Shit. Literally.

Tuesday, January 9, 2007

One thing you have to know about me is that I am very particular with toilets. It takes a great deal of time for me to warm up to and actually let my ass touch a toilet seat other than the one I have at home.  So unless I am faced with the most adverse of circumstances (Like if somebody held a gun to my head or offered to give me a handjob while I do it. Whatever works) , there is no way in hell that I am going to take a dump in a toilet other than the one I have at home.

I think this has something to do with one of the most traumatizing events that happened in my childhood: An event which involved an entire class of second graders, shit-stained school shorts, a lot of laughter and the beginning of an era: an era when everyone in school referred to me as "Mike Tae" (late 80's to mid 90's)

So yeah, whenever I feel like I need to go, I usually try to stave it off and hold it in until I get home and drop my cargo off at my cushioned comfort throne. I've been pretty successful doing it too; I mean sure, there might've been several occasions when I dropped the cargo too early and ended up scrubbing the floor of my bathroom drunk, sweating, cursing and swearing off chocolate cake and San Mig light; my hesitance to use other toilets when I BADLY need to go hasn't caused me any major embarassments–until yesterday.

For the most of my work day yesterday, I have been suffering from a bad case of the runs. And although relatively unnoticed by my officemates(since, for the most part, I've successfully alleviated my urge to go by crop dusting and burst farting whenever I go out to smoke), my stomach felt really really sick (So if any of you guys saw a thick patch of tissue paper on the floor of the office restroom, DO NOT, in any circumstance lift it or else, you're in for one hell of a brown, stinking surprise).

Fast forward to 6pm, the time I get off. My brother picked me up from work with his girlfriend and for the most part of the trip home I've been wanting to pull over a gas station and just shit the fuck all over the place. My stubbornness prevented me from doing this and instead, I turned to my iPod for some comfort. Big Mistake. (part 1)

The first songs on my playlist were songs from Slayer's Christ illusion and I don't know what the fuck happened but I think all the shit in me got rattled upon prolonged exposure to all the metal shit I've been listening to because after 10 minutes, I felt something well up inside of me–and that something is NOT listening to my pleas for it not to come out of its little cave. At least not yet.

Anyway, I did what I thought was best to deal with it. I mean since it has worked well for most part of the day, I tried letting off controlled little burst farts to relieve what I was feeling. Big Mistake(part 2).

So I thought "Yeah, I farted inside an airconditioned vehicle I share with my brother and his girlfriend. Big deal." I mean, I always fart in the presence of people I'm close to and they have, especially my brother, been desensitized  to both the smell and general disgustingness of my fart.

The problem came when I realized that the distinct heat that came with my last fart lingered a little longer than usual. I shifted in my seat and noticed something oozing down my left leg. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I shit myself.

Now who wants to make out with me? Nobody? Okay!

Anyway, I didn't know what else to do and just in time, as my brother started cursing, rolling down the windows and was about to call me out on it, I pretended to be sick and asleep in the backseat. I mean I'm sure he didn't buy it as he was swearing his head off all the way home telling his girlfriend about how I'm easily the most disgusting brother in the world and how he wished I had never been born.

At this point I want to extend my most sincere aplogies to the following people:

My mom. Mom, I know I'm not your favorite person right now; in fact, I could picture you lost in contemplation while washing my shit-stained pants, boxers and blanket (I had to be consistent with the entire "I'm sick" act I pulled on my brother so I went to bed without washing myself. Fuck you.). You're probably looking back at your life looking for that one horrible thing you might have done to deserve an overweight, sexually-confused son who shits his pants and cannot sustain an erection unless he hears tortured screams of the innocent. 

I just want you to know that it's not your fault. It's mine. And I should've listened to you when you told me that it's okay to smoke marijuana but I should, as you eloquently put it, "Stay the fuck away from crystal meth and cocaine."

I love you mom.

My Fiancee. Baby, I know that everytime you read my blog, you feel more and more hesitant to marry me.  I just want you to know that I am doing this for us. I mean, do you honestly think that making a fool out of myself over the internet leaves me happy and fulfilled? Fuck no. But you see, it's entertainment; and someday, and that day may never come, I will get a writing gig doing this. I will write an autobiographical novel which will be an international success. For the most part of our marriage, we will live a prosperous life–until, I have an affair with one of our daughter's attractive friends and succumb to excessive gambling.

So you know, hang in there. Or else.