I'm gonna tell you about a seriously enlightening
excremeditation session instead. I'd been blasted on high-powered
joyjackers for days, and the works were seriously backed up, I mean
I had "nothing to doo" for days. The first day of my recovery from
my binge left me feeling like I had been sodomized by the contents
of a cement mixer and given a superglue enema. Running around the
house frantically, smoking, slamming down cups of java, hell,
nothing helped, after about twenty minutes of grunts and occasional
vaporous wafts of methane, only a few pebbles appeared in the bottom
of the ol' porcelain bowl. At this point, I was feeling that
particular discomfort that comes from having live ordinance stuck in
the bomb bay, with the doors gaping wide open. With heroic effort,
I reached up and deimpacted the little marble-like, hardened piece of
excrement that seemed to be providing the major blockage. Even this
proved unsatisfactory, however, so once again I departed the shrine
and consecrated my stomach with espresso. Smoking a cigarette, I
returned to the throne room determined to expel the offending
blockage, or die trying....I was no longer going to suffer through
the gestation of what was surely to be the Uberscheiss. Eventually,
a vision came to me out of a tasteless scene in a major Hollywood
movie. My grunts of effort and frustration were turning to squeals
of agony, when I felt IT MOVE. I knew I had won, and that knowledge
alone was enough to sustain me through what would still prove to be
a strenuous endeavor. In an explosive torrent not unlike the launch
of a Trident nuclear missile headed for some true believer Straightling's
house, I ejected the tumorlike fecal warhead into the bowl, feeling
a lot like Little Anal Annie.
