September 17, 2010

Not Without My Anus.

Good students will recognize the title from South Park. A+ Students will know it is from Terrence and Phillip.

But first, some links! “Hello, ghostbusters? There’s a transparent black man in my living room. Yes, he won’t stop singing.”
Of course, the ghostbusters just come over to get up, get down, and boogie. I know no other singers or bands. Cee-lo Green is my master now. There’s also a cover of Kung-fu fighting up, that was in Kung-Fu Panda, which is a good movie. To break your hearts… IJ 5?
And to shake your faith in God. Seriously. Does the prospect of G. Lucas making more money off fanboys for another steaming pile of shit, while other directors labor in obscurity, not piss you off?

Okay, the reason for the title; warning, this is about poop.

There are many kinds of poop. The log, the lincoln, the question mark. The most famous is the man-child, shat out by a fellow of the same name, it was about four foot, three inches, and weighed roughly twenty pounds. We gazed upon this foul harbinger of the end days, this Beast of Revelations, and then we sealed it away like the ark of the fucking covenant.
One of the worst is the Flamer. This is most commonly encountered after devouring bowls of chili, a couple of peppers, or anything particularly spicy. I experienced this recently, and it was the worst time of my life. Your butt feels like twelve badgers just burrowed out of it, on fire. And it doesn't stop! Even when you know everything you've ate has been shat out, your body devours itself to provide the necessary materials of pain.
Complementing this is a method of pooping. "But," you say (and I laugh, cuz you said butt), "there's only one way; sitting down on a toilet." True, but what if you're taking a walk and no toilet is handy? Or the poop is so monumental that any movement, any bending of the spine, will result in immediate evacuation regardless of where you are or what you are doing? Many have experienced the groundhog, in which the monster pokes its head out, and then just as quickly disappears back into the dark recesses of your bowels.
What I'm talking about is the birdwatcher.
You have to poop. The poop is ready to go. But you are not on a toilet. Worse yet, you're walking down a high traffic street, struggling to keep it inside, while everyone watches.
Someone approaches, not knowing how unwelcome they are. They ask, "What the hell are you doing just standing here?"
You look up at the trees, point and reply, "Birdwatching."
"Oh, aye. I think I spotted a Peregrine falcon earlier." You do not remember if Peregrine is a type of falcon, or hawk.
But thankfully, miraculously, the person leaves you with your lie, until the poop is manageable again, no longer pressing the silo doors with the urgency of WWIII, and you can Penguin your way home.
It has, at times, felt like my anus deserted me. Thankfully it always came back, and we are again fast friends. I think a day time soap opera called "Not without my anus" would make a good show. The main character could be a spy, or a cop or something where someone always yelled "We've gotta get out!" at the end of a show. And he would look at them (dramatically) and say:
"Not without my anus."
Bam! next episode has a hook. You're welcome, hollywood. I just made you seventy kabillion dollas.

Late Facts:
1. When the gastrointestinal horror is upon me, I hear In the air tonight, by Phil Collins.
2. The Wolfman is a terrible horror movie. A decent comedy though.

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