Nothing Too Great

I don't really have anything super awesome to report. I've just been spittin' out reg'lar ol' poo lately. This morning I took my usual dump at home and then another in my usual stall at work.
This weekend, however, I'll be hittin' up a local Mexican restaurant with an all-you-can-eat buffet. "All-you-can-eat Mexican buffet" is Texas-speak for "Imminent Dooktacular Splatterfest", so there's sure to be good times ahead...

The P.M. B.M.

Lately I've been taking a whole lot of nighttime dumps. I've always been pretty regular (see "Broken Record"), but now it seems as if the p.m. dump is here to stay.
Most of the recent p.m. logs seem to be of a much heartier texture than their a.m. counterparts (more dense, as well).
Last night I took a nice medium-sized crap before bed, but still managed to give birth to an enormous chunk of turd this morning anyway.
As always, I'll keep you posted.

Puking Out of Both Ends

Yesterday afternoon I fell ill.
I sat on The Throne for half an hour puking out of both ends.
I filled up the toilet and the trash can at the same time.
...still don't feel well.
Liquid Lightning.

Broken Record

For the last three days the story has been the same: wake up, take a nice solid fat dump, go to work, make a mad dash for the bathroom to fire off a few rounds from my butt cannon.
Am I really that regular?
And if so, why is round 2 always so much more liquid-like?
We'll see what happens tomorrow...

Captain's Log

Ahoy, matees!
I unleashed a fine log into the High Seas earlier this morn'. She be nearly half-a-cubit in length, and she hath the girth of Moby Dick's ding-a-ling.
Ye best stay out of the bathroom f'r awhile....
On the morrow I shall dare to venture once again into the belly of the beast that be my crapper.
Arrrggghhh!

Liquid Fire

Absolutely none of this morning's dump could be classified as a solid. Pure liquid. Pure fire.
Three seperate sittings: one at home, and two in my (2nd) favorite stall at work.
I could have just used a urinal.
I have no idea what could have possibly brought on such a horrific bowel movement.

Choo! Choo!

The train sped along its course, unaware of what lay in store for it.
Almost two feet in length and carrying a full load, the black locomotive was heading straight to its watery grave. The splash that was made during the collision could be heard for miles around (some feared that it could be a tragic second tsunami).
But only one witness was there to watch the long, black train slowly sink below the water, before disappearing into The Great Beyond.
[This morning...at work...in my favorite stall]

The Mountain

Sometimes the texture and consistency of my dumpage allows for mountain-making. This morning was one of those times.
No floaters, just a four-inch high pile of filth at the bottom of the bowl.
It was truly excellent.