All the signs were there, and in my head I pictured the imprisoned turd with his little white flag begging for my mercy and release. Sweat collected behind my knees and I arched my back to grab them in a position that would resemble a black cat on all hallows eve. I called to my prisoner, "Go to the bowl! Run away! Exit, you evil beast!!!" Nothing happened. I ignored the directions on the Ex-Lax and took more.
An hour passed slowly. Nothing happened. Sobbing, I phoned my mother in hopes that the wise lady would have a proper solution for my fecal tragedy. Her answer was to call a physician. Oh hell naw! Another hour passed and I was desperate. I gave it one last shot, and just as I thought it was going to pass I expelled a gas cloud.
Just in case there were trailers, I wiped. Lying lowly underneath I could make out a baseball-shaped object just waiting to be "outed" by the anal pitcher. This made me panic like you wouldn't believe. The only thing I could think of was how in the hell was I going to get this thing out of me.
Being a woman who colors her hair quite frequently, I had plenty of those cheap disposable gloves that come with the coloring kit. Without a sound I grabbed a pair and a bottle of baby oil and whisked away to my shit shack. Yes, I gloved, oiled and dug for gold.
I cannot, in words, describe what happened next. For what seemed like hours I chipped away the boulder until all was clear. With a sigh of relief I cleaned myself. I had trouble standing from shaking because of the trauma I had just experienced. I was so glad that was over.
I was ever so wrong. The Ex-Lax must have done its job. Nine days of imprisoned shit dropped and the stench that followed was shocking. With the cat as my witness, it smelled exactly like a woman's perm. I will never understand how a solid turd can be accompanied by liquid shit lava, then a turd, then lava and so forth. That was the worst day of my life.
-- Poopedem [1]