For several days I had been combating intense migraines. For me, these migraines are the type of headaches that make it hurt to move even my eyeballs, never mind any other part of my body. Lifting my head makes me want to vomit, and the pressure feels like it could cause my head to explode. To provide some measure of relief from the constant throbbing, I took some strong painkillers called Panadeine Forte. These contain five hundred milligrams of paracetamol coupled with thirty milligrams of blessed codeine phosphate. Ah, codeine...

Prolonged use of codeine phosphate can lead to severe constipation. I had only been using it for a few days (Wednesday through Saturday), but a few days are apparently long enough to be affected.

I usually poop once every day, but it wasn't until Friday that I first realized I might have another poop report on my hands. In contrast to my usual timetable, Friday's poop came late in the evening. The urge to poop was not like an ordinary urge. Sure, the poop was right at the exit point, waiting for the drop order, but it felt like I had already pooped and been forced to break one off and suck it back in. The urge wasn't really an urge in the sense that I was getting contractions; rather, it was an urge to expel something that I felt just shouldn't be there. Either way, it had me sitting in my room pondering whether I should force it out or wait for the pressure to build further.

I eventually decided that there was enough pressure to drop this log, so I proceeded to the toilet. I sat down and concentrated. It was stubborn, all right. Mercifully, the bastard started to move. It wasn't a thick turd, but it felt like it was coated in shards of glass, scratching my butt hole, trying to claw its way back. Was it perhaps these same claws that allowed it to stay holed up in my colon for so long in the first place? Who knows? Whatever the case, this one required a lot of pushing.

Each push got the crap out about an inch at a time. I had to push several times, stop, regain my composure, and push again -- which was exhausting. To complicate matters, this turd was accompanied by a truly horrific and awful scent, like the most caustic, concentrated blast of hydrogen sulfide you can imagine. Strenuous pushing in the midst of a migraine headache is not recommended, especially when you can't breathe! The monster -- Big Bursa, as I had nicknamed her by then -- must have gotten to a length of about ten inches before she finally broke off; but a small leftover knob of poo which was still attached got sucked back into my rectum with disturbing finality.

Unable to shift this renegade piece, I conceded defeat. Feeling cheated, dizzy, and exhausted, I let Bursa have her moment. I saluted her sunken corpse, wiped myself off, and then proceeded during the subsequent shower to scrub myself viciously. Afterwards I simply (and perhaps optimistically) thought, "Well, that's my dump for today -- better luck next time."

Unfortunately, better luck wasn't in the cards. Saturday came and went and at around 12:15 AM on Sunday morning I finally decided that I didn't want a repeat of Friday's poop. So it was time to use a laxative. I grabbed some trusty Nu-Lax (careful to take the recommended dosage this time) and thought that I would at least be able to poop normally after I woke up (you're supposed to take Nu-Lax "before retiring"). But not ten minutes after I swallowed the Nu-Lax, a sudden urge hit me -- clearly NOT a result of the Nu-Lax. Apparently my normal daily dump had arrived, just several hours late. I went to the toilet and dropped a painfully thick glass-coated log that fortunately made a complete and clean exit this time.

Before falling asleep, I vaguely recall thinking, "I'm gonna regret that Nu-Lax tomorrow!"

Waking up at around eleven AM on Sunday morning -- finally, blissfully, migraine free -- I started the usual process of breakfast followed by time-wasting. Completely forgetting about the Nu-Lax from the night before, I had a large portion of breakfast cereal that contained perhaps slightly too much fiber. And at about 2:30 the convulsions started. The sudden jolt of pain made me instantly remember the Nu-Lax experience I've described before -- that's a pain you don't easily forget. Free of my migraines, I was now plagued by this, the crippling agony of Nu-Lax flushing my mostly-empty bowels!

I suffered about half an hour of these attacks as they kept starting and then stopping, only to start again. During this time I also experienced some painful, burning, sulfurous farts that seemed to linger for far too long. Indeed, when I came back from the toilet, my bedroom still stank.

However, it was the gut pains that were the most unpleasant. The pain was indescribable, known only to those who have experienced an attack of this nature themselves. Did it feel like there were chimps playing hockey on a trampoline in my intestines? Or perhaps like an elephant trying to wring water out of my guts? Or maybe an electric eel, all covered in spikes, lashing away in my colon? In any case, it was painful. When I was finally struck by the urge to spray-paint the toilet bowl, I ran the short distance between my room and toilet in about two seconds and started layering down the anti-splash. Those precious seconds spent fumbling with the toilet paper nearly cost me!

When I finally sat down, it was as if the shit as being sucked out by a vacuum cleaner. The first wave blew out so much liquid it almost felt solid. It flew out at incredible speed and landed directly on the back of the bowl, completely missing the anti-splash guard I had painstakingly laid down. I believe that if it had been any more solid it would have cracked the bowl. After this first wave I did the longest uninterrupted fart of my life -- literally ten seconds -- followed by several cannonball farts (when turds come shooting out your arse followed by a loud fart, like firing a cannon).

Afterwards the relief was instantaneous. Cautiously parting my thighs to survey the aftermath, I could clearly see pieces of cereal in there, sprayed all over the back of the bowl. It looked like a bird had smashed into the windshield of a supersonic jet, minus the feathers. The smell that hit me was like a punch in the face -- acidic and burning. Wiping was a whole other ordeal, requiring far too much toilet paper -- it was just smearing all over the place and wouldn't come off.

A wise man once said, "There's nothing better than a good dump and nothing worse than bad sex." But I can't help but wonder if that should really be the other way around. What could be worse than half-birthing a Big Bursa? Or firing an arse cannon loaded with porridge? Anyway, the moral of this fairly lengthy and uninteresting story to you kids at home: beware the codeine and Nu-Lax cocktail.

-- MegaDump