date I'll be right back. I didn't want her to think I am a stinky person, so I rush to the bathroom and relieve the top layer of torture with a quick push. Hooray, I'm fine! It appeared to be a pee.
However, top layer removal only makes the mid level and bottom level jealous, and they fight harder.
So we eat -- Ethiopian delights and some weird rose wine -- and of course my mind instantly goes to shit mode. I gotta get her home because the tummblebunnies are shortly going to fly. Think about other things, and I'll be great. No way. Mid level is now brimming top level, and bottom level is now severe-stomach-torture level.
As we drive, I am raised out of my seat; my hot date is really in for an amazing treat. Stoplights are blown, stop signs irrelevant, my date thinks I am an out-of-control lunatic, nobody drives a car parallel to the road, what is wrong with me? I can feel it in my teeth, I'm not going to make it.
We make it to her house, park the car, and there's that uncomfortable silence after a first date, waiting for someone to do something. I make the first move: I lean in, break down, and say, "I really have to take a shit. Can I use your bathroom?"
She looks at me. I know my date is now over, but I don't care, I've got to take a horse in her bathroom.
"Sure, I could tell something wasn't right on the way home." She giggled, and I was relieved.
We get in her house, and I let the gargantuan explosive liquid misery fly, enjoying my greatest dump of the year.
Knock on the door. "I'm okay, thanks, I'll be out in a minute."
"Please hurry -- I really have to take a shit!" She yells.
My dream girl?
Hell no. I don't date women who shit on the first date.
-- Don Juan De Fece