Friday, July 4, 2008

The Poo Story


My mother and my sister Marci came to visit a few weeks ago. Marci’s now 6 months pregnant and starting to have issues with constipation. So she was eating some of the delicious prunes that I had. Prunes have the worst rap. They are very delicious; sometimes they call them dried plums, because that’s what they are. I love them. So Marci was eating quite a few of them, thinking they might loosen her up.

She was popping one in her mouth, when she stopped her hand before the prune reached her mouth and asked, ‘do prunes give you gas?’

‘My god, yes. I had to stop eating them,’ my mother said. ‘They nearly got me fired!’


So T and I are at a barbeque at a friend of his, whom I had not previously met. Everyone is in the backyard of the apartment and having fun. About 3 or 4 hours in, I have to use the toilet.

So I go and as I’m about to pee, I realize it’s going to be a bit more involved than that. When I sit down, I realize how complicated it is.

I’m hoping I can make it back to the party without anyone noticing that I’m the one leaving the bathroom, but when I open the door someone is waiting. I get back to T, lean in and say, ‘We have to go, I just destroyed their bathroom.’


So Stephen Soderbergh (no relation) and I are at the Decemberists concert and this cute little couple is behind us getting all slobbery and kissy. They were cooing and starting to annoy me, so I started farting. After a little while, the smell calmed their passions and allowed me to concentrate on the show.


I stepped into a little bar for happy hour and as I ordered my first drink I suddenly had to get to the toilet really, really badly. One of those times when even a 50 foot walk to the toilet could require a change of underwear. So I got past the dirty urinal and closed the broken stall door as fast as I could.

Within 2 minutes it was completely foul in there. Just fucking repulsive.

I was almost through when someone came in and—before even making it to the urinal—let out a disgusted groan. After a pause—still in disgust, but now with a bit of attitude—he said, ‘I’ve never seen someone take a shit in a gay bar before.’

By that time I was finished and stepped out to wash my hands.

By way of explanation and—I hoped—apology, I said ‘I think I had too many nachos at the movies today.’

The guy just shook his head at me and walked out, not even washing his hands.


Spanky said...

I been wondering about my streak of bad luck with gaseous neighbors at the live shows we've been attending. Good thing the next show is outside.

dan said...

I know it's not even possible, but I swear I got the stomach flu after standing behind a flatulent man at a Joanna Newsom concert once. All night as I barfed, all I could think of was that putrid sulfur rotten egg stench mixed with harp music. I couldn't listen to Joanna for another six months.

I have a similarly disgusting "destroyed the bathrooom" story from a recent trip to Europe, but I can't seem to sink low enough to post about it. Yet.

Chino said...

Sounds like Coeliac disease strikes again. Terrorist of the intestines I say. Osama Bin Gluten.

Johnny C said...

I think your diet of White Castles and Whiskey is catching up with you.

Anonymous said...

have you considered your bowel movements are a medical condition or even genetic?

even so - i love the stories.

Nick Manson said...

I assume you've read "Big Boy." If not, it's posted here: