It was a Friday night, so my girlfriend and I decided to go to the theater, which is about a twenty minute drive from where we live. We arrived about half an hour before the movie started, which gave us plenty of time to stop by the concession stands and grab something to eat. I ordered the usual, a Burger King combo, but decided to add a little spice to my Double Whopper and fries mixture by also asking for some chicken fingers. I did not knowing this indulgence would seal my fate two hours later.
As far as the movie goes, I don't really remember what it was about; the trauma I suffered driving home overpowered the memory center of my brain.
When I stood up after the movie I was met with some mild cramping, but it quickly gave way to something worse. By the time I hit the main entrance, I was experiencing deep abdominal rumblings. At this point I should have headed for the public washrooms, but my disdain for sharing a toilet bowl with strangers being what it is lead me to take my chances and kept on marching towards the car.
I got into the car and .started the engine. When I exited the parking lot I suddenly felt a decompression in my lower stomach and something shifted through my entrails with a loud gurgle. A build up of gas had abruptly punched through the last stretch of my digestive tract, prompting me to make a quick decision as to whether I should let it out or not. I could feel this was not the usual fart. On the Saffir-Simpson scale of Fartacanes, this one would have scored a five. I passed it for about four seconds but instinctively closed my ass valve when I felt diarrhea following closing behind.
Farting was a bad idea.
During the remaining fifteen minutes that I was behind the wheel, I barely spoke. Instead, I focused all my attention on holding back the ominous liquid shit that was trying to explode out through my rear end. To succeed in this endeavor I used a variety of techniques worthy of mention, but the most effective of them was to arch my back and contract my ass muscles as hard as I could. There was a cycle of up and down gurgling in my stomach all the way home. I finally turned the last corner onto our street, and the relief of being so close to home made it near impossible to not shit all over myself.
When I finally parked the car, I had to exit it with straight legs and locked knees, because bending my legs would have allowed my ass muscles to relax.
And so I proceeded to walk up the three flights of stairs in my apartment complex with those knees still locked, throwing my legs sideways with every step, and surely looking like a total idiot. Fortunately my girlfriend was leading the way, opening the doors, and preparing an open path that lead to my final destination, the white throne. Time stopped the instant I dropped my pants, and I even think I remember feeling a tear roll down my cheek. I could feel the shit splatter all over the place, but the shower wasn’t far away, and so I was content.
Chicken fries no more.
