Wow, that makes me think

from: think about this...

I know there are many who will read this who are SURE I'm full of shit. Well, I'm here to tell you, at least THIS TIME, you're at least partially right. I'd say you were totally right, except I'm not entirely FULL of shit, but if something doesn't change, and change SOON, I damn sure will be full of shit. Emminently so. Unabashedly, even PAINFULLY so. Yes, "painfully". It does hurt, quite a bit. I case you haven't guessed by now, Popeye-X is suffering from a particularly gnarly bout with EXTREME CONSTIPATION. This happened last week, too, but I "Elvis'ed" my way thru it. By that I mean, I just kept sitting on the toilet for DAYS, carefully nudging on what felt like a TREE STUMP up my ass. This ain't my first rodeo, I know better than to push it out "like a man", using sheer intestinal fortitude. "Sheer" is exactly what I'm not trying to do, follow me? There's got to be some reason it hurts so bad, I'm not interested in ignoring PAIN when its that intense, I damn sure ain't gonna defy it by forcing the issue, I like my asshole, thank you, it serves me well most of the time. I look forward to many years of natural, unselfconscious defication, also commonly known as "taking a good shit". I haven't experienced anything like this since 1997, while taking care of my mother when she was dying. We were both pretty impacted at the time. She called in medical help, I had none. I ended up standing in the shower with the hot water roaring down on me, jumping up and down on one leg, and whining and wailing at the top of my lungs to God, "Kill me! Please, God... KILL ME! I can't take it any more!" Like a slowly moving miracle, out dropped a brown-grey cue ball of near solid SHIT. It had no air in it, it was just like old potter's clay. It hit the floor of my fiberglass shower with a loud THUNK. I knew from the sound it, weighed way too much for its size. It sounded like a hurled brick hitting a wall. I won't say it shook the whole house, but it certainly changed my idea about what the size of my asshole actually is, or can be. The only thing I could compare it to was watching a baby's head pop out while being born. You know how women giving birth scream bloody murder? That was me. I'm almost there again now. I understand why you sometimes hear loving, dedicated mothers vehemently insist, "NO MORE BABIES!" I'm a mature adult, schooled by life itself, I've been thru Hell before, I already know its not worth the suffering, I've THOUGHT about it all I need to. I've even experienced the infamous "green bottle", in 1992, when I had a spinal cord operation. They wouldn't let me out of the hospital until I took an outstanding, good ol' fashioned, horse-sized shit, just to make sure my body was hooked up to its own wiring. I am probably the only documented human being on which the infamous "green bottle" didn't work. Tonight I was talking to a friend who told me, "They have a green bottle at the drug store that can take care of your problem, I've know because I've had it twice". Ah, yes, once you've experienced it, you don't forget it, in fact, you know it all too well. Imagine being the only person to say, "I know the green bottle well, it didn't work on me." No one can believe it, especially doctors and nurses. They look at you like they are used to patients being full of shit, but I know what I'm talking about, and I'm not mistaken, nor am I lying. I think I got a little hushpuppie looking lump, "not good enough" was all I was told. I had to stay in the hospital 2 extra days until finally, I dropped the big one. They took one look and said, "You are outta here!" The only way I can accurately describe it is by referring to those Budwiser commercials where you see a team of Clydesdale horses pulling a huge beer wagon in slow motion, ever seen that? Ever notice their hoofs? They're huge, with all this long hair hanging down over them, like a miniature mane on each leg. My giant shit looked just like a Clydesdale hoof, with animone tentacles growing out of the top. I'm drinking my Metamucil as I write this. Tomorrow morning... the pain shall have already ended. I will be able to THINK again, without the constant interruption of feeling like I'm shitting my pants, and then sitting on the toilet in mortal agony, producing only a few puffs of air that smell like stale, rotting boat shoes.



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