It had been roughly a week since my last movement. I'd just moved into my new house and, being the Shameful Shitter that I am, everything tightened up like a snare drum. I was eating and sleeping normally, so I figured I would just let nature take its course. Eventually, I knew, I would have to drop a deuce. But when exactly would "eventually" be?

The night of my seventh day in the new house was marked by eating quite robustly. A few friends and I decided to hit up the baseball park to watch our local minor league team get their asses kicked by some other minor league team. The night would be spent pounding down sub-par microbrews, undercooked hot dogs, and overcooked pretzels -- food that was, needless to say, just as we all had hoped. I rolled into the new house at about one AM totally inebriated. I threw my drunken self down onto my bed and completely passed out.

Right around 6:00 AM I wearily awoke to some tremendous pain in my neither regions. I clenched my guts and cursed those infernal ballpark hot dogs. I sat up, slowly as to not vomit all over myself, and surveyed the situation. My stomach was making sounds that I had never heard before -- something similar to that talking dog you see on America's Funniest Home Videos. It sounded almost like my stomach was saying "dumb fuck" for all the gruel I had eaten the night before.

Just as I put my first foot down to climb out of bed, I noticed that the entire Earth had a slight tilt. Had there been a cataclysmic shift in the Earth's axis while I slept? No, I was still quite drunk. I staggered to the bathroom in a drunken haze and tried to rid myself of the demons within.

I knelt down next to the new bowl and began to pray to almighty God to end my life. "Please God, just kill me now. End the pain." Just as the last words of my mystic prayer left my dry lips, I felt that all-to-familiar feeling in my throat. The chunder bomb was coming. I grasped both ends of the toilet and proceeded to vomit up everything I had eaten in the last six years of my life. I swear to you I saw some Play-Doh I ate when I was seven.

I continued to hork for the next ten minutes or so. The sweat poured from my brow and my stomach tightened up as it began to empty its final contents. Then began the dry heaves -- another fifteen minutes of my stomach trying to expel what was not there. The only stuff coming out of me now was air and bile. I leaned my head on the cold tank of the toilet and rested.

I wearily rose up, flushed the toilet, and began to survey the damage. I figured with such a violent torrent of vomit, I must have gotten some on the floor. And as I stood, I felt all was not right in the world. I looked down to see that my sweat pants were stained dark brown.

I stood there for a second in my drunken state, trying to figure out what had just happened. I looked at the toilet, at my shit colored sweat pants, and at the shit colored bathroom rug. In pushing so hard while vomiting, I had shat myself. And not just a normal shit mind you -- no, a diarrhetic shit stew.

I tore off my sweat pants and jumped into the shower. Everything was spinning quite violently at this time, so getting into the shower and getting off my pants was a chore, to say the least. I showered up as quietly as possible, exited the shower, grabbed the shitty bathroom rug and my shitty sweat pants, rolled them into a ball, and tossed them out the bathroom window. I'm not real sure why I did this; have I mentioned I was still pretty drunk?

I grabbed a towel -- and then the second wave of molten lava hit me. I sprinted back to the toilet and sat down just in time to spray butt mustard all over the inside of the bowl. Wave after wave of anal acid sprayed from my now debauched fartbox. My innards began to clench and tighten. My colon began to dry heave. Loud, echoing farts began to bellow from my ass. The echo ricocheted throughout the bathroom like I was in a cave. I put my head on my hands and prayed yet again for God to take my life. "If there is a God up above, please dear Lord, kill me now."

I awoke to knocking on the bathroom door. It was my roommate. "Yo man, you alright? I gotta shower and go to work." I had passed out on the bowl. I looked around to see a slight shit stain on the floor from where the bathroom mat had been. The toilet was totally and utterly destroyed. There is no way I could let him in here to see this mess.

"I got real sick last night bro, you think you could pass on the shower this morning?"

"Yeah man, no problem. I'll come for lunch and shower."

I got up off the pot to see the carnage that had befallen my shithole the previous few hours. I took a few wipes at my now crusty ass. The shit mortar was not moving. I'd have to take another shower. I climbed in yet again and proceeded one more time to clean myself up.

I grabbed a new, clean towel and dried myself. Wrapping myself up in the new towel, I tried to flush the toilet. No dice. The massive amounts of shit and vomit in the bowl were too tough to go down. The water rose up slowly -- and then back down, equally as slow. The fucker was clogged.

I looked around for the plunger. I walked out of the bathroom to the garage to search for my implement of salvation. No such luck. I guess my roommate doesn't take as big of shits as myself.

Now the panic began to set in. What was I going to? My mind began to race as I thought about my new roommate coming home to a stinking bathroom full of shitty toilet water.

I ran to the closet to grab a coat hanger. I thrust said coat hanger in the murky abyss and tried to release the offending clog. As I twisted and gyrated my implement, water began to splash about. The smell was horrific -- vomit smells horrible, shit smells even worse, but letting them coexist in a watery tomb has got to be the absolute most awful smell I have ever smelled. As solitary drop of toilet water landed on my nose, I began to dry heave again.

And then the unthinkable happened: the coat hanger got caught in the toilet.

Expletives began to escape my mouth. Every four-letter word you can think of was being said. As I knelt down next to the toilet, my coat hanger stood erect in the murky water. I was about to do the unthinkable: stick my hands in the shitty, vomity water to free the coat hanger.

I did a few deep breathing exercises, took a massive breath, and jammed my hand into the bowl to try and feel where the coat hanger was stuck. Globules of feces swam past my hands the deeper I dove into this cataclysmic cave of ill repute. I felt around for where the hanger was caught up. I slid my hands deeper and deeper into the neck of the offending beast, only to feel that the hanger was caught up deep within her belly.

My air supply began to run out. I opened my mouth to take another breath just as the hanger freed itself from its water grave. I fell backwards as the hanger came loose and my shit-soaked arms went flailing about. And then, the unthinkable: as my arms flailed backwards, a large amount of shitty water came with them. And where, you ask, did it land? Well, the only place it could land: on my face, and in my mouth.

I jumped to my feet in sobering quickness and proceeded to puke what little was left in my stomach. I dry heaved for about five minutes. I jumped in the shower yet again and cleaned myself off yet again. I knew I would need a plunger.

After my shower, I headed to the local hardware store and purchased a plunger. I came back home to the murder scene and plunged the toilet with all my might. After a final mighty plunge, the blockage freed itself and water went down. I now had the mighty task of cleaning the bathroom -- a total wasteland of shitty toilet water.

Two hours later, the bathroom was clean enough. I went outside to throw away the mass amounts of paper towels I had used and there sat my shit-stained sweat pants and the bathroom rug. I picked them up with a garden rake and brought them into the house to wash.

After all was said and done, my roommate was none the wiser. He asked me what had happened and I just told him I got totally wasted and puked on myself. Little does he know the ordeal that had befallen me on my very first visit to his Ferguson.

-- Pill Pooper