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:	post by death-metal at 2013-08-25 22:10:39

I remember it well.

It wasn't anything special that I ate. Just that I was living on coffee, so I stored it up for days. Locked up like Attica.

Then I made myself some eggs. Being drunk at 5:30 AM is a terrible time to make eggs if you don't want to burn your fuckin' house down, but, I got through it somehow. What I did do however was throw in a ton of butter.

I wolfed the mess down and was about to open another beer when suddenly I felt parched. I could literally sense (but not feel) the half-stick of butter sliding around in my gut.

Being drunk, I did it to excess, I basically ripped the top off the Brita(tm) pitcher and drank the whole thing, burped and went on my way.

I didn't think anything of it until I moved my jacket and found cigarettes. Fuck yeah cigarettes. Not American either, which is good because American cigarettes taste like dump burns.

I was about halfway through that Dunhill when my entire bowel just clenched. Clenched for an uncomfortable interval. Then let go. But I felt like in the background, some malevolent god was counting down in ancient Sumerian...

Next thing I know the cigarette's flying over the balcony and I'm flying to the toilet. Whole routine, basically throwing clothes off my body, dive into the bathroom and pull myself into position with my elbows as the explosion happens.

It was staccato. A demonic howl and discharge. Then nothing. A few cannonballs. And then one of those spasmodic turd-heaving moments where you hang on and scream as your rectum turns into a poo-powered rocketship...

I remember coming to on the floor, dead sober. I'd cold sweated out all the beer and left behind an imprint of my entire descending colon plus some of the coils. The room smelled like a morgue with a mold problem.

Staggering to my feet, I looked in the bowl. There was water, in the same way there's parsley on a steak. I had filled the bowl.

One of the most tragic things I've ever had to do was to flush that masterpiece. But I sure didn't want to keep it around. It was becoming sentient.

To this day, whenever someone smokes a Dunhill, a little bit of cold sweat breaks out on my neck.

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