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THE TURD MUTINY (a true story)

This last monday I made the unfortunate decision of dining at questionable Mexican establishments for lunch and dinner, shoveling down large quantities of spicy sloppy foods with unidentifiable chunks of meat. During the drive home after dinner I began to feel some grossly unnatural movement deep within my bowels. Little did I know at the time that these small pains represented the inauguration of the birth of something most unholy.

Of course I ignored this hamster racing through the murky tunnels of my upper intestine and decided to drop by the grocery store to pick up a few items before going home. I felt fine as I perused the rotting fruits in the cool atmosphere of the produce section, but as I stepped into the warmth of the paper towel isle, the movement in my bowels reached a dead-end and this jehovah's witness began knocking on the door of my sphincter... but it was just a knock. So with a slight grunt and flexing of the buttocks, I knocked that bitch a couple inches back from where it came from.

No problem... I'll just check out at the register and wait till I get home to drop off some brown-babies at my private pool.

I had never before seen the check-out lines as full as they were that day - 15 f***ing lines packed and moving at the pace of a hangover on a Saturday morning. I promptly jumped into a line with about 15 people, 14 of which paid their bill with a personal check... lightly dotting their i's... carefully crossing their t's. Unfortunately, the load in my colon decided to take this opportunity to express it's dissatisfaction for it's earlier rejection and began hammering my sphincter like a medievil battering ram. But I was knockin' 'em back like mike tyson in a gay bar brawl.

Here comes one.. POW! Here comes two.. POW! Now it's three... POW! Challenge me mutha!

Wait, what's this? A little greasy sweat breaking out on my forehead... and the back of my shirt is feeling slightly damp...

I'm through the line, got my bags, then find myself squinting at the grocery restroom. I knew I could release it right here, right now. But the pain was suddenly and suspiciously gone, though I could feel a definite swelling in my bowels and an occasional tumultuous shifting of gases and fluids... a sort of mulching action...

I felt victorious. I was in control of my facilities. I had crushed the mutiny. I'm going home.

I climbed into my truck, fired the ignition, and soon felt the familiar vibrations from the hammering six cylinders in my monster ride. The heat and humidity in the air along with the soothing tremors of the truck on my buttocks helped me to forget the traumatic episode I had just bravely fought through. And as I relaxed, ever so slightly, it was baaaack. And like a turkish soldier first peering at the vast waves of Kublai Khan's angry mongol warriors descending from the hills, I realized what was to be the inevitable outcome of this battle. That s.o.b. had rolled back into my bowels, recruited reinforcements, and was back to finish this thing.

The initial pain I felt reminded me of a time of my youth - 8 years old - when, during a small skirmish, my older brother proceeded to kick me in the balls once... then again as I was doubled over and before I had a chance to roll onto my stomach... then again after I rolled onto my stomach and before I could close my legs.

F*** the greasy sweat on my back - I had something rolling down the back of my pants that I could only pray was sweat.

My eyes began to water as I sped into the parking lot of my apartment. My bowels (and the veins in my neck) were reaching critical pressure - something was going to give. Then as I stepped out of my truck and walked in an obviously stiff fashion to the door of my apartment, a long audible cry, erupting from the deepest part of my being, roared from my mouth, “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!.”

This last release of rage somehow gave me the energy I needed to hold back the flood-waters. In seemingly one fluid motion, I had the lid up, pants down, and released my first driving blast parting the waters. The polluted toilet water quickly recoiled all over the back of my ass - but I didn't care. Like a scientist at nasa testing the firing sequence of the space shuttle rockets, I thrusted a powerful second and third load into the now chunk-ridden murky waters below me.

Then, as if I had transformed into the shuttle itself, my thrusters shut down, and I gently eased into orbit... floating... floating...

Submitted by "Whipping Boy" at www.dogzine.net.




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