Ever since we got engaged this summer, Becky has attended every bridal show that came to Cincinnati. I hadn't attended any, so in the interest of being the noble fiancé, I agreed to go to one on Sunday.

On Saturday, we met up with some friends to do some late Christmas gift exchanging. After our formal "thank you's," we decided to have dinner at the Argosy Casino buffet. It was Saturday -- all-you-can-eat steak night!

Now, even though you have to pay twice as much, casino buffets kick the crap out of anything you would ever eat at a Golden Coral or a Ponderosa. The food is better than sex. Over the course of the night, I managed to make three trips to the buffet, consuming two 16 oz. steaks, a juicy chicken breast, a filet of cod, half a pork tenderloin, some shrimp, a couple crab legs, and a spoonful of baby carrots. I kept the side items to a strict minimum -- I was more interested in the entrees.

Topping it off, I had a slice of cheesecake and a cup of ice cream for dessert. To my surprise, I wasn't feeling all that stuffed.

After dinner, we went our separate ways. Becky and I needed to get up early for the bridal show, so we went straight to bed. We got up a little before noon the next day, and strange enough, I was hungry. Hmmm...

On the way out to the convention center, I picked up a Spicy Chicken Combo from Wendy's. I managed to stomach it while making the twenty-minute drive up that dreaded I-75 highway. You may recall from my Hustler Hollywood experience that the bumps on this highway have super-human bowel-loosening powers. I should've learned the first time.

We got to the convention center and walked up the first aisle. Within our first five steps we had sales representatives leaping at us with pamphlets and business cards. These people are parasites, and all their blood-sucking was disturbing my bowels. I politely turned down any cake-tasting offers the promised only to add to the pressure that was already crippling my colon.

Looking at all the wedding photo albums made me even more nervous. My fecal terror alert was going from an urgent orange to an ominous brown.

Walking through the convention hall, fending off sales reps every step, I fruitlessly searched for a bathroom sign. As I walked by the Skeffington's Formal Wear booth, Becky stopped to get some tuxedo ideas. The sales rep recognized me as a customer from previous weddings and chose to talk about some deals he could give me since I'm a "regular." I felt like I was about to be regular right there in his booth.

My ass was swelling. Becky and I managed to find a gap in the wedding mosh pit wide enough to give my brain the oxygen and clarity needed to excuse myself to the bathroom. They were outside in the hallway, of course. Focused, I headed straight there, deftly avoiding the leaping sales reps.

The bathroom was big, clean, and even better, empty. I wiped the splashback from the previous visitor and sat down -- hey, I'm Shameless, but I'm sanitary.

As soon as I sat, the automated toilet flushed. My concentration wavered for a moment, but last night's buffet was moving inexorably to it's watery grave, and Newton's 3rd Law waits for no man.

The first log was every bit as hefty as the steaks I had consumed the night before. My ass felt so stretched I wondered if I had even digested the meat. It put up a fight, but my ass was victorious. My chest was pounding as I started grunting for the next loaf. Suddenly the toilet flushed again.

Huh?! I was a little disappointed. Usually after a mean shit I like to admire my feat before sending it to the great Ohio River. But I couldn't think about it long -- my gurgling stomach told me the second log was coming.

The buffet-induced terror continued. Another 16oz steak turd crept out of my ass, leaving me gasping for air, knowing more was on the way. But just before the chicken, pork and seafood could have their way with me, the toilet flushed again!

It was like my ass and this toilet were communicating. It was clockwork. Once the turd descended into the bowl, the toilet would flush. I crapped out another four or five good sized logs, and after each one, the toilet flushed. It was a shared moment between this toilet and I. We were in unison. We understood each other. In a way I have never experienced with any other person or toilet, we were one.

Once the deed was done, I gave myself a wipe and straightened up. But something wasn't right. The toilet didn't flush. What was wrong? Could the toilet not register the soiled toilet paper in the same way it sensed my shit? I turned around and took a look at the toilet. It looked sadly back at me with its blinking red eye, and flushed. I guess the toilet just wanted to say goodbye.

I never spoke of this affair to my fiancé, or anyone else for that matter. I felt that this moment could only be shared with the fine folks at PoopReport. I take this as a sign -- that Becky and I will share our life together with the same kind of love and mutual understanding that I just experienced with this toilet. Toilet: I will never forget you.