Greased Lightnin'

There are so many great tales of heroism to tell concerning the magnificent dumpage that occured during the Thanksgiving weekend, that I'm not quite sure where to begin...
My favorite bowel movement was probably one taken on Saturday in a bathroom at work.
I'd been in the building for several hours and hadn't seen/heard a single soul. i then headed toward my favorite stall, and prepared for blast-off when I heard someone walk in the bathroom.
"Who in the world (other than me) is crazy enough to come into work on their day off?" I thought.
At that precise moment, all of my grunting and pushing paid off when the dookster shot out of my butt like a greased pig. The splash was amazing, and I'm pretty sure that I heard my surprise visitor vomiting in the stall next to mine after he heard the explosion.
Bad timing...great fun...

My Butt, the Yogurt Machine

Earlier this morning, I took another "O! O! Spaghetti-o!" dump. It was as if my butt was a yogurt machine, squirting out a curly helping of crap-flavored yogurt.
Thanksgiving is sure to bring some interesting tales...

El Scorcho!

When you mix three different types of hot sauce and pour them on your tacos, you're just asking for a scorching-hot dump.
Yesterday morning it felt as if my butthole was being lit up by a blow torch.
I'm pretty sure that people at work noticed that I was walking a little funny (butt cheeks clenched).
Ahhhh, hot sauce: like a moth to the flame...

There's a Reason Why They Call Them 'Go-Go Taquitos'

Whew!
The ritualistic morning dump was remarkably unspectacular, but 7-11's 'go-go taquitos' did a fine job of making up for it.
They should market those things as laxatives.

A Fast And Furious Big Bertha

I popped out a nice dirty chunk this morning...real fat 'n' nasty.
In case you are unaware, I'm what is known in the biz as a "fast dooker". Compared to the average guy (normal dump time: 30 minutes), I'm the Flash when it comes to brownie-makin'. I usually require less than a minute to finish my business. On numerous occassions friends have commented on the relative speed of my bowel movements.
Just in case you were wondering...

Foot Long Sub = Foot Long Dump

Okay - I usually will do anything I can to avoid Subway.
Why? Because I hate Jared the Subway Guy.
Seriously - I'd like to cut out his already-shriveled nuts and shove them down his throat (which he wouldn't mind, because he technically wouldn't be gaining any weight).
But sometimes, if the coupon is right, I buy the crap that is Subway's sandwiches simply because I can't resist using a good coupon.
Anyway...
I usually only get a six-inch sub because after about five inches I usually remember the other reason that I avoid Subway: the food sucks.
Anyway, I ended up eating a foot-long last night (coupons!) and let's just say that I verified Einstein's Theory of Conservation of Crap when I managed to squeeze out a foot-long turd this morning (although it looked more like a Jack in the Box "pannido").
Yowza!

Not A Lot of 'Going' Going On

Nothing much to report. Two early morning craps at home, and a whole lotta wind.
I have the feeling that there may be some weekend "magic", though.
Stay tuned...

Neopolitan Delight

Ever leave behind a log that serves as a record of at least two very distinct gastronomical periods?
I call them "Neopolitan Delights".
You'll have half a log that's dookie-brown, and the other half'll be some weird color like orange or something.
I dropped one of these this morning at home, and the rest of it was just left in a public restroom (work) just a few seconds ago.
Sometimes, I actually take the time to think about how long it takes for the journey through my bowels to take place. Neopolitan Delights are especially helpful in this matter.

O! O! O! Spaghetti-O!

Ever take a gander back after taking what seems to be a 'power dump' only to find that you've just manufactured something that-despite color, texture, and smell-looks like spaghetti?
That's basically how I've spent my weekend: sculpting my butt-vomit into spaghetti sculptures.
I just hope I can get back to makin' some good ol' logs soon...

My Stomach, the Liar

Ever wake up in the morning with your stomach making that "blub-blub" sound?
It usually can be translated from stomach-talk to reg'lar-people-talk as: "You need to take a friggin' dump."
This morning I recieved such a message from my stomach, but instead of a fecal fireworks show, I got a regular, ordinary dump.
I was less than pleased.
Ordinarily, I don't really look forward to butt-vomit, but when the stomach makes a promise, it needs to keep it.

Touche, My Anonymous Friend

Earlier today, I made one of my twice-daily pilgrimages to the restroom at work only to find that I had a little gift waiting for me in my usual stall. And by "little gift", I mean "log the size of your leg".
Now - I'm not one to plagiarize, but I was tempted to get a snap-shot of this beast and claim it as my own. It was that impressive.
Anyway, since there was no chance of flushing this beast, I went and took care of my business in a different stall. And after I was done, and turned around for the obligatory work-admiration glance, I felt inadequate and ashamed at the truly paltry tithe I'd just given the Porcelain Goddess.
Touche, my anonymous friend. Touche.

No Longer Clogged!

Yesterday, I finally sent the Browns to the Super Bowl!
I felt like a paleontologist studying the chronological layering of the earth. There was Thursday's okra, and Friday morning's oatmeal...
Fantastic.