This is the city: Los Angeles, California. According to the United States Census Bureau, there are approximately 3.8 million people living here. Earlier this week they all took a shit, except for me. My name isn't Joe Friday, and I was carrying a deuce that just wouldn't drop.
Monday, July 2nd, 2007. I began the day watch in the upstairs toilet. I took the obligatory leak, farted a few times, but nothing more. The previous night I'd partook in a great deal of cheese, which plugs me like you wouldn't believe. Missing a morning BM is not a show-stopper, so I finished my morning ablutions and reported to the kitchen for breakfast. The lovely officer on duty was still torqued at me for an unapproved large cash purchase made the previous week, so I either had to skip breakfast or make my own. I chose the former. I finished the day with a pizza, extra cheese, for dinner.
Tuesday, July 3rd, 2007. I started my day much the same as I had the previous one. No shit. Literally. The officer on duty was less cranky and fried a cheese omelet for me. I wolfed it down and set out to work as per usual. An ill-advised load of mozzarella sticks was ingested at lunchtime. Supper was forgone as my gut was a bit queasy.
Wednesday, July 4th, 2007. The day watch started out very uncomfortable and cranky. The officer on duty was attempting to trigger some fireworks by reporting to the kitchen in just a thong. Ordinarily this would have been very well and enthusiastically received, but today it did nothing. As it was the 4th, I did not have to report to work, so I dragged my constipated miserable butt to the crapper for a showdown with the forces of colonic evil. I strained. I read my butt its rights and the riot act. I farted, but nothing more. It was like an election year: a lot of hot air, but nothing concrete.
I went back to the kitchen where the duty officer was again pissed at me for lack of response to her uniform. I explained my dilemma and was rewarded a harsh laugh without the slightest trace of commiseration. Around two-and-a-half to three hours later I began to sense the coming of what I hoped would be relief. But, alas, it was a false alarm.
At bedtime, however, the end of the dry spell was at hand.
I parked on the crapper in the nick of time. A massive turd was trying to force his way through the back door. At least he was going in the right direction. As ass met seat, he barged through to freedom. I didn't know that shit came with embedded razor wire, but this felt like it. Unfortunately I was unable to view it later due to the other detritus floating over its watery grave, but I would guess it was around twelve feet in diameter and a quarter mile long. It had no more than cleared the poopy portcullis when a wave of diarrhea followed. As quickly as the storm hit, it passed. Thank goodness.
Thursday, July 5th, 2007. The day watch began with a healthy shit. I again reported to the kitchen and frisked the officer on duty, which seemed to make her happy. I had some Shredded Wheat for breakfast -- screw that damn cheese stuff -- frisked the duty officer again and promised a full strip search when I got home, and left for work.
The story you have just read is true. No names were given so forget that shit about being changed to protect the innocent.
