(diaryland) August 25, 2000 - 23:02:14

Uh, please, if you get grossed out at all easily, then you probably shouldn't read this diary entry. I can't stress this enough. Don't read it if you get grossed out. Cool.

And, uh, if you're a friend of mine, and you don't want to get a nasty image of me in your head next time you see me, then don't read this either. Thanks. :)

Now that I got all you guys' attention......

This diary entry is really an explanation of the rather cryptic sounding 'Don't read this' entry. OK. Well, I saw High Fidelity with May on Tuesday night. It was a top movie. Everything was fine and dandy. I caught the train home from the city by myself and ended up at my station at about 10:45 PM. Everything was still fine and dandy, except for when my tummy made a funny noise. I was walking the kilometre or so home and reading this article about how Freud said that the first thing we ever create after we are born is a poo. I thought that was interesting. I kept walking and reading, and then my tummy rumbled again.

I was walking along a main road, when all of a sudden, completely beyond my control, I did a big huge poo in my pants. Kids, I don't normally do this. I swear. The last time anything remotely similar to this happened was when I was ten, I was riding my bicycle, and I farted out something that looked a lot like a fried egg. Anyway, needless to say, I was devastated. I decided that this incident meant that my entire life would only degenerate from this point on. My tummy was still rumbling, my bottom was threatening to bring forth an abundance of poo, and I was still half a kilometre from home. I decided that there weren't that many cars around, so the best thing to do would be to grab my pants violently and run.

This was a good idea, only it seemed to make the poo come out of my bottom faster. I was running like some sort of Hobbit. I decided that I'd have to let the remainder all blast out in someone's front garden. So that's what I did. I chose a nice lawn with a tree in the middle, pulled down my pants, and let rip.

The poo came free and furiously, but there was one catch. When I finished, I wiggled my bottom around, but the big long snake of poo stayed attatched to my arse. I wiggled and wiggled some more. I was totally paranoid that a car would zoom past with its headlights on, catching a glimpse of my wiggly, pasty pooey bottom. Worse still, I was worried a car might pull into the driveway or something.

I decided I needed to take action. The wiggling was doing nothing. So I just grabbed my poo with my bare hands and yanked. The poo was really, really sticky. I shouldn't have touched it. But it was too late. I had a bag with me that was full of paper. Why hadn't I thought of that before? Darn. By this time, the snake of poo was on the lawn, but I was covered in poo bits. I was almost home. I pulled up my pants and just kinda held them there, unzipped, as I walked the rest of the way home. I was annoyed because they were my favourite pants and they had just been washed. I quickly formulated an underpants-disposal plan to put into action as soon as I got in the door.

I got onto the doorstep of my house, and the porch light was on. I got out my key, and when I raised my hand, I could see the full extent of my pooification for the first time. Man, I was covered. Especially my fingers. I got into the house as fast as possible, stinking like a big turd, and went under the shower.

I showered for a long, long time.

I'm OK now.