ONE PERSON'S PASSION IS ANOTHER'S PERVERSION... THE EXTREMES OF INTIMATE EXPERIENCE ARE WITHOUT LIMITS ONE PERSON'S FICTION IS ANOTHER PERSON'S EXPERIENCE SO BEWARE FOR ANYTHING GOES HERE - YES, ANYTHING THAT WHICH SHOCKS YOU MOST IS BORN OF YOUR OWN FEAR - BUT CAN YOU FACE YOUR FEAR? OR DO YOU JUST HIDE BEHIND POPULAR JUDGMENT LIKE EVERYBODY ELSE? bon appetite |
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so here's the dilemma... you order a lot of food from the local eatery, let's say Italian... and they say 45 minutes to an hour... and about 39 minutes into the wait, you suddenly have the inkling that you need to use the facility, that is, do a number two... the material presses against your sphinter and calls you to sit on the hole-filled seat and do your business... do you take the chance of getting caught on the throne when the delivery guy knocks on the door, or do you hold it and wait, knowing you not only risk a cramp or even a hemmoroid, but will likely have to warm up the food after it sits on the counter after you finally get to relieve yourself after it arrives... and we're not even considering the possibility of sudden gas just as the delivery comes up the stairs... so you distract yourself with TV and something like the ridiculousness of Spy Kids 2 (which gives me the distinct impression of crossing the sixties Batman TV show with a bit of Austin Powers, which was itself a parody of a spoof of a tongue-in-cheek story) or the banality of any of the WB goody-goody teen-coms (but what happens to them next week?... will they finally take off their clothes and admit to the hormones they are on TV to titilate?... you really aren't perverse enough to have thought of that during Spy Kids, were you?... I mean, ballet is one thing, but that phallic rock, now that is definitely taunting the pervs)... anyway, the sudden increase in pressure at your anal portal brings you back from you momentary fantasies long enough to realize that your passion for excretory relief has far surpassed any other mission your body might have been on and you drink a lot of water (and maybe some prune juice, if any is available) and head for the fecal depository ready to make fast work of the matter... but what is really awkward is while you have waited the extra ten or fifteen minutes it took to think this through and you say to yourself, these guys are never on time, so forty-five minutes to an hour is at least an hour or more and I have a good eleven or six minutes left, so you rush to the pot and find, after a bit of difficulty due to back-up caused by your slamming the door on the timely exit (it's as if shit has a mind of it's own, I mean, when it wants out, it wants out, and at the risk of over amorphizing poop {why not, it worked for South Park}, when the door is slammed it gets all pouty and it almost feels like it holds it breath and kinda puffs it's cheeks and then, when you are finally ready to let it out, it's gonna make life really hard for you {and potentially painful, too}, and it wants revenge for being held hostage or something), you find it has grown hard enough and large enough to require delicate, but forceful effort to get it into the bowl and as it leaves, it takes a bit of your soft tissue with it, causing you to damn the hemmeroid fairy... but what is really awkward (oh, that wasn't it?... no, actually, it wasn't) is that just as you are inserting the suppository containing the vein-shrinking medicine that promises instant relief, the door bell rings and your pizza delivery guy awaits and you think, wash hands or risk the guy kicking at your door cuz we all know how impatient people can be when they are earning so little and standing at the door loaded down with other people's food... I'll leaver it for you to finish this story for yourself, because my food has just arrived... bon appetite
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