Since this is my first post, some background information is in order to help you better understand who/what I am.
Once upon a time, I was a normal human being with a normal digestive system. I suppose it all started when I was in tenth grade and was required to take a dump at school. I say required, because at my high school this was not something that I would have chosen to do. For, you see, in the boys' restrooms, there were no doors on the stalls. I am uncertain as to what someone must have done at one time to make the administration feel that boys could not be trusted to shit in privacy, but I sure hope it was grand. There was but one safe haven -- one restroom with a door, on the far end of the school. After finding this, I didn't feel quite so uncomfortable, which was fortunate, because my life was already changing forever.
After that first day, it got worse, and I began to turd more often, at school and elsewhere. This growing need to poop seemed to get stronger and stronger until it finally, in the middle of my college years, it seemed to plateau. Ever since then, it has not been uncommon for me to poop four to seven times a day, depending on my diet.
Even today, I have already crapped four times -- two of which were at Jason's Deli during lunch. And I haven't eaten dinner yet. I have self-diagnosed myself with what I like to call a Straight-Pipe.
Where most people eat and then get to wait for it to digest, food simply falls straight through me. I don't have a complex coil of guts and intestines for my food to travel through; all I have is simply one straight pipe from my throat to my sphincter. With the effects of gravity, I am not left with a lot of options.
(The only other diagnosis I can believe is that I am in all actuality "full of shit." My guts are so full that there is no vacancy -- I eat and some comes out.)
My story begins with a simple poker game. Six friends were getting together to play some cards and have a good time. I agreed to pick up my brother on the way to the game. As I know the nature of my bowels, I always try to empty them before leaving the house for extended periods of time.
Not much to tell here... I guess I didn't have to go. So I left for my brother's. On the way I realized that I hadn't eaten dinner, so I stopped to get some Taco Bell (what was I thinking?). I ate it at his house while he got ready. By the time he was ready to go I could already begin to feel THE rumble. I excused myself and evacuated what I could, but it was rather unsatisfactory.
As soon as we got into the car, I knew that I should turn around and go back. You know that feeling you get when you're going on a long trip, like you're forgetting something? This was nothing like that. I knew what I had, and it was too much. But, being the idiot that I am, I thought, "I can make it."
It was a twenty-minute drive to the house where we were playing. We got about halfway there when the cramping and sweating began. I looked to my brother to tell him my situation, but he already knew. The Straight-Pipe is no news to him -- our other brother suffers from a similar ailment.
I "jokingly" said that I might have to stop at a McDonalds on the way. I said that there were usually some people at this guy's house that I didn't really know, and that it was an old house with only one bathroom. He said I should just snap a growler when we got there and be proud of it. He would have me be a Shameless Shitter, even though there is only one recorded instance of him shitting anywhere other than home base.
I tried not to think about it as the exits passed by, missing fast food restaurant after fast food restaurant. When we finally took our exit, the wall of agony that hit me was intolerable, and I knew that I couldn't wait to arrive. I also knew that I couldn't subject others to what was about to take place. As the street went on and my car seat's fate grew dimmer, a beacon shone through the night. A Taco Bell sign. Was it taunting me? Did it know what I was going through? Or was it poetic justice that I be able to drop off my dinner from whence it came?
As I neared the establishment, I noticed a Burger King that was slightly closer, and I needed closer. We flew into the parking lot and I jumped out of the car, leaving my brother, who was coming in to get something to eat, trailing behind.
My body is in some ways more sophisticated than I give it credit for. For example: in less than a millisecond, it can calculate exactly the amount of time it will take me to get from my car to the bathroom. It will make adjustments depending on whether I am at home or, say, at a Burger King. No matter where I am, as soon as I exit my vehicle, the timer starts. I can see it like a bomb in some action movie, with the clock ticking down in slow motion. The difference is that no hero will come to diffuse the bomb... it WILL go off. I just have to make it to the toilet in time.
I ran in to the Burger King, and there it was: an employee with a mop standing between me and destiny. He had barricaded himself behind two "wet floor" signs. Seeing the look of horror on my face, he realized that I was here to meet with Earl (a.k.a. The Duke), but he just said, "We're cleaning."
I have a freaking ticking time bomb here and I don't know what to do. I almost began to weep. There was no way I could reset the clock and get to the Taco Bell in time. So I told him to get out.
Seconds later, it was clear, and I went in with a vengeance. I can't say that I turded, because that would imply something solid in nature, and this was nothing of the sort. In fact, I'm not even sure that nature had anything to do with that vile entity.
As I was preparing for damage control (I like to line up several folds of toilet paper prior to wiping in a public restroom, to hasten my escape), I heard the light knock on the door, and a, "You done in there?" I felt that this was uncalled for, but I was; so I flushed three times (weak toilet) and washed up. My brother finished eating on the way to poker.
I didn't have anymore bowel problems that night, but I lost my ass at poker -- an added bit of irony that wasn't lost on me.
-- Straight-Pipe
