In 1984, when I was fifteen, I was invited to spend the summer with my sister and her soon-to-be-husband Ralph at their place in Rowena, Texas. If you've never been to Rowena I would suggest only going there once in your life. It's a very small town of about maybe two hundred people, located in a desert-like area of western Texas. The summers there are particularly hot, ranging from 110 to 125 degrees, so one of the things that you have to do there is drink a lot of water to keep from dehydrating. I naturally hate water, so to get my share of H2O I decided that drinking it in Kool-Aid form would be much more enjoyable, if not better tasting.
After being there for about a month and a half and drinking Kool-Aid like it was the best thing since socks, I failed to remember a little something that my sister had told me about the water: it may taste a little different than the water that I was used to living with my parents. I merely passed off her warnings, attributing the taste to the water treatment plant; but what I later learned was that the water had a very high mineral content. No surprise then that for the past week I had been feeling bloated and heavy from constipation.
One day, as I was sitting in the recliner, I decided that I really needed to make a deposit in the bathroom before I exploded. So I made my way to the bathroom, magazine in hand; at this time it was about 11 AM.
Sitting there, reading about some movie stars, I managed to let a couple of small-to-average-sized pieces; but I knew that there was something more hiding inside me, looking for the right moment to come out. After about thirty minutes I could feel the pressure of what seemed like a Mack truck trying to squeeze out, so I tried to help it by pushing some.
Now, I've never had any trouble getting any to come out, but I could tell that this time was definitely going to be different. I continued pushing. Another twenty minutes went by and I had accomplished nothing more than getting hot, for the noon sun was out and the temperature was already near 89, and cramped in the bathroom of an old trailer house was almost like being inside of a gigantic toaster oven.
After a five-minute breather I again started to push. I could feel it at the gates of my anus, pressing up against me in a vain attempt to get out, but try as I might it wasn't going to budge. By this time I had laid down the magazine and had my hands clenched into fists, hoping that would help get this Demon from the Netherbowels out of me. So I grunted, I strained, I pushed with all my might, but this creature was not gonna come out easy. I reached over to the bathtub, grabbed a wash cloth and got it wet in the sink because I was really starting to get hot in there.
By this time I looked at my watch and realized that I'd been in the bathroom for over two hours, producing nothing more than a couple of rivets and a lot of sweat, and that my sister and Ralph would soon be home from work. So, gathering all the strength that I could muster, I decided that I was going to push and keep pushing until it came out. Taking a deep breath, I started to push with one sole purpose. I must have pushed nonstop for over half an hour or more... and then finally I felt it start to slide out, and judging from how it felt it was maybe only a couple of inches.
It was already past 3 PM and I had two hours before they got off work, so I made one final desperate attempt to dislodge this from me. Pushing again, I felt it slowly start to make its trek from point A to point B... it took almost twenty minutes for it to completely fall out, and when it did it made a sound and a splash like someone dropping a Virginia Ham into a bucket of water, and when it did I fell onto the floor and passed out from exhaustion.
I don't know how long I laid there on the floor, but when I came around I was still covered in sweat, and when I stood up to wipe I noticed that there was blood running down my thigh, and when I looked in the toilet bowel I saw why: this "thing" was as big around as a tin can (the kind that green beans or corn come in) and about six inches long and had thus ripped me open. I tried to clean up as best as I could and even took a shower, but I kept bleeding and was afraid that a visit to the hospital might be necessary. I went back into the living room (actually having to hold onto the wall to keep from falling) and sat down for a little bit.
After a while I went back to the bathroom and tried to flush this damnation. Five flushes didn't work, so I resorted to using the plunger to try to break it up. This proved fruitless because the thing felt like it was hard as steel. So I went into the storage room and grabbed the machete and walked down the hall with grim determination on my face.
It was like the scene from some deranged slasher flick. Here I was in the bathroom, stabbing and slashing and hacking away at this seemingly indestructible construction. I finally succeeded in cutting it up into several manageable pieces. I then wiped off my blade of death and flushed my unholy abomination into a dimension from which I can only hope and pray that it shall never return.
I didn't drink any more water in Rowena. I took a several month vacation from my sport of stopping up public toilets until I got back home and got some good water; but after I got healed up and back to normal I resumed my activities and have recently been proclaimed King of Shit for successfully clogging the brand new industrial toilets at Saint Joseph Hospital. So if you're ever in the Lexington, KY area, and you see a toilet that's been blocked off or clogged up due to a Demon Poop, you'll know that I've been there.
-- The Shit Enigma