Experiment number 2 (1030 hits)
Category: HumorRating: 0.81 on 13 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Alex DeWitt <alex.dewitt.at.ntlworld.com> (View user info) at 2006-03-22 11:53:32 EST
This week I made a cauldron of Dal and took it in for my lunch at work every day. I made the the Indian lentil delicacy with care, and plenty of chillies, onions, and other spices.
Day 1: The strong odour coming from the microwave cleared the municipal kitchen in no time. I took the large tub of spice to my office desk and consumed it with glee. The warmth of it drizzling down my neck really hit the spot and gave me my spice fix. Yes, it was a welcome respite from the years of pizza and pasta I had been eating, although I did have a strange burning feeling in my stomach.
I ran out of chapattis to scoop up the fiery mixture and starting shovelling it into my mouth with a spoon. I realised I had taken a portion that would serve 4 people for dinner, but continued eating until my distended abdomen was gurgling with rage. I went home, and retired to the sofa to allow digestion.
Day 2: I writhed around on the slippy pool of anal liberation on my sheets as my eye lids slowly opened to the light of a new day. Another poo-canic eruption occurred and my brown eye uncontrollably spat at the duvet like an octopus ejecting its ink at a predator. My hands gripped the edge of the mattress until my knuckles were white, and I slowly swung my feet out and stood up. I bent double, clutching my stomach, whilst using my other hand to shield my eyes from the harsh sunlight which seemed to bombard my pupils with unrelenting gamma rays. As I writhed, my screams echoed around the walls as my intestines transubstantiated into a mutated form to cope with the immense demands I had placed on them. I looked down in horror to see my stomach wall pulsating, and bubbles of gas visibly sliding beneath my skin. I dropped to my knees, shrieking a curse on the man who would create such a dish. Then my wife came in and had a go at me so I just went to work.
Day 3. I had only 15 minutes in which to eat my lunch before I had to assist with teaching a seminar. I scooped masses of the lentil goodness into my mouth, the mustard seeds like beady eyes promising a vengeful reprise for their ingestion. I hurried down to the classroom, and began as normal, hiding discomfort of the burning acids searing through my guts. As I was helping a student, they flinched with terror at my breath, yet showed a glimmer of pity in their eye. Then, suddenly, my body revolted against me and it took every synapse in my neural network to force my ring bit closed like a flood gate against a raging river. The corrosive gut gravy gnawed at my exit hole until I could take it no longer. I rushed out to the nearest toilet. As I entered the cubicle, I was faced with a terrifying dilemma; the porcelain saddle was sodden with urine and strewn with wet tissue and faecal matter. I lifted the seat to watch the light shower of urine drizzle down around the rim. I was internally combusting and had no choice but to attempt the hover crap, a manoeuvre at which I had never before succeeded. This time I had no choice but to succeed, however the rushed circumstances meant it was more of a crude manipulation than a manoeuvre. As soon as my shit hoop felt the light caress of the breeze from the open window, it instantaneously let forth. The speed at which the food passed through me meant that the digestion was less then complete. As I watched the stream of magma-like solid/liquid exit me, I saw the occasional flash of colour as a piece of tomato, chilli, or lentil bade its final farewell. As my thighs began to build lactic acid, I wondered how much longer this gush could continue, at one point I feared that my intestines, bladder, and rectum had collapsed from their usual positions. After finishing, the intensity of the encounter, along with the inversion required to perform the technique left me weak, with muscular contortions, and my rectal flange was scored and grazed.
Day 4: Although my voyages to the big white telephone were becoming more and more like a chapter from Moby Dick, at least I was still enjoying the food on its entry to my body. Today I had to house sit for my in laws, and their constrictive plumbing proved no match for the toilet fodder I was forced to discharge whilst at their house. Today the formula had changed slightly; there was the initial wimpish blow of air as usual, but this was suddenly silenced by the conical hull of an astronomical lawn cigar breaching my blow hole. My arteries engorged as I strained the brute out, shearing off its curved sides, which followed it out into the bowl. I sat in silence for a while as gas pockets continued to erupt inside me, leading me to believe I had more yet to come. After several minutes I conceded defeat and began the test match like event of wiping. I began to develop sores from the tissue friction, and realised that foolishly I did not use an intermission flush to clear the debris. The eventual flush caused the tropical fruit bowl to overflow, the flotsam and jetsam spinning in the vortex and spilling over the edge. The monstrosity that had laid dormant at the bottom was awakened and rose up vertically, bobbing its head from the surface momentarily before returning to the murky depths.
I went to retrieve a wire coat hanger, unfolded it into a long flexible hook, and started jabbing at the beast. The hook caught in the U bend and was difficult to remove. A second flush showed the stupidity of this tactic as the grainy particles had been separated and doubled the surface area of excretion to be dealt with. I tried a different strategy; pouring a cocktail of extra strong bleach and other household cleaning products into the bowl and leaving them to work for 30 minutes, in hope of dissolving the blockage. This too failed. I was finally able to get hold of a special device designed for exactly such a situation; a compressed air powered plunger. I pumped up the tank, and submerged the tool, closing the lid to repress the inevitable shit shower that would follow. I squeezed the trigger and the blow back was immense, it reminded me of riding the 'tidal wave' at universal studios. A quick peek revealed almost total success. A second round of battle finalised the defeat of the turd, whose grip finally released, sending it and its children spiralling away to the sea.
Day 4: The lentil stew seems to be purging itself almost instantly, as though it is naturally repellent of my intestines. A few minutes after eating it, I can feel the shit brick forming inside me. Mostly the experience of passing the meal is quite enjoyable, as it takes with it all the toxins in my body, although the gaseous bum chunders that surprise me throughout the day always keep me alert.
Day 5: I am on my final dose of dal. As I scrape the last of it from the Tupperware, I notice that the maelstrom of cak is not relenting. I can actually blow bubbles with my arse, and my secretions remove lime scale better than the leading brand, even below the water line. I am crapping off weight in the order of several pounds per day, and becoming very dehydrated as I am constantly sweating chutney and anally venting vaporised liquid. I have impregnated the foam of my office chair with the ancestral knowledge of 1000 Indian cooks, and discovered new dimensions to the range of odours that the human nose can smell. Like watching an alcoholic crack open another can of super strong, before impaling himself of some park railings, the experience has been both gratifying yet disturbing. I think I am scatological.
User Reviews
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2006-03-23 03:39:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2006-03-23 02:54:55 (#)
Ranking: 2
HAHAHAHAHAHA
Mr. Luger of Indiana.... Senator.....
Dear Mr. Linzy:
Thank you for contacting me. I appreciate knowing your thoughts about preserving our public lands and national parks.
President Bush has submitted his fiscal year 2007 budget to Congress and proposed the sale of federal land under the jurisdiction of the U.S. Forest Service. In conjunction with this announcement, on February 28th, the U.S. Department of Agriculture Forest Service announced the start of a public comment period on the list of forest lands that would be available for sale as a proposal to provide funding to reauthorize the Secure Rural Schools and Community Self-Determination Act of 2000. You can review this proposal on the Forest Service website at: <http://www.fs.fed.us/>.
Comments on the proposed list must be received by March 30, 2006, and may be sent by e-mail to SRS_Land_Sales.at.fs.fed.us. Written comments may be sent to: USDA Forest Service, SRS Comments, Lands 4S, 1400 Independence Ave., SW, Mailstop 1124, Washington, DC 20250-0003. Faxed comments should be sent to (202) 205-1604.
I will continue to closely follow the progress of this issue. National parklands are a treasure every American can share. Our breathtaking forests and mountains are world-renowned. As economic prosperity allows citizens and industries to expand in more rural areas, preserving national parks becomes more important than ever. Again, thank you for contacting me.
and my response???
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
You know what you can do with your little reply, Mr. Lugar....
You can shove it up your pompous, self-serving ASS!
That's what you can do!
You know why???
Because your ways are OVER! That's why.
The youth of America are about to SHOCK your ass with lightning so
powerful you won't know what to do with yourself/
FUCK you, and FUCK your president! He's NOT my president. You are
nothing but a little lapdog. I know you, and everyone here in
Evansville, Indiana that I come into contact with knows what you're up
to. I've looked at your voting record, and I'm passing it onto
everyone I know as we fucking speak.
You just keep up the 'good' work, Mr. Senator, and sleep well...sleep
well knowing that Hell Hounds are on your trail. We ARE WATCHING YOU.
NOW, KINDLY DIE!
You don't fucking fool me, and you don't fool anyone else wiht your
bullshit lies about trying to do ANYTHING for this country.
YOU ARE A JOKE.....AND YOU ARE A DISGRACE.
http://www.senate.gov/legislative/LIS/roll_call_lists/vote_menu_109_2.htm
Now kindly die, sir.
That's right....DIE.
Your time is over.
Submitted by Jacobt26 (user info) at 2006-03-22 17:03:22 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
No Comment
Submitted by proofofpurchase (user info) at 2006-03-22 14:47:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Poop stories are overrated but I did laugh uncontrollably at my desk causing people to peer over their cubicles like prairie dogs. I feel like playing some whack-a-mole.
Submitted by Davros (user info) at 2006-03-22 14:42:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Not as good as the other one.
-Dave
Submitted by Berty (user info) at 2006-03-22 13:50:10 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Kind of boring.
Submitted by Fungah (user info) at 2006-03-22 13:30:17 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Bow down before me, your new lord and ruler, and serenade me with a beautiful flowing chorus of insults and -2's.
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Submitted by redskieslookfake (user info) at 2006-03-22 12:47:39 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
He does it so we don't have to.
Submitted by xanderd (user info) at 2006-03-22 12:42:05 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Romeo and Juliet could have been written in 12 words but that would hardly be the point now would it?
Submitted by Bigmike (user info) at 2006-03-22 12:37:14 EST (#)
Ranking: 1
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2006-03-22 12:12:17 (#)
Ranking: 0
So, you stink, right?
You could have said that in about 12 words.
12 words? Try 3.
I
shit
myself.
I did smile however.
Submitted by Shlongy (user info) at 2006-03-22 12:12:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
So, you stink, right?
You could have said that in about 12 words.
Submitted by Ballare (user info) at 2006-03-22 12:11:57 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2006-03-22 12:02:59 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
lawn cigar?
Submitted by Nellypaal (user info) at 2006-03-22 11:58:51 EST (#)
Ranking: -1
WTF I can't believe I actually read all that.
The toilet is only really named the big white telephone when it's being loudly vommed (or shouted soup) into.