Facebook used to have a notes section (remember that?) so I decided to start doing inappropriate diary entries. Turns out I only got around to doing one because there was no way I could top this one. So in honor of #TBT, enjoy.
Jan 12, 2013
Dear Diary,
I ran 3.86 miles today. I know that's a strange number, but there's a reason for that. I had planned on running 5 miles, but around mile 2 I felt a medium-to-large sized turd tapping at my butt-hole. "Great," I thought, "all this running should knock the feces loose so I can have a really satisfying colon cleanse when I get home." I thought I could hold it indefinitely and continued to run. Bad idea. I continued to my 2.5 mile turnaround point but was forced to stop at mile 3.86 and proceeded to walk. If I kept running, all that bouncing would have opened my release valve and plastered shit all over me since I was wearing compression shorts. I'm being generous when I said I was walking. More accurately, I was waddling like someone who spent a long weekend in the big-house getting prison-raped with nothing but powdered soap for lube. At this point, I started to get pissed for running on this bike path because it provided zero cover in case I needed to take an emergency deuce. There were no woods, no tall bushes, none of that shit available in case I needed to unleash the fury. Just plenty of cars rolling by at 20 MPH along with other fellow runners and couples out walking their dogs and babies. Dammit - I started cursing my luck. I had always made fun of [name redacted] for having to take a shit in someone's front lawn when he was walking home hammered, but at least he had the cover of night. I was in broad daylight. Since I didn't want people to start wondering what size of a cock I took up my ass last night, I put my hands on my hips, put my head down and walked slowly so it just looked like I was really tired from a long run. Sand-bagging at its finest. Meanwhile, the pressure continued to build. I contemplated ducking into Shorebreak (Pizza and Taphouse) to use their facilities, but I didn't want to run the risk of extra steps in case they tried to pull that "customers only" bullshit on me and I'm not sure if I could ever patronize this fine establishment again if I horrified the cute 19-year-old waitresses with the scene of a grown man involuntarily defecating in his shorts.
So the long march home continued.
I came to the end of the bike path and only had to cut through two condo complexes to make it home, but at this point, I really felt like l was going to shit my pants. I desperately looked for some shrubbery. There was one that provided light cover and wasn't directly behind anyone's condo so no one would just happen to peer out their window and see some weird dude taking a squat. I fought my way to the center of the bush and was about to let loose when I turned around...SON OF A BITCH. There's a runner right there stretching before she starts her run. While there was a decent chance I could shit without her seeing me, there was no way I could do it without her hearing (or smelling) me. I take pride in the farts I have that proceed my shits. Foiled I continued home through the two parking lots repeating to myself over and over "don't shit." I remember how happy I was to have my condo in view, but also thought how tragic it would be if I lost control of my bowels in the parking lot when I was so close to my goal. My hands shook as I reached for my keys to unlock my door and I raced inside, stripped off the shorts, and successfully sat down on my toilet and dropped off a load that felt like it was roughly a third of my body weight. I shuddered a few times as a result of the after-shock shits and let out a sigh of relief. Moments like this are what makes life worth living.
...'til next time.
Hugs and kisses,
Spencer
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