Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Kyle's Pootastic Adventure

I have to start this blog with an apology to my mother. Nothing aggravates her more than to set up a nice five course meal for the entire family, only to have a certain taboo topic be brought up by one of us.

Since the beginning of time(for me at least), it has been a proven fact that the fecal discussion is unavoidable at my family’s dinner table. The Riesenbeck legacy will forever be defined as quick wit, receding hairlines, and a slight poo fetish.

Its not just a hereditary aspect either. It also affects spouses, close friends, and even pets. Somehow, if you spend enough time with my family, you’ll find yourself in the most sullen of places and poo infested thoughts will enter your mind. Only in my family will someone consider burying a loved one with a farting machine attached to the casket.

Since, this blog entry is about poo, I would like to share a story with you, my dedicated readers.

Today, on the way to work, I began to get the urge to purge. It’s a relatively lengthy drive, but I felt confident that I could complete the journey without stopping. As many of you know from experience, the terms “confident” and “poo” are not always a good combo in your thought processes. Regardless, I proceded on with my trek toward the office. With about two miles left, I noticed that my forced cessation was becoming more and more painful, causing me to shift slightly off my seat, and an afflictive scowl shot back at me from my rearview mirror. I held my breath and waited for the rectal contractions to subside, plopped back into a relaxed position and breathed out a sigh of relief.

Did I mention that I carpool? Its only one other guy, but I believe that my spasm was a little unsettling. I explained my dilemma, which I believe was a 6.5 on the TMI scale. (Footnote: TMI stands for “Too Much Information”) He was semi-sympathetic of my situation, but had no insight on a solution.

I must put in a small side note here. I am a smoker, and for those of you who are not aware, nicotine has a funny way of making you want to poo. I believe that if I had indulged in a puff at that time, I would have been in a load of shit, literally.

I finally reached the workplace and ended up parking farther away from the building than I had hoped. The extra walk to the entrance was anything but fortuitous. I made my way down the hallway and flew to the bathroom.

Luckily, the handicap stall was open, and even more important, clean. Nothing is worse than having to “go” only to find that the guy before you “went” all over the seat. I find that the handicap stalls are much more spacious, and me being a bigger guy, luxury seating is hard to find.

I began my business. But wait…I can’t seem to get it going. I feel the need still, but cannot “initiate the transaction.” Then a horrid thought came. What if I had pulled something. It’s a muscle, right? What if, because I stressed the sphincters for so long, I actually pulled my ass muscles”

I began to panic. I grabbed hold of the handicap pole bolted onto the stall wall, like a slave biting down onto a stick as he waits for the whipping to begin. I pushed down hard, took a deep breath, and as I felt the last remaining blood flow out of my head, it happened. I recall watching the very end of Braveheart many times, but not until now do I fully appreciate the reason for him screaming "FREEDOM!!!!!"

After the birthing process was through. I headed off to my computer to begin the day's tasks. Something wasn't right. I still had a tensed up feeling in my sphincters. I couldn't possibly have more in there. Twins do run in my family, but this didn't make sense.

I thought back to my original idea that I had pulled a muscle. My high school gym teacher's voice echoed into my mind, "Walk it off! That cramp will go away in a minute. You probably need to hydrate!" I took a short brake and walked around outside with a mug full of water. It was beautiful weather today, a perfect environment to walk off a sphincter cramp. The feeling finally subsided and I returned to work.

I'm have a slight fear of my next offering to the toilet gods. The pain is gone, but there is no telling what type of permanent damage i've incurred. What if, like a bad sports injury, I never recover fully. I picture my wife finding me lying on our bathroom floor tonight, crying, and covered with poo. Maybe there is some sort of rehabilitation I can do to strengthen my sphincters back, like a baseball pitcher has after a big surgery. I wonder if there is someone who specializes in that field, a physical therapist with an expertice in sphincter reconditioning. God, I hope not.

Some of you are probably wondering why I shared this horrific tale with you. I guess I am hoping that by hearing my tale of woe that you will somehow be discouraged from making the same ignorant descision that I did. The next time the Nike marketing team gets together to find a new innovative way to pitch their underwear line, they should use this tagline:
"Just don't hold it."

The other reason I shared this with you....Poo is funny.

Sorry Mom.

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