Oh dear.
I’ve been unemployed since October. Between my savings and putting my spending on severe lockdown, I can survive and keep the house, etc. Part of my frugality is to quit eating out, go to the grocery store and buy cheap; spaghetti, bologna, store brand items whenever possible on all items including toilet paper. Big ass mistake.
For all my life, I’ve had an ass of steel. I do my fair share of hiking and have cleaned up with sticks, pine branches, handfuls of dried grass, whatever. No problems.
Yesterday, I had a job interview. I knew some of the guys over there, so afterwards, we went to China Buffet for lunch. We love the China Buffet, and the China Buffet loves us. We particularly like the grill in the back where you put together your own dish and the guy cooks it up for you.
I like spicy food. Mildly spicy, like some Texas Pete in my jambalaya rice, or a little pepper in my Thai dish. One of the freaks eating with us is one of those sick masochists who eat jalapenos like tootsie rolls; everybody knows one of those guys. Guess who I was in line behind at the grill. Johnny Peppers.
The grill guy goes through this charade of cleaning the grill, but apparently he’s not too good at it. My pork and beef and chicken and noodles and what-not sops up the leavings of this guy’s pepper orgy on the grill.
It takes about 2 bites and 20 seconds. “I don’t remember putting pepper on my dish?!” I remark. Someone at the table giggles, “Oh, you went after Billy. Billy loves his peppers!”. Great. Since I’m on an “interview”, I’m trying to be as cool as possible, so I eat the damn plate. It took about 3 gallons of water, but I got it down.
Let’s fast forward to about 4:00 am this morning. I woke up with the urgency of a mother bear noticing her cubs being beat about the head by plump and juicy tourists. There is a message that screams in my brain so loud the text is almost visible, scrolling in large, bold, size 7 letters across my vision field -
GET TO THE TOILET!!!.
I scramble to the bathroom with my butt cheeks clenched together and my hands over my ass as fast as possible. So fast and that in the dark I give a John Kasey sized effort at a large piece of furniture on the floor, sufficient to cause bleeding. Undaunted, I waddle rapidly to the bathroom and…
You know that scene in Dumb and Dumber? That’s guy’s got nothing. We’re talking the speed and consistency of Cool Whip from the pressurized cans, no, Cool Whip from one of those wands at the “Do-It-Yourself” carwash. I’m desperately trying to bend around awkwardly to flush the commode in fear that the massive brown flood will rise to cheek level and I’ll have to spend and hour or so scrubbing my ass with steel wool. Finally the turbulence subsides and I go back to bleeding all over my carpet and bed. (At this point, the relief was enough to make me forget the gash in my foot, and it was pretty early in the morning.)
And hour later, we do it again. It’s like my digestive track was alerted to a void in my lower bowels that was ready to be filled again. The only difference this time was that I was quite awake so after I finished losing another 5 pounds I wandered into the den to worship my magic screen that brings me the SDMB and other assorted time wasters.
After tiring of mindless internet browsing, I decided to make myself a egg and cheese sandwich. Big mistake. Funny how your intestines interpret such signals as “shitting” or “eating” as “time to release!”. Back in the bathroom, more anal purging.
At this point, you may be wondering what the big deal is. I haven’t shat my bed, I haven’t deposited a watery load 2 feet short of the toilet, I’ve had my SDMB, I’ve had my egg and cheese sandwich. A very big deal, my friend. With every bottom blowing experience, there was some pretty significant cleanup involved. I know preferences vary, but my method is unroll-unroll-unroll-unroll. . . cluster. . . wipe. . . observe. . .toss. . . repeat. Until the observation step gives me the green flag to pull up my boxers and wash my hands.
With this gully washer of rectal evacuation, this has led to many wiping cycles. Maybe 100. With (and I checked the package to make sure I had this right) Bi-lo 1000 sheet bath tissue. I’m in the process writing their headquarters to let them know they mislabeled their sandpaper. It’s like I went in the yard and picked up pine cones and swiped them down my ass crack like a credit card through a magnetic reader. Or sprinkled cat-nip on my butthole and presented to Ezell, the cat. Or tied ski-rope to the back of my truck and let a buddy pull me bare assed down the street. I’m not kidding. I’ve been standing up typing this whole thing. Next time I’ll just butt-floss with razor wire and rinse with rubbing alcohol.
From now on, it’ll be Charmin’s Lotion Soaked Silk Scarves - Like a kiss on the balloon knot from Angelina Jolie brand toilet paper. I’ll never by cheap toilet paper again.
