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 The Genes That Plague MePosted 10.04.2006 by Boomerang (46)
One of the strangest genetic conditions that plagues me is the need to take a huge crap after a long car drive. I've had this condition for as long as I remember, and my father and older sister have it, too. So you can see how this creates some problems. Especially when, after that long car trip, the first stop is our motel. Especially when our motel room only has one bathroom. Especially when I really have to go.
On one occasion, all three of those problems arose. I was fourteen, naïve, and bursting. My blonde princess sister, my stupid father and I raced up the motel stairs to our room's doors. My dad pulled out the key and opened the door, but my sister pushed through him and made it into the bathroom first. She slammed the door. My dad stood in front of it. He was going to be next, and there was no way around it. My mother arrived soon, not rushing. (She is unaffected by our family curse. She feels for us.) I cursed my father, I cursed myself, and I cursed our curse. I sat down on the smallest bed, the one that would presumably be mine. (My sister was very overbearing.) Suddenly I had a brainstorm. I remembered seeing a mall across the road as we drove in. I corked my thighs' mouth and stood up. I asked Mum if I could go to the mall across the road. Using her mother's ESP, she sensed the urgency and agreed to let me. I raced out of the motel room, down the stairs and into the car park, and soon the road stretched in front of me. As we were first driving into this city, I remember my dad saying it wasn't that big. Well, he's a fucking liar, because I've never seen that much traffic in my life. No, that wasn't traffic -- that was über-traffic! I considered dodging the cars, but then realized my life wasn't worth it. So I ran down the sidewalk, looking for some kind of help -- a red light, a roadblock, ANYTHING. Finally, after about twenty seconds of running (which seemed like a lot when I was trying not to shit myself), I reached a pedestrian crossing. As my sweaty hand touched that cold metal button on the pole, my bowels loosened a little, sensing safety was near. BING! That noise not only strengthened my colon's theory, but helped the experiment along. When I reached the curb, I realized that as I was running I probably passed many good public toilets. But stuff ‘em. The shopping centre was my savior. I sprinted as the words "Myers Department Store" came into view, and released my clenched buttocks a little. I leaped the bushes and climbed over parked cars' bonnets as I reached the main building. According to a helpful bus driver on his smoke break, the nearest toilets were in the underground car parks. The driver must have had my mum's ESP, because he sensed my urgency and was quick with an answer as well. I ran towards the elevators, weaving between a few old folks leisurely standing on the moving stairs. I jumped over a toddler crawling next to his angry mother and reached the car park. Somehow, the car park was crowded, yet well aerated as well. Yes, it was packed with people. Busy people. Rushing people. People like me. A hanging sign came into view: a little cartoon man and woman. The international sign proclaiming: "A dunny is near." But when I entered the bathroom, I died a little inside, and nearly released my turd early. Two stalls, one urinal, and no sink in sight. What the hell? Did the masterful architect smear some coffee on his plan for this bathroom? Or did they run out of green wood rectangles and ceramic tiles? Fuck the questioning -- I ran into the vacant stall. I tried to ignore the fact that there was another man three feet from my bare arse. I locked the stall door, ripped down my pants, and sat. A long, loud fart exploded from me accidentally, followed by an ice cream-textured turd flying from my ass as high speed and then splashing into the bowl. POOSH! Water flew into my gaping ass, and I yelped. The man in the other stall laughed. I ignored him and pushed. Another chocolate ice cream sundae left my colon, followed by another splash. The man sniggered again, and wiped. He left pretty soon after that, and I was able to crap in peace. When I returned to the motel, my mother and sister were watching the free cable TV while my dad was having his turn. God, I hate my genes. Post new comment
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