MAIN SECTIONS
MAIN SECTIONS
Stories About Poop Intellectual Crap Consumer Reports Fun with Feces Poop at the Office Techniques Travel Logs The Captain's Log Academic Poop Home  
RESOURCES The PoopReport Gift Pack Poop Culture: The Book The PoopReport Store The Skatole Shirt PoopReport FAQ Best Of PoopReport Press Room Advertise! PoopReport on Myspace PoopReport on Facebook  NEWS AND ADVICE The BM News Wire Ask PoopReport Ask a Poodiatrist Eternal Debates FEATURES Special Reports Movie Poop Archive Toilet Paper Survey Pooetry Comics Poop Contests MOVEMENTS Shameless Shitting Poop For Peace The Summer Stoolstice DISCUSSIONS Shit Of My Career Childbirth Poop Book Of The Shameless First Memory of Poop More... REPORT POOP Poop Forums PoopReport Chat Submit 
NavigationPoop Comics Our BuddiesLower left rotating ad most recent poll -- formattedPoop at the Movies |
 I Dream Of DoodiePosted 03.21.2006 by Sooper Dooper Pooper (63)
Fellow poopers, it truly an honor to join the "anals" of PoopReport. But I am somewhat ashamed to say that I come to you not with a story about poop, but a dream -- a NIGHTMARE, in fact. What would Freud say? Allow me to share it while the entire affair is still vivid in my mind. The sad thing is, I have to invoke the dreaded "C" word in this essay: constipation.
Why would I dream about poop, and about being constipated? Especially since normally I am a man whose bowels function like clockwork. In fact, they often work around the clock. "Plop, plop, fizz, fizz" is no mere commercial jingle in my universe! Most days, I take two or more good, healthy dumps. But not too long ago, my internal plumbing somehow became plugged. I suspect it was related to a touch of the flu through which I suffered for several days. But no matter. Whatever its origin, it made me into one unhappy camper. Owing to my typically regimented "calls to stool," I knew something was up almost immediately. Literally up: up my ass, refusing to take the elevator down to the ground floor! Despite my repeated pilgrimages to the throne room, the butt bottle remained corked. All the while I continued to graze and feed as usual. A burger and fries here, a pizza there, beer, a salad every now and then, selected veggies and fruits, beer, whole grain breakfast cereal, eggs, bacon, milk, beer, dinner rolls, cheese, beer -- you get the idea. I even recall scarfing down a chalupa and some moo goo gai pan. But despite the healthy appetite, I had this general malaise for about eight days; and for those eight days, there was no poop to report! You bet this had me worried. I could feel my abdomen swell and become more distended with each passing day. It was as if I went from Mr. Normal Physique to Mr. Tub-of-Shit almost overnight. Having studied a little human metabolism and physiology in school, I knew that the food was fermenting in there, being broken down by my body's enzymes as well as by the gut flora -- those bacteria that reside within and love to feast on our culinary indulgences. After a week, it must have been a regular bacterial sludge factory. Each day I weighed myself out of curiosity. I noticed with some degree of alarm that I was gaining a pound per day due to the growing conglomeration of internal swillage. I realized to my horror that if this kept up, in two weeks I would be classified as clinically obese! But then it happened. Oh, joy of joys. On day nine, I was finally to undergo the experience of a lifetime. Think of Mount St. Helens, Mount Vesuvius, and Krakatoa erupting, all in one -- although this time, it would be MY crack-atoa blowing its top. Looking back, it all started quite innocently. I was reading the newspaper at the time. At first I felt only slight sensations -- sort of a tickling in my butt that made me wonder out loud, "Is that a mouse scurrying up my ass?" This was followed by nothing. Absolutely nothing. About fifteen minutes later, I had a vague sense of lower GI motility. It was as if gentle ocean waves were undulating rhythmically within my lower abdomen. But after several minutes of this, the seas became angry indeed. An acute, sharp pain seized my gut, and fear of the consequences gripped my psyche: "She's gonna blow!" The pain was like a crosscut saw slicing my guts in half, with an occasional impression that the Abdominal Snowman was standing over me, hell-bent on stuffing a wildly thrashing nine-foot alligator into my colon. I headed to the bathroom. I turned on the video camera -- yes, of course I had the presence of mind to bring it in the bathroom with me to record the event. The initial report was unimpressive: a single loud, raspy fart (sounding like it could be a low B-flat grunted out by a baritone saxophone), followed by a blast of brown butt brûlée. At this I even chuckled, but my good humor was short-lived. Suddenly, fifteen (count ‘em!) distinct meatballs jumped out from my ass in rapid succession like Olympic divers jumping from their perches, and splashed into the commode. Each one provided a slight sense of relief to me as they were expelled. They were small, but stinky! What came next was totally uncontrollable: a prolonged, involuntary stream of slushy ca-ca that ripped up my guts and made my eyes weep as it flew out. This was high-velocity crapping, diarrhea-style, and it made my crack damn sore afterward. By now, the commode needed flushing, because I could feel there was a lot more to come -- but wouldn't you know it, it wouldn't flush! First my bowels were plugged, now the toilet! So there I was with my drawers down, the toilet full, and a foul stench beginning to permeate the air, and without any Liquid Plumber or Drain-O in sight. I frantically hopped to the kitchen (fortunately the wife was out shopping) and found a small plunger under the sink. Happily, for a moment my bowels ceased their gyrations -- the ass guns fell silent, allowing me the window of opportunity to locate the plunging device. ("Eureka!") But the internal rumblings soon began anew. By now, I was sweating profusely -- I had to make it back in time to unclog the toilet and flush it so that I could resume my dump-fest. And I almost made it. About five paces from the bathroom, what felt like a hairy, half-grown goat slipped out of my ass and dropped to the floor with a thud. To this day, I swear I could heard it groan. "No time to worry about that," I shouted at myself in a wild panic. "I must use this plunger before my wife gets home and CLEAN UP THIS MESS!" Well, wouldn't you know, in my haste, and with my pants and belt down at my ankles, I slipped on some of the overflow butt sludge that I hadn't realized I'd crapped onto the bathroom floor; next thing I knew, I was flat on my back looking up at the ceiling. Meanwhile, the plunger went flying through the air, and, as if it was a shit-seeking missile, slammed right into the toilet, which splashed up about a bucket-load of crap onto my chest, all the way up to my chin. "SHIT!" I yelled. "This is like some absurd cartoon -- what happens next, Bugs Bunny comes in and asks, ‘What's up, doc?!'" All I could do was stick my hand in that gross toilet of terror and grasp and pump that plunger with quick, short strokes. It was difficult to do, because both the plunger and my hand were covered with slippery crap. Thinking back, I don't know how I avoided puking my guts at that moment, but I was focused on pumping and flushing, before -- oops. Too late. An internal colonic heave suddenly made me drop the plunger before I could actually flush the commode. It sent me rocking back on my heels. I slipped once more and fell like a drunkard onto the floor. For the first time, I realized the seriousness of my predicament: I was locked in some sort of physiological mortal combat with my excretory system. In the next few minutes, I could literally shit myself to death and be found dead here, lying in a garden of my own filth. The very thought was too unpleasant to contemplate. It was at this moment that the majority of the eight days of food made its unwelcome entrance into my home. And it did so not into any porcelain fixture, but onto a once clean and shiny linoleum floor. On viewing the videotape, it seems that at this point I sort of blacked out. When the shit emerged, it was like an angry, snarling reticulated python that had been yanked from its hiding place against its will. It was a semi-solid, thirty-eight-inch long turd, putridly packed with the majority of last week's food. The funny thing was, a lot of it appeared to be undigested. I could make out strands of cheese, bits of corn and ground beef, apple skins, all molded into a brown, cylindrical mass. This shit was horribly slimy, smelly, and bumpy on the surface -- and the sheer volume (about six pounds of shit!) elevated my body an inch or two off the floor upon its evacuation. Not that it emerged in a quick and clean event. No sir; it took its time, like a skanky old snake that is slowly shedding its skin for the last time before it dies. Only this serpent was several inches thicker than my butthole. As a result, I experienced the worst pain next to childbirth and passing kidney stones as it deliberately forced its way out, inch by excruciating inch, slithering slowly onto the floor and finally laying there motionless. Speaking of motionless: as I regained consciousness, I looked up and saw my wife standing in the doorway, gagging. "What happened to you?" she gasped. "Oh, I've had a bad day," I exclaimed, "but at least I am no longer constipated." She was now staring at me with a combined look of bewilderment and urgency. Then I saw her eyes bulge; and at that moment we both lunged for the sink and enjoyed just a wonderful Kodak moment of communal, marital vomiting. For the better part of thirty seconds, her steady stream of mostly clear, yellowish puke cascaded into the sink, while the path of mine, which was more brown and chunky, intersected with hers in spurts, making for an interesting mixed fountain of upchuck. We collapsed into each other's arms for a moment before wiping our foreheads and mouths and my blistered ass. Then we took a deep breath, sighed profoundly, and reached for the bucket, a mop, and a large stack of cleaning rags. I would like to know from readers if you can offer any ideas regarding the meaning of the dream. Please interpret it, or any of its parts for me. Thanks!
Post new comment
|
Ad 1
Ad 2
Text Ads
Recent comments
Who's onlineThere are currently 0 users and 304 guests online.
Thong ad Highest Users
Browse content by author View some statistics Learn more about userpoints |
