About ten years ago, I had my first major run-in with an impatient turd. It all started on a cool Saturday morning in May. I went through my daily ritual, bringing my coffee into the living room and turning on the news. My mother went upstairs, took a shower, and got dressed up -- a job that takes her about an hour. In the meantime, my stomach's lower regions began to gurgle a bit. Soon thereafter, my father went off for his morning constitutional. Since he has IBD, I knew he was going to be quite a while in the other shitter.

About five minutes later, I got a very strong urge to poop. I waited, and waited, and waited, hoping one bathroom or another would be freed up. I could hear the shower running upstairs; that bathroom was off limits. And I could hear my dad groaning in the second bathroom; that bathroom was obviously out of order as well. But the beast up my ass wasn't going to wait for anybody. Finally I just couldn't hold it any more. We had a basement toilet, but it wasn't hooked up to the water or the sewer. Still, I had no choice.

I stuck a small roasting pan (one we no longer used to cook with) in the bowl, along with a paper towel (so the pan would not be in direct contact with my poop). I sat down and let ‘er rip. In just ten seconds, the beast was born. Then I looked at the toilet paper roll: no TP. Luckily, this one was a pretty clean break. I went back upstairs and got a tissue, and went back down to wipe what little was there.

I had dropped a good ten-incher. So now the real challenge began: how in the hell was I going to get this into a working toilet?

I covered the pan and brought it upstairs to my room to wait until my mom went back downstairs. Finally, after fifteen more minutes passed, she was back downstairs. I immediately brought my giant torpedo into the bathroom to meet its demise. I dumped the paper towel into the toilet as well.

But my creation was very firm. I flushed, and 3.6 gallons of water roared in, but this monster was not going give up the fight just yet. Then, suddenly, it did give up -- well, almost. The combination of my giant log and the paper towel had jammed the trap up tighter than a boar's ass.

More problems lay ahead for me: no plunger. No metal coat hangers -- only plastic ones. The only thing in the closet was cleaner and a rubber glove.

I gently pressed the lever, allowing the water in the bowl to rise to the rim, hoping the pressure would push everything down. It didn't. Thus, I had no choice -- desperate situations call for desperate measures. I cringed at the thought... but like I said, I had no choice. Gritting my teeth, I put on the glove and prayed that I could reach the source of the clog.

I did. I pulled the turd down and the pressure released. Totally grossed out, hoping gravity would be on my side, I then let go of the giant turd. Finally something went right -- with the thump of my giant log going through the trap and the chug-a-lug of the toilet, my impatient turd was off to its watery grave. And my perilous situation was over.