This is a true story about a good friend of mine who retired after a distinguished career as a trial and appellate judge in my state. In his younger days, "Judge Brown" (as we will call him) was a cadet at the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis. He was invited to a formal garden party at the Commandant's house -- dress whites and all that.
Unfortunately, Judge Brown had been suffering from a severe logjam for several days, with the result that his lower tract was as backed up as a two-stall crapper at the Ex-Lax factory.
This day, however, Judge Brown had the opposite problem; and with the inerrant timing that only a truly epic BM possesses, just as he arrived in the Commandant's back garden, the brown python decided to slither out of its cage.
Brown made some excuse and did a forced march into the house. Knowing that this was going to be a really deadly dump, he bypassed the downstairs bathroom and located one on the second floor. He dropped trou, and after several minutes of agonized grunting and straining, the butt-buster hit the deck with a sickening thud. When he looked into the bowl, he discovered that this kielbasa was approximately the size, shape, color, and consistency of an MP's nightstick. Repeated flushings did nothing but swirl the monster around like a fecal Flying Dutchman doomed to sail the ceramic sea for all eternity.
Judge Brown couldn't find a weapon big and strong enough to break the back of this Titanic of Turds. (I think he tried the handle of Mrs. Commandant's hairbrush and -- who knows -- maybe the Old Man's toothbrush. YUK.) Beginning to panic, he determined that Moby Turd was never going to get a burial at sea, and the only alternative was to salvage this shipwreck from its watery grave and dispose of it via alternative means.
Desperate times demand desperate measures. Judge Brown entombed this beached whale in a winding sheet of toilet paper and dropped it out of the bathroom window, hoping it would land in the bushes below, hoping it would biodegrade, or at least be mistaken for the droppings of a stray gorilla.
Unfortunately, Brown overestimated the path of his rectal rocket's trajectory -- as was made all too clear a few seconds later by the horrified shrieks and stampeding high heels of the ladies in the garden below. See, Brown had forgotten that the bathroom window overlooked the part of the garden where the party was located.
He tells me he speedily went downstairs and exited both the front door as well as his hopes for a career as a naval officer. The law beckoned: a field where people are naturally used to burying shit. And the rest, as they say, is history. And all because of one anal anchor that refused to die.