Pop goes the weasel. Or Not

Normally I wouldn't blog about a trip to the poop soup. But then again normally I wouldn't find myself holding on to the sink screaming "come out you piece of shit!". So fuck normally. Here's my trip to hell.

Yesterday, as i was about to rummage through the fridge for anything that hadn't fermented, the urge to visit the shit pit kinda slapped me upside the head, or erm downside the butt. Now to most of us, going potty is routine - I've done this so many times before it’s as natural as sex. But there was nothing routine about last night. It was a strong urge, the kind that hits you out of the blue but hits you so hard you drop everything you are doing and run clenching your butt muscles, tossing aside everything in your wake just so you don't have an unfortunate accident on your lovely spring-scented rug.

I settled down onto the ceramic rim (the seat had previously fallen off) looking forward to that familiar feeling of relief once the act is done. There I was, staring at my nails wondering if that was mould i saw on the leftover pizza, when it slowly dawned on me that this was going to be one of those. You know - a Toughie. I've had Toughies before, so I didn’t call in the paramedics yet. Normally, all it takes is a little extra effort. Normally. But like i said, this was not normally. What followed next can only be described as a trip to hell.

It felt urgent so I pushed and pushed and pushed until it hurt. Nothing. So i pushed a little more. This was clearly not working. Wait, when did i stop being the master of my own bodily functions? And why the fuck wasn't I informed? Yes okay, the day i got my period. Fine. But i'd still appreciate a little heads up.

I thought maybe if I forced it back in again it might come out a little easier. I clenched my butt cheeks and it went back up. Then I released and pushed like hell, but I could tell it wasn’t going anywhere. So I thought maybe if I broke off whatever had come out it might help. Yes, this was indeed the breakable variety. About as breakable as an iron rod. So I sent down my hand armed with tissue - but there was nothing! I could swear I just shat a baby the way it hurt, but nothing? WTF??? This had to be the dawn of a whole new specie of Toughie.

I tried the BIO (Back In and then Out) routine a couple more times. This softening technique has worked well in the past. Then I pushed for all I was worth. At this point tears were streaming down my face. I couldn’t be sure if it was out frustration, the fact that I was missing Wife Swap on tv or the sidesplitting butt-wrenching pain...either way, I had to put and end to this shit. Literally.

I saw on discovery or animal planet or something that some wild mothers massage their baby’s butt around the target exit area so it’s easier to uh...release. Trust me, it doesn’t work on humans, coz I tried. Neither does wiggling your butt. That only works if its a Skinny meets Semi-Softie and if it's partly hanging out of your sphincter. But even then the Butt-Muscle Flexing technique is more effective.

So anyway, I walked around a bit coz motion supposedly helps. I've heard horror stories about people's butts turning inside out if you tried too hard but I was ready to try anything at that point. So I tried one more time. I closed my eyes and let it rip. And then ureeka! something reared its ugly head, far enough for me to try the Break-Off Maneuver at least. Eventually, after roughly 27 minutes and 48 seconds since I started keeping tabs of the time, it happened. The highlight of my evening.

I stared down at object of my ordeal. I wanted to take a picture to capture the beast lying there smugly in the toilet bowl - you know, document the event that may have single handedly scarred me for life - but really, its a moment I would rather forget. I'm surprised I don’t need stitches, and I'm surprised the concept hasn't been developed for use as a terrorist interrogation technique:
"Talk or we'll make you drink the Toughie-Inducer (TM)."
"No! I talk! I say anything! Please - no Toughie!"

The toilet filled up with water each time I tried to flush. I'm not sure if it was the sheer size of Mr. Toughie or because I had gone through an entire roll of 2-ply and clogged the toilet. But one thing is for sure: even if the memories fade and the butt-numbing pain melts away, you will remember your ordeal for quite a while in the smell that lingers on.