If you know me, you know that I'm the resident poop doctor, and if you read the title of this thread, you know it's going to be about pooping. With that, I offer the following caveat:
Read the following at your own risk.
Now that I've sufficiently warned you, you can't complain that this post is gross. Or if you do, I'll simply offer you my extremely mature yet effective snarky rebuttal of "Well, duh!".
I started a Paleo-esque diet this past Monday and I've been really sticking to it all week. I'm so proud of myself. Eating clean, drinking lots of water, no sugar, etc. The first three days were kinda difficult only because of the headaches (which I can only assume was the result of withdrawal from sugar addiction) but otherwise things have been going swimmingly.
I'm just gonna mercifully rip the Band-Aid off right now for you.
Yesterday I took the most epic dump e.v.e.r.
It started out not unlike any other crap I've ever had (and, well, I have a lot of them) so naturally I assumed that I would leave a nice long turd that loops lazily around the bowl like a friendly little brown serpent. But after I dropped the first seemingly innocent log, it didn't take long to figure out that something was about to go epicly wrong. My insides felt like there was a wild unicorn running around in there and I started cramping like I was about to give birth to a giant tainted hoagie.
As if I had just uncorked the freakin' Hoover Dam, my lower intestinal tract began pissing out what I could only assume was my liquified liver. That's when I actually broke out in a cold sweat. Now, I've had some marathon poops before but none that have made me forcefully expectorate water out of my pores. As I sat there basting in my own icy gravy, wondering if I would ever see my loved ones again, I began to feel like I was going to throw up. It was as if someone had instantly infused all my cells with the ebola virus and I started planning for the inevitable and pictured myself being torn between sitting on the pot or hovering over it. The idea of having to possibly hang my face just inches above the evil I had spawned that rivaled anything you've ever read in the Bible made the nauseating feeling all the more unbearable. I felt sure at some point my poor children would find me lying in a pool of my own putrid shit and vomit and I'd have to sell a kidney to be able to pay for the years of therapy they'd surely require (if I didn't crap out the rest of my entrails, that is).
As I began losing consciousness, I became increasingly aware of a tympanic chorus of horrible wailing far in the distance. The assault on my eardrums was enough to bring me back to reality and that's when I realized the banshee was me. Sure that the neighbors were already dialing 911, the intense pain in my belly began to subside and my stomach ceased its seemingly endless twisting. I used my shirt to wipe my now weeping brow and wiped my butt only to discover very little flotsam on the paper, which immediately concerned me. Did I dream the whole episode?
I checked the bowl and realized to my horror that it was very real. Very real indeed. "What was even IN there?" I asked myself with macabre curiosity. Specimens of all shapes and sizes, colors and hues, floaters and sinkers, flakes of unknown origin. There were things in my crap that I don't ever even remember eating...a bird's nest, a couple license plates, a tin can, some toe clippings, a large plastic button, and was that...an EYEBALL? There was enough stringy white material that seriously looked like I had started shedding the insides of my intestines.
I still wonder if this was all the result of the diet change, or maybe I really did get a bug of some sort that just moved through me in the span of 10 minutes. Either way, needless to say, I now feel like a million bucks. Incidentally I weighed myself after this horrible event, expecting to have lost 20 pounds, and I actually gained a half a pound, so go figure there.
So...y'all missed me...right?