Christians call it Revelation. Buddhists call it Nirvana. It's the moment in one's life where truth is revealed, the meaningless nonsense of the material world is shattered, and where in an instant your life changes. A time of great awakening that redefines your universe and your place within it. Such a time was this.

The place was the Australia Bar, in the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The event was an all-you-can-drink party for someone's birthday. The party took place in the downstairs portion of the bar. It was crowded, loud, and lively. There was a girl there that I had my eye on, a cute girl by the name of... well, let's just call her "Hillary Clinton."

So, there I was, chatting it up with Hillary Clinton, making jokes, being funny, making her laugh, thinking I'm getting somewhere. I was drinking, but not much, because I felt a little sick. I had made a poop earlier in the night, but I was not able to get that clean, everything's-out feeling.

It reached the point where the goings-on in my stomach and nether region were impeding my progress with Hillary Clinton. My smooth, easygoing "I am listening to you and understanding" smile had turned into a grimace of intestinal pain.

"Excuse me," I said politely, "I have to go pee-pee."

I walked with command toward the back of the room. "If I urinate, I will feel better," I thought as I approached the bathroom. It was a single bathroom, no stalls, just a small room, sink and toilet. I unzipped and let flow a refreshing stream. As the warm fluid waste trickled out, I realized that I might as well purge the stomach while I was there. So, in mid-flow... I lean forward... open my mouth...

And in one cataclysmic event of volcanic proportions, I exploded from all ends!

I was sweating from every pore, exhausted and confused.

I felt the seat of my trousers in disbelief. "No, I couldn't?" but then I grabbed the leg of pants, and lifted up the cuff, and... out rolls a little turd.

There's an impatient knock at the door. I don't know how long I have been there. I pulled down my trousers and shorts to reveal the mess I had just produced. The shorts are beyond repair. I remove my pants, throw out my dripping drawers, and try to wipe off the rest of the stains off my clothes. There is more knocking, by a group of people, and some yelling.

"Just a minute!" I yell, desperately hoping they might think I was masturbating. I get dressed, wipe up, wash my face and hands, and burst out of bathroom. There is a line of men waiting, staring me down. I walk past them and out onto the street. There I sit, behind a dumpster on the corner, thinking back on my life, and everything that had preceded that moment. What have I done?

After an hour or so, I walk back proudly into the bar, sans shorts, aware that I had stared into the face of the monster and lived. My new-found peace, though, is shattered soon after as a friend approaches me and asks, "Were you in the bathroom? Did you see? Somebody took a shit on the floor. There was a piece of shit on the floor. That's disgusting."

"Yes, it is," I concede, "Yes, it is."

-- Joe