Editor's Note: this story first appeared on The PoopReport Forums.
This is for all the plumbers out there -- you overcharging, lazy cocksuckers... I hope 90% of
the jobs you get are unclogging homeless shelter toilets.
Last week I had to stay home from work in order to let the plumber in. I
had a leak from the kitchen faucet that was driving me a bit mad, and this S.O.B. wouldn't
come during the weekend because my problem wasn't an "emEEEEERRRRRgency." The appointment was
for 9 A.M. At 10:30, I was calling the property office trying to skip trace this bastard. At
11, I decided to spend the time waiting for Mr. Plumber Man by untangling a couple of
overdue poops.
I have in the past relayed accounts of my ongoing battle with constipation, and as of this
date I still suffer. I manage MAYBE two or three solid movements a month... and by solid, I mean
gravestones. This particular match started about the same as always: I let out some neolithic grunts
to start the contractions needed to prime my oft-paralyzed colon.
My anus, well healed from the last stretching, is extremely tender, and I have to go into a
meditative trance in order to deal with the pain I'm sure to endure.
After a few vein-rupturing grunts, the first semblance of a bung grape peeked out of my
tortured rectum. I wrestled for a good fifteen minutes with it, and by my estimation had a good
6 or 7 inches sticking out. I tried the standard "clamp down method" to cleave this noxious
beast, but it was wider than usual and rendered my sphincter weak and useless. It had my
anus stretched tighter than a drum skin and any evidence of a wrinkle was erased from the
ring of tissue that used to be my sphincter muscle.
Before I could consider any of the usual methods of extraction, the doorbell rang. A wave
of confusion suddenly overwhelmed me... there I was, turd half out, stranded. I looked left
and right, as if I was magically going to find something to help me out of this embarrassing
situation. I am glad I was the only one home -- I figured I could get to the buzzer, let the
plumber in and get back to the toilet and get myself together before the plumber could
negotiate his way to my apartment.
I waddled to the buzzer, looking like I was riding a miniature donkey with this six-inch
extrusion of brown concrete sticking out of my ass. I felt this strange coolness around my
taught bung-hole... and with every step I took the cooler and stranger it felt.
Somehow this stubborn poop was working its way back into my now-uncomfortable colon. My
asshole was dining on my turd!!
It was disquieting -- no, it was fucking scary -- to have my sphincter go into reverse and
gobble up a past dining experience. It felt like I was getting butt fucked by a corpse
with genital warts -- or, as if someone had shoved a rubber full of frozen turkey beaks up my
ass. Disgusting as it is, poops feel quite normal coming out... often euphoric. But to have
one get sent back after having cooled off... even though it was mine, it made me feel like I had
some kind of diseased, alien-type growth inside me. A doctor would name this malady turdus
reclaimus.
My asshole felt like it wasn't properly closed. I did a left clench right clench on each
butt cheek, hoping that this would somehow relieve the weird sensation I was feeling.
I had to wait until the plumber was finished with my sink before I could retire back to
the bathroom to rid myself of this directionally confused nugget. I wish I could have left
it in that S.O.B.'s toolbox!!
I told my old lady the story when she came home, thinking she would get a laugh. The
whole time I was telling her, I noticed her eyes cutting a trail on the carpet from the
bathroom to the front door...
-- G Ras
Like G Ras? He's featured in The Journal of Ass Production!
