I always munch during Thursday TV time. That's three total hours of eating anything I can find during commercial breaks. This last Thursday, I awoke about one AM to feel Lemmiwinks actively searching for freedom deep within my bowels. Not the normal movement but erratic, nervous behavior. Then I realized that Lemmi was being chased by a river of molten shit. I'm not a virgin to middle-of-the-night episodes, but I can't think of one recently that felt as urgent.
My ass spewed a caustic lava I had never before known. It was spicy as well as hot -- temperature hot. To make matters worse, I have a 'roid named Gulliver that I'd just managed to sedate in recent days. Now he was being slapped awake by a slosh of white-hot intestinal acid.
Gulliver awakened with fury, summoning the entire sphincterial ring of Lilliputian nerve endings into a frenzied rage. My hole throbbed in a syncopatic dirge maestro'd by the enraged hemorrhoid.
I shot a few more loads into the bowl with each colon surge. The foul water beneath me hissed, and I could hear the ululating of the sewer Chupacabras as they gyrated demonically at the anticipation of their impending meal. My pain was exquisite.
You can't wipe after an episode like this. Even the fantasy of a bidet squirting chilled baby oil into my taint was ineffective. I resorted to the fresh container of crack tortillas on the tank lid, which normally soothe the mighty Gulliver. I rolled, and I Tucked, but even the good witch hazel had no magic spells this time. I pulled my upper lip taut and gingerly powdered my hole, and then returned to bed.
I lay in the darkness, trying to remove focus from my burning ring. Then, when it couldn't seem to be any worse, my ass cheek began to throb.
It is difficult to describe the sensation, other than to say it was a relentless muscle ache in my bun. I perched, swiveled, and contorted in an effort to find relief for my former green zone. For nearly an hour I writhed in the last throes, if you will, of my insurgency. I finally ate a handful of Advil and was able to get back to sleep.
The next morning Gulliver was fast asleep and acting as if nothing ever happened. I, on the other hand, still had the sharp memory of the assault in my head. Mostly I was perplexed as to why it was such a severe shit. I didn't trust food any more, as I certainly didn't want anything else squeezing through my smoldering loop anytime soon.
Was it something I ate? Nothing I could remember eating the night before had a Surgeon General warning label, nor did anything advertising three alarms come to mind; not even one or two alarms, for that matter. Even if that were the case, I can normally eat some pretty hellacious food; my system usually does a good job of smoke jumping it.
The following is a review of Thursday night's intake. Perhaps someone within this enlightened community can spot the item(s) that could possibly have spawned my vision of El Diassblo?
- Teriyaki beef jerky (from Costco)
- A dill pickle
- A fistful of hazelnuts
- A glass of Cran-Grape juice
- A handful of snap peas
- A Tootsie Pop (cherry flavored)
- A slice of potato bread
- A few parsnip chips (Blecch! Won't get those again.)
- Five or six grape tomatoes
- A couple radishes from the garden
- A couple Pepperoncini's from Trader Joes
- Two or three tablespoons of pepitas
You might suspect the raw veggie roughage, but I eat that all the time. I can only speculate that there was a chemical reaction between two or more of these items. And what would cause the unbearable butt ache? I need some advice, and I'm not ready to go 'sporking' through my shit like the last time my doctor suspected poo bugs. Any ideas?