I Shit ,Therefore I AmSubmitted by Flak at 2008-04-30 13:27:42 EDT
Rating: 1.91 on 41 ratings (41 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
The year was 1999. The turn of the millennium was just around the corner and
the world seemed swollen in anticipation of some mysterious eruption. Little
did I know, on that beautiful fall day, I was due for a major eruption of my
As the late afternoon rumbles of hunger awakened my animal desire for food it
was decided that the family would get some exercise and walk the 15 blocks to
El Maguey. The Mexican invasion had recently hit Missouri full tilt with one
of the more positive side effects being the Tex-Mex restaurants that popped up
in every strip mall. We strapped shoes on the kids and headed toward our
“Hot plate! Hot plate!” cautioned the waiter as he slid the steaming plates to
their places next to the empty basket that once held chips but now cradled
only a crumpled sheet of grease-spotted wax paper. As I hastily doused my
chicken chimichanga with what remained of the tiny pitcher of salsa I wondered
to myself if “Hot Plate!” was the first phrase taught to illegal Mexican
immigrants after their nighttime baptism in the Rio Grande.
Having finished our dinner and finding ourselves sufficiently stuffed, we
started the long journey home, hoping to burn off some of the recently
ingested Mexican fuel.
Six blocks into our hike I felt a familiar and unfriendly twinge of pain in my
lower abdomen. The cool breeze that augmented this near perfect evening made
me acutely aware of the beads of sweat on my upper lip and brow. As the caged
beast in my gut began to stir, readying for its violent escape, I quickly took
stock of the situation.
I needed to find refuge and find it fast. We were deep in the heart of a
residential neighborhood and at least 8 blocks from the dream of my own
toilet. “Just knock on a door,” thought my frightened cerebrum. But what would
I say? “Hi, I know we haven’t met but my name is Mark and I really need to
shit. Do you mind if I paint your toilet brown while my wife and kids play on
I decided to try and make it home. With two kids, 4 and 5 years old, fast
travel was not an option. I was running out of time. I quickly
blurted, “Daddy’s going to crap his pants. See you at home,” and I waddled
ahead like a scalded penguin, pinching my butt cheeks for dear life.
The giggles and jeers from my children faded behind me as I pulled away. I was
doing alright -- shuddering with the rhythmic ebb and flow of abdominal
cramps. The contractions were becoming more frequent. Only 4 blocks to go.
The sun was nearly gone and the earth was in the final throws of dusk. I was
almost to the entrance of Columbia Country Club marked by a lighted sign
surrounded by several bushes and clumps of tall elephant grass. It was then
that the mother of all poop-cramps grabbed me by the back of the neck and
demanded submission. “Yes, master” I said as I shuffled into the delicate
landscaping and yanked down my shorts.
The caustic flow came so fast and so ferociously that I feared that I had not
dropped my pants in time. The power of the warm soft blast nearly pushed me
forward from my crouched position. RELIEF! God it felt good. I crouched there
with my elbows on my knees able to breath for the first time in several
anxious minutes. A cool chill raced up my spine. I felt the glow of a job well
done; the timeless relief of a powerful bowel movement. I had transcended. I
had communed with my ancestors. It must have felt much the same eons ago as my
prehistoric ancestor ran through the forest clutching his spear and noticed
that familiar twinge of pain.
“Hey, I see daddy’s butt!” The sound of a child’s voice snapped me back to
reality. I looked to my right and saw the silhouette of a woman and two
children; my children. Headlights! I quickly realized that my shiny white ass
was hanging out of the bushes reflecting in all its glory for every passerby
that drove the busy street just 10 feet away.
I quickly pushed my way deeper in the bushes and away from the blast zone. I
skinned off one sock and then the other. It was a two-socker. I left my socks
just feet away from my beastly deposit. I left them there as a gift for the
Mexican landscaper who would tend the area the next day. Fitting revenge for
the meal his countryman had served me.
My wife and kids could not contain their laughter but I felt like a million
bucks. I floated home on rubbery legs breathing the cool evening air.
Something had happened to me there next to that clump of elephant grass. I was
transformed. Right there in the bright headlights I had touched something that
transcends time and space.
I shit, therefore I am.