I went to bed last night as per my usual ritual of circadian sleep, when I realized that things were a little amiss in my bowels. I don’t know if I felt weird because of something I ate, because of something I drank, or if it was just ’cause I had spent some time with Porter, and we all know he has the Black Death/Ebola/Halitosis combo (he’s one of those triple-threat guys).
Anyway, regardless of the cause, I hopped out of bed, and as the French like to say, “Shit went down.” I guess it was because things became subtly rearranged in my intestines when I lied down, but as I sulked to the bathroom, I became imminently aware of the fact that if I didn’t hasten my travel, I would be facing a deuce-in-the-drawers situation.
I don’t know if you have ever experienced almost pooping in your Pampers, but it’s not a comfortable feeling. On the one hand, your body is saying, “Yo, it’s cool, you can poop in your pants, ain’t nobody gonna know ’bout it, it can be our little secret…” On the other hand, your brain is telling you, “Dude, if you crap in your pants, that means that you are potentially going to have to clean shit out of your underwear, not to mention live with the fact that you had such little control of your own sphincter that you released en route to the bathroom. And you don’t even have a big apartment, loser!” My brain, by the way, is not a kind organ…
Anyway, the upshot of this whole deal was that I made it to the bathroom, dropped my pajama bottoms and waited… and waited… and waited… For some strange reason, the signaling effect that I had experienced just didn’t pan out. I made sure everything was kosher with a few final, gut-wrenching pushes, but nothing happened, so I got up, and started walking back to my bedroom. Naturally, this would not last, because as soon as I stood up, the feeling returned, however, now it was combined with the pleasure of nausea. Scrambling back to my porcelain throne, I realized that this could be the beginning of the end.
OK, now, I don’t think any of ya’ll have been in the uncompromising situation of having to simultaneously yak and poop, but it is a pretty difficult undertaking. This is largely due to the fact that while sitting on the toilet, it is almost physically impossible to throw up in the same toilet. So, if you can imagine, I leaned over to the adjoining sink and barfed while at the same time making sure that I didn’t crap on the floor.
Luckily, the two expulsions didn’t correspond, and I was able to get rid of whatever strange illness that was causing me to feel like utter scrogg (I don’t know if that was a word or not, but I like it)…
You, know, looking back on this little story, it’s pretty disgusting. But, I mean, if you think about it, my excreta has been the topic of a lot of conversation Please see “The Bowels of Bowels, The Nupur Mehta story” by Vivek Shrinavathan, a truly fascinating piece during Shrinavathan’s formative years. I guess the moral of this story is that you shouldn’t hang out with Porter, and if you do, make sure he gets a thorough cleaning beforehand, otherwise you’re in for a world of trouble… or at least a lot of poop.