It was 1998, and my brother was attending a professional conference in Malaysia. After its completion, he took some time for R&R at a beach resort area in Thailand. I've got to say, Wally loved everything about Thailand, and immediately immersed himself in its culture -- and consumed the drinks and spicy foods in vast quantities.
Waking up in his hotel one morning, he felt the usual need to release gas -- the "morning bell," as he called it. Lying naked under a thin sheet, he raised one leg as he squeezed out the fart. A rooster tail of yellow-ochre colored liqui-shit spurted into the air and onto the sheets. Shocked, he went to the toilet and released more of the foul gravy. This was followed by long, tenorous farts, which he said sounded inhuman, like the insistent quacking of a deranged duck. At last he was empty. Just in time, too, as he had a tour bus to catch for a trip to the beach.
At the beach, he enjoyed snorkeling and swimming in the beautiful coral-filled water. The tour included a lunch, and he went to eat with the other tourists at an outdoor picnic area. As he was enjoying the meal, ominous rumblings began in his gut. Although Wally enjoyed talking about shit, he was still one of the most Shameful Shitters I've ever met. This was not going to be good.
Wally pondered his options. He could try and hold in the spicy, foul gruel; or he could risk shaming himself and using the small outhouse provided very close to the picnic area. The rumbling became insistent, and when he stood, some diarrhea shot into his swim trunks. He had no choice -- the outhouse was to become his refuge.
He stepped into the small, dank, FILTHY building. There was no toilet seat -- only a filthy splattered rim of stainless steel. He sat down and oceans of the same hot, yellow-ochre lava flowed into the bowl. The pain from the chilis he'd eaten the night before gnawed at his anus as the flow eventually reduced to a trickle.
To his horror, he felt more farts coming. His ass began the same insistent quacking. The sound ricocheted around the outhouse and, of course, into the picnic area. The Shameful Shitter had been shamed indeed.
When he was confident the onslaught was over, he reached for the toilet paper to clean up the mess which had spattered all over his buttocks and made a hot, vile coating on his skin. He was shocked to find no toilet paper on the roll. There was nothing available -- except scraps of toilet paper smeared with the shit of others who'd come before him, scattered on the floor of the outhouse. Reluctantly, he grabbed a few of the cleaner pieces and did a perfunctory wipe of the worst areas. He was by no means clean, but planned to exit quickly and head to the beach to let the ocean wash away the remains of the shameful shit.
Wally's hasty trek to the beach was interrupted by the voice of the resort personnel, forbidding him to go into the water. The tide was low, and swimmers were not allowed in, in order to preserve the coral reefs. He began to panic, as he couldn't ride all the way back to the hotel with his buttocks in such a terrible state.
Then, he saw it. It was a solitary shower head affixed to the side of the food preparation area. It was in full view of the other tourists, who were lingering after lunch, but he had no choice. He turned on the faucet, and, thankfully, water began to flow from the showerhead. He turned to face the tourists, backed into the spray of the shower, and pulled open the back of the trunks, allowing water to flow inside and rinse the smeared shit. Rivulets of yellow tinged water flowed down his legs and onto the ground as the curious tourists looked on.
Wally made it back to the hotel without incident, and reported one more yellow quacking shit episode that evening. He also noted that the spattered sheets from the morning had been replaced with clean ones. He'd be more careful the next day.
Rest in peace, dear Wally. I'm going to miss you.
-- Ca-Ca Doodle