This just happened to me about a half hour ago but fits nicely into the theme of events. Here is the third installment of The Ian Johnson Chronicles Of Life. It's a short one, but interesting.
I was sitting at the computer in my underwear, checking email, when it hit me. It felt like a bullet, or better yet, a train had nailed me at full force, knocking the wind out of my lungs. It happened in a split second, turtle heading like a ravenous reptile or angry mole.
I had never had to take a dump so badly in my life.
Aurora was in the shower, and to be honest, I had gone from patient to feral in a matter of seconds and I had moments to act. I jolted up and ran to the middle of the living room, trying to think, contemplating a plan. I attempted a little dance and clenched the cheeks to buy myself more restraint, but alas, it did not work. My legs were shaking, sweat collecting on my brow, I didn't have time to knock on the bathroom door and explain why I needed her to get out of the shower and let me use the toilet. I had also moved from comprehensible speech to animalistic grunts, so my pleas of bathroom mercy would have been lost in translation.
Time was of the essence.
I ran through the kitchen, cursing the bottle of Stubbs Spicy BBQ Sauce on the counter (surely, two nights of Stubbs chicken will wreck havoc on your bowels), and ripped open a new package of toilet paper, pulling sheets upon sheets off in a feverish haste. I had a handful of toilet paper and the Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse trying to ram their steeds of Armageddon through my butt, my eyes darting to the bathroom door. I knew that she would dry off, brush her teeth, get ready for bed, and I didn't have time to wait. A ticking time bomb was resting in my stomach and I had to take action.
Darting to the back door, I threw on my Birkenstocks and leapt like a gazelle in chase across my back yard. The moonlight acting as my only guide, I rounded my pool and ran like a Kenyan Olympic sprinter towards the tree covered brush.
I was moving in slow motion.
"The wave is coming, I'm not going to make it. Should I just leap into my pool and let it go, cleaning myself in the process? No time to think, time to act!"
I decided to go for it. I pushed myself to the limits, pumping my legs as hard as I could with a clenched ass and curled toes. I kicked off my boxers, sending them into mid air, where I catched them as I made it into the brush. As I braked hard, I placed my chonies on my head in a quick attempt to not get them dirty in the all too likely case of bad "butt aim". Bending my knees and staring into the dark trees, I let it go.
A true fecal monsoon.
It was majestic, a bowel movement to behold. It was orgasmic and I honestly think I lost a couple of pounds. Relief washing over me, I suddenly felt in tune with nature, my thoughts going to mountain men and neanderthals.
As I stood slightly hunched, completely naked, and with a pair of boxers placed upon my head like a crown, I felt like I had just stepped back into a time when technology was not as prominent as it is today. A simpler age.
Instead, while I was trying to bury the used toilet paper like a cat in a sand box, I stepped back into a butt dollop equal to a malmack dinner plate in circumference. In the dark, I had over shot my footing and my sandaled foot landed squarely in the middle of a crap patty. I felt like I had just regressed from neanderthal to complete moron. At least primitive man could avoid stepping in their "baggage".
With a sigh, I put on my underwear and hobbled over to the pool, splashing and cleaning off the sandal to the best of my abilities. It smelt like a mixture of death, Stubbs and Quickie Mart Coffee. This was a new low.
Making my way back to my apartment, I tossed the ruined birkenstocks on the porch and entered my house short a pair of German footwear and a lot of dignity.