Hence, upon reaching Almaty, I had only managed to liberate from my intestines a single forlorn turdlette - an Ebeneezer Scrooggely desiccated affair that resembled the calf muscle of an Ethiopian marathoner donning Slobodan Milosevch’s toupee.
Without a place to stay, I set up at a friend’s three-bedroom apartment despite the presence of his two perennially lachrymose urchins and a roster of extended family members. Given a veritable revolving door on the cramped closet passing itself off as a shitter, I looked for any pretext to spill out on to the streets, say, to the Almaty 2 Train Station, to TSUM, a nearby department store, or to a restaurant whenever a bowel movement came due — that is, to some public shittery.
The day following my arrival, I enjoyed an elegant lunch with a former secretary whose name I cannot pronounce. With this secretary, I had once been working at one of the premier universities — famous in Central Asia for its progressive western ideas: democracy, freedom, and equality of opportunity. Since one of those ideas was advancement for minorities and women, PoopReport readers can well understand my elation at seeing my former secretary having advanced to a director’s position of sorts herself since the time I had quit her place of employment; readers might equally understand like elation for being able to sneak behind her desk, fondle her lovingly (albeit professionally) under her green sun dress and around the tong underwear stripe running down the crack of her tangy buttocks - whilst she and I pretended to take interest in Lantolf’s naive and indeed slavish treatment of Vygotsky’s Sociocultural theories of learning. …Indeed! Unfortunately, our "pouring out” over Vygotsky had been fully reflected in the glass panes of the book case behind us for all the students to see, the cheeky, zitty impudent little cretins…
Unable to control my elation and admiration for my former secretary, after six p.m.’s hasty sunset, my former secretary freed herself from work and she and I were quickly able to shuffle her off to a forsaken back entrance to Almaty’s Gorky Park along a winding path. I was just as expeditiously able to begin orally administering to this former secretary’s winsome, albeit astringent, backside. Doing so, however, I was somehow assailed with the gnawing reminder that I had not passed substantial stool for at least four days. I brushed the thought of this necessity to defecate aside, as I had earlier brushed aside the tong under string, for we both needed to hurry; my former secretary needed to get back to her young common-law Kazakh husband. So, in an attempt to advance the evening along, in the throes of passion, she threw her arms around a mature pine and raised her buxom rump to me amid half-hearted protests of chastity or fidelity to the aforementioned husband. In the night air, a harvest moon reflected off her soft, pretty, artificially chestnut dyed hair and my ugly graying & balding scalp.
The rich, black earth around our heroic pine having been thoroughly seeded, we hustled my former secretary into a taxi near the main entrance to Gorky Park. After a protracted, breathless sendoff replete with promises for a diurnal follow-up under motel conditions, my former secretary ensconced herself in a 2001 Grey Zhiguli taxi and sped off. At this time, however, perhaps I was aware that either due to a thick and clumpy draft of my former secretary’s love lubricants, my pelvic thrusting, or her own reciprocal bumping and grinding to meet my assaulting poonterprod, a week’s worth of fecal material was now dislodging itself and making its way southward.
I had to decide whether to catch a taxi back to my friend’s apartment and queue-up to his well-populated WC, stinking out the whole family in the process and going through an entire box of matches in a heroic masking attempt; or whether to risk going back into the park to find another valiant evergreen; or whether to try to find a dark building to duck behind. Long having been a decision maker and recently have grown inspired with seeing my former secretary taking the initiative, I would myself make a decision; I would take a taxi to the nearest open public privy, but one closest to my friend’s apartment.
Therefore, I had the taxi driver deposit me at the front of TSUM department store on Ablai-Khan Street. Therein, I made for the subterranean crapper, the descent to which seemed interminable. Furthermore, descending meant paying off a thirty tenge cover charge and snatching on the fly the meager portion of ass paper that a perennially sullen and misshapen toilet troll meted out, a Russian woman of about one hundred and seventy-three years. It surely must have seemed to her that I had discharged the thirty tenge into her crusty paw at the end of a grenade launcher as I hobbled past her, plunging lower into the Hades of this subterranean shithouse. In shuffling past, I held the inner portions of my thighs together in an attempt to stem the chestnut-brown tide about to make a violent egress from my violently-pulsing, winking aperture. My aim was to be off this evening, though, and I almost didn’t succeed in closing the stall door or pulling down my Arrow dress slacks and underwear when a dry, burnt cork-like Slobodan Milosovichian grogan popped out of my cork-hole as though it had been forced out under steam pressure. I even imagined it bouncing off the wall.
Close behind a scalding fetid stream followed, however, never making it into the trough of the sunken in-ground toilet, and thus splashing against the back wall, which would have dismayed even the most rebellious G-20 summit protester/fecal terrorist. Having wiped, I crawled out of the depths of Hades, past the govno gnome and headed two blocks north along Ablai Khan Street to my friend’s apartment.
All told, I had made the right decision. And why wouldn’t I have done so? Am I not from the same great land that gave the world Donald Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney, Raul Emmanuel, Ted “Liberal Lion” Kennedy, ( and George Soros...)? I could beam with pride knowing that I, as an American (spoken with a Newt Gingrichian drawl), was a reifier, delivering demonstratively in word and deed abstract concepts like leadership, good decision making, democracy, and freedom. And I was doing so in country. Whether ensuring fair elections by the judicious use of cluster bombs on hapless Arabs in Iraq or busting up a weeding from stealthy drones in far flung Afghanistan, I and my power-charged anus were, likewise, bringing progress to the backward peoples of the world!
The world didn’t need to come to us in Pittsburgh; we’re taking it to them. And I’m proud to be an American!