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Alas, Man Is Finite In Faculties

Posted 10.14.2005 by Winnie the Poo (74)
Last July my wife asked me to prepare my special taco recipe as a birthday lunch treat for her dad. I am a pretty good chef, mind you, but my tacos are not the regular type -- they are more of a buffet you can stuff with whatever you can handle in your plate. At your own risk, as I later learned.

That Sunday morning, I decided to skip breakfast to leave space for the main course. I returned from the market after buying all the best ingredients and began preparing, as always, my guacamole entrée, which I serve along with several side dishes of hot peppers, chipotles, jalapenos, chopped tomatoes, onions, tortilla chips, boiled chicken breast strips, coriander sauce, spiced meat, and other tasty goodies. I normally have small bites of food while cooking, and this particular day I was quite happy for some reason; so by the time the guests began to show up around midday I had already eaten a large amount of avocado, chips, and jalapeno appetizers by myself.

My wife decided to raise my spirits early, so she poured me a couple of triple tequila shots. Beyond that, the day was quite hot, so everyone dropped by the kitchen to greet the chef with some ice-cold beer. By the time lunch was finished and everyone was ready to enjoy, it was about 1:30, and I had finished a number of beers as well as nearly an entire bottle of El Jimador Limited Edition tequila. As you can imagine, I was more than tingly all over. The drinking had made me real hungry, so, for some reason (blame the alcohol), I decided to amuse the crowd by testing my eating capacity, which is considerable by any standards. I am not talking about your regular rolled tacos -- I went for Big Mac tortilla-type tacos, loaded with layer after layer of meat, beans, peppers, cheese, guacamole, and all the other stuff I can't even remember being on the table.

I do remember people staring in awe at the sizes of my servings. I lost count after the fifth plate of multi-layered tacos. There were more -- I can not recall precisely how many -- and they were washed down with yet more beer. Ego (blame alcohol again) had impaired my senses. My little nephews and other family members cheered in full admiration of my stamina. Even I was impressed with my achievements. I really was pushing my own limits that day.

Looking back as the events unfolded, maybe it was simply a death wish. However, I was truly amazed that I did not feel any weird pains in my stomach, nor did I have any adverse reactions whatsoever. I felt invincible (yup, the alcohol again). For a moment I believed I would be able to pull it out and set a new personal eating record.

To this date, my stomach still rumbles and howls in agony as I relive those last moments in my head. God knows it was too much for any human being to withstand. And I now realize why gluttony is among the deadly sins -- it's not a religious matter, it's a survival issue. Everyone had stopped eating long ago, I should have also, but I nevertheless decided to return to the kitchen to see if there was more left. It was around 4:00. I'd been eating roughly three hours continuously. My wife didn't say a thing -- she's grown used to it.

Then, without warning, it happened. Cold sweat poured down my face, I grew very dizzy, my whole abdomen hurt like hell, I felt severely bloated, and a constant ringing sound tortured my ears. Maybe it was because I was intoxicated, or maybe I had just defied the bowel gods and now they were laughing at me. Right then and there I thought I was going to die. Honestly, I could not move an inch, and even breathing created an excruciating pain. I tried calling my wife, but it was no use. I simply could not inhale or exhale.

So I stood there awhile, drunk, panting, sweating, and wondering what to do. I began to feel an amazing pressure slowly crawling outwards from my stomach -- so slow it was agony. I knew it was only gas, and since nobody was around, I decided to let it go. My butthole ached, feeling like it was melting as the densest, hottest, most putrid stench I've ever been forced to experience invaded the entire kitchen. Oh, what a relief. Even my dog, Hamlet, a Great Dane who regularly hangs around the kitchen, noticed it; he nervously sniffed around, looking for the contamination source.

I was finally able to walk again, slowly, although this time I began to burp uncontrollably -- large amounts of undigested food were refusing to stay put, and a chain of gassy aftershocks threatened to end my suffering at any time. Either I was about to barf or shit my pants, or both. I looked around in desperation and saw my chance: the kitchen leads to a secluded yard where Hamlet sleeps.

Sweet salvation. I moved as best I could to this spot. Hamlet normally leaves amazingly large turds around -- I could blame it on him. Oh, yes. Not honorable, but it was better than shitting myself in front of everybody I know.

So I dropped my pants and let it all out, praying no one would step in and find me in this situation. You could almost hear the Platoon movie soundtrack in the background -- the gloomy string adagio -- as time seemed to turn into slow motion, extending every second into an eternal frame, while distant party sounds were completely muted by my ass falsetto. And all I could look at, with my eyes partially open, still grunting, was the face of poor old Hamlet. He did not have a clue of what was going on.

I've never seen such a mix flowing out. It grew, and grew, and grew, and piled up to a heap of semi-liquid ass stew with occasional jelled squirts ranging from green to red to black, the colors artistically spattering the wall behind me. It was mostly dark green, though; from the guacamole, I guess. A bizarre salad, if you wish. And the smell -- it was surreal. Hamlet did not like it a bit, that's for sure. I can still clearly see his expression -- a bit confused, but largely angry at me. They say some dogs seek poo to eat. He's never done it. What's more, he avoids his own turds at all costs, as if they were deadly land mines. So imagine how he was loving this moment...

I cleaned up and left the crime scene. As I returned, I was met by some loved ones who wondered why I took so long in the kitchen. My throat knotted as I told them the dog had made a mess outside that needed to be fixed. My nephews curiously peered into the yard to assess the damage, and my wife scolded the dog for a week after, but no one would ever know the awful truth -- except for myself, and Hamlet.



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Dave (11578) -- 10.16.2005
My apoligies: most of the comments on this page from 10/14 to 10/16 were lost due to a database snafu. Below are the ones I was able to recover from Google's cache of the page.


The Big Wiper (996) -- 10.14.2005
Aside from the fact that you unwisely drank and ate all that, I guess the question I have of you is this: what's the deal with going into the backyard to drop your load? Was your bathroom out of order? Was there a long line?

Because it seems to me that if you use indoor plumbing, there's only one half of a story here--the gluttony part. Without going out into the yard and pooping in front of the pet, the dog can't really be brought into the story, and the rest of the story literally gets flushed away.

Just seems a curious pooping choice and location.

Bilgepump (126) -- 10.14.2005
Blaming the dog is the poorest form of shameful shitting...my god man, stand up and take it!! You, sir, defile the male gender!!! Other than that, a great story!!!!

The Big Wiper (996) -- 10.14.2005
You know what's funny, Bilge? The thought of being able to read Hamlet's mind in this case. Let me take a stab:

Winnie The Poo (to wife and friends): "Hamlet did it, folks!"

Hamlet's inner thoughts: "Geezums!WTF was he doo-in' out here anyway? I thought this was my pooping territory! Hey, the most I do in his territory is drink outta that bowl! Woof!"

Pill Pooper (315) -- 10.14.2005
Hmm shitting in the yard as opposed to sitting on the toilet. Sounds a bit strange to me also. But, you seem to be pretty drunk. I've done/seen some amazing things while intoxicated so you never know.

CC (not verified) -- 10.14.2005
I can understand blaming the dog for a fart but for turd terrorism seems very unfair.If the mess was multi colored like you described you could have told your guests the ghost of Jackson Pollock did it.

Big Shit (12) -- 10.14.2005
I have been there before and know first hand that when you are drunk and think that you will die you are not in the best position to think rationally. Great story, although, no matter how drunk I have ever been, I have always been able to figure out the basics, like, shit goes in the toilet.

Fart Poopie (195) -- 10.14.2005
Maybe the bathroom was too far from the kitchen to make it there on time.
Winnie, mind shedding some light on this issue?
Why didn't you use the toilet?

C Everett Poop (36) -- 10.14.2005
Strange story for sure. I would never blame a dog for something like that, maybe a fart or two.

I once drank 6 shots of tequila in college in 1986. It was a saturday night. I woke up in the back yard of a house two doors down from mine, in their flower bed, on Monday morning. 36 hours totally erased from my history. Those were my last tequila shots.

Splatterbuns (33) -- 10.14.2005
I've never come close to consuming an entire bottle of tequila, but from my tequila experiences I can say that it could certainly account for the irrational, if not bizarre decision to go outside. I don't blame you for faulting the dog, though, I wouldn't fess up to it either. While two wrongs may not make a right, they can keep you out of the doghouse (and Hamlet probably wouldn't have wanted you in his doghouse after what you did to his poop territory).

The Big Wiper (996) -- 10.14.2005
I must now confess that I, too, have a tequila experience to relate, C. Everett and Splatterbuns.

Years ago, I was in-between jobs, and to make a little cash, I accepted a position delivering singing telegrams. Yes, I really did that. In a tuxedo with a pitchpipe. It was dorky beyond belief, but I will probably work it into one of my novels eventually.

Anyhoo, one night I delivered a telegram to this couple who were in graduate school. She, in fact, was teaching, while he was working on his graduate degree.

Once I had finished with the dorky telegram, they invited me to stay awhile. They fed me tequila shots all night. The problem was, when I got ready to leave (I had been sitting on their sofa shooting the breeze with them), I couldn't get up.

I was embalmed. They were cool about it, however, and I spent the night on their sofa. In my tux.

So perhaps taking a dump in the backyard under the influence of tequila shots isn't quite the stretch I thought it was at first.

Still, I'd like to hear from Winnie the Poo, himself, on this matter.

Thus ends the recovered comments. Sorry...

Gaseous G (not verified) -- 10.17.2005

". . . nearly an entire bottle of El Jimador Limited Edition tequila"

Plus numerous beers.

That's a lot of liquor. No telling what could come out of your ass (or when or where) after that. You were lucky that you didn't do something legendary. Take it as a warning and resolve to do better.

In The Bushes (111) -- 10.17.2005

Yes, at first this seemed a bit odd to me, as well, and I couldn't quite understand the use of the yard instead of the toilet. Then I figured, perhaps he had a persnickety toilet that he knew couldn't handle such a wide load. Then reading these comments I remembered a time back when I was a youth where I puked in my bed and slept in it after drinking heavily, because my mom had told me to go to bed.

wonderpance (576) -- 10.17.2005

indeed. when you ask yourself, "but why would he poop in the yard?" it is important to remember that he was drunk, and drunk people do silly things.

some silly things i've done whilst drunk:
- went home and made out with a guy i only knew for a couple hours.
- sat on a deck railing 10 feet above ground, plummetting to the ground below, avoiding impalement on a shovel by about 1 inch.
- backyard wrestling (front yard, actually)
- driving (duh)
- broke into a haunted (or at least, that's what we liked to think) abandoned high school, escaping arrest by mere moments.
- continuing to drink

i'm sure my list isn't as crazy as some people's, but you get my point.

elfie_throop (13) -- 11.09.2005

urch... liked the story though
*Elphaba))

La Petomaine (71) -- 11.20.2005

Tequila will do that to ya--but the excessive amounts of spicy food certainly contributed to the mess!
Poor Hamlet...
Have a crappy day!
La Petomaine

Anonymous Coward (not verified) -- 11.27.2005

im so proud im pooping right now!

The Shit Volcano (3741) -- 12.19.2005

Damn, I can't say I've never been drunk but I hate drunk people. They can be perfectly reasonable people until they get drunk, then I just want to kick their asses because they are acting like total freaks. If I was your wife I would have kicked your ass and dunked you in your own shit. Poor Hamlet!

Funny story, though.

Hamster (580) -- 08.31.2007

TSV - drunken people can be a pain in the ass, particularly when you are sober, sure. But the thing about drink is that it affects people in so many different ways - giggly, morose, boisterous, argumentative, unco-ordinated, violent, etc. It is only that last one I have real difficulty with. People who get violent after drink should just not drink - ask any victim.

The Thunderous ... (660) -- 08.31.2007

Damn you really did lose your perception of reality there. Fortunately for you there was a dog around to blame things on! Tequila can have a Milk of Magnesia effect too. PLUS the deadly combo of Tacos.
_______
The Thunderous Crapper 63 Enjoying home toilet advantage since 2004!

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