Let’s see, what else did I do this weekend? Oh yeah, I threw out some of my clothes. Sounds boring, right? Not the way I tell it.
Mrs. ACW and I live the life many people dream about. We get home at about 5pm on Friday, cook turkey burgers and asparagus, eat them, and then do homework. Yes, many people are out, spending heaps of disposable income on drinks, food, drugs, and whatever genitalia makes their upper lip sweat and quiver (hey, I’m not here to judge; whatever tickles your pickle or frosts your cookie is fine by me), but none of them have the wrist-slitting joy of staying home and doing homework for four hours at the start of the weekend while not drinking or seeing any genitalia or putting any coke up our noses.
And the cherry on top of all of it? Mrs. ACW is on a diet, so she’s not eating any sugar, and since we don’t have any sugar free candy in the house, we had to go out the grocery store to insert ourselves amongst the other social superstars that can be found wandering the grocery aisles at 9pm on a Friday; frozen pizza in one hand, pint of ice cream in the other, bunny slippers on the feet and a loosely tied robe that leaves so little to the imagination that I may as well have his lumpy, asymmetrical baby-maker tattooed on the inside of my eyelids.
Less than thirty minutes later we’re home, have given up on homework, and are each a few pieces of sugar free candy deep into Hot Fuzz. An amusing hour and thirty minutes passes with nary to mar the occasion except a sudden onset of gas on my part that’s so violently offensive that I think I can feel hairs being singed off of my dangerous but exquisite backside.
After one particularly boisterous expulsion Mrs. ACW remarked that it sounded “hearty” or something along those lines. I had to agree. It was if I’d been grabbed around the torso and squeezed by the hand of a giant. It was as if I was completely out of control of my own body and it was venting pressure of its own accord. I learned a few seconds later what little control I actually had.
After a mad dash to the bathroom to learn that yes, I had in fact shat myself, I realized I was a twenty-seven year old man with no apparent control of his bowels. I immediately threw away my underwear and shorts, much to the bewilderment of everyone who has already heard this story.
“Why didn’t you just wash the clothes?” they ask, puzzlement clouding their faces.
Look, if I ever become so cavalier and casual with shit that I can look upon a beshatted object and think, “Hey, it’s just poop I guess,” please kill me, because I don’t want to live a life so well acquainted with the substance that our bodies forcibly eject on a daily basis.
I also jumped in the shower and gave the entire lower half of my body a complete surgical scrub down, because, once again, shit is gross.
Then I spent the rest of the weekend completely gun-shy because I didn’t want to fart and have to check and make sure my socks were still dry, so every time I felt a little pressure I had to get up, go to the bathroom, and make sure that the “football” didn’t make it into the “end zone” on a “quarterback sneak”, if you may allow me a football metaphor.
Lesson learned: not only does beef wreck me, but so does sugar free candy.
Oh dear.
I’m surprised it’s only happened to you twice. I figured you for at least a couple of times a day.
Dude, and it’s hard to say “dude” without coming off as some fuckwitted jock, but dude, you are fucking hilarious.
I know you know this, sir, but I felt that it needed to be said.
Oh, god, The Sharts. The horrible, terrible, awful Sharts.
My sympathies. Since I am gluten intolerant and didn’t know for the better part of last year, you seriously, have my sympathies.
I’m laughing so hard that tears are rolling down my face. And I’m making no noise.
My rule of thumb when it comes to things like sugar-free candy is this:
Anytime you see the words “sugar-free” or “fat-free”, instead of thinking “yay, fun and guilt free snack”, go ahead and think “chemical shitstorm”.
Not sure how this applies to the beef, but whatever. You get my point.
Sugar free candy is usually sweetened by Sorbitol, famous for its laxative properties. Eating a package of sugar free candy is like a different sort of gallon challenge. Best of luck with that challenge.
Just a note, that happens to just about everyone with sugar-free candy. I’m not entirely sure it’s actually sugar-free. I think they just call it that because they add a laxative that keeps your body from digseting the mess.
omgwtfLOL
chemical shitstorm, lol!!
And you say you’re going to give up blogging?
I’m thinking that the delicate constitution that leaves you powerless over beef has also rendered you tender to the ravages of sugar free candy, which can cause “loose stools” in large amounts. Perhaps, for you, the difference between farting and ‘gambling and losing’ is “a few pieces”, not “large amounts”.
On the brightside, it gives you an excuse to eat the real stuff.
I can certainly identify with you. I ate a half bag of sugar free jolly ranchers and proceeded to leave a silverdollar sized pat of doodoofeces in my boyfriend’s bed. At least you are already married and don’t get embarrassed anymore.
jwer- That’s what she said. No, wait…
Karla- You’re confusing me for Wombat.
Ryan- Thanks dude!
Lori- Oh, that gluten thing is rough.
Trinity- Hey, glad I could elicit that reaction.
Elise- I thought I was being reasonable with just a few pieces, but I guess not.
Mike- If I recall correctly, you once had this problem as well.
Pippa- Ha! That’s an interesting and disgusting theory.
j$- Orly?
Darth- Hey, no laughing at the other comments! You can only laugh at ME!
YNL- Yes, but I’m sure I’ll keep shitting myself.
Shieldmaiden- I don’t need an excuse to eat the real stuff, I just figured, “Hey, less sugar” without thinking, “Hey, I might shit myself.”
Crystal- Oh, it was embarrassing, but there’s not much she can do about it at this point.
yes, but the gluten thing means I have to basically stay away from any kind of complex carb. That puts me on some kind of strangely modified atkins type diet that, well…serves a greater purpose. That being the fear of sharting actually causes me to maintain a decent weight!!! Fries—with molten cheese piled on top are still a downfall of mine. and beer. non, wheat beer that is.
You had me at beshatted.
I have this rule that if I wipe more than 4 times, I hop in the shower.
Do you have this rule?
I have this rule.
Clean ass is next to godliness…………..
loriLOL
oops sorry mang i lolled at a comment instead of you
If this is what happens to you from a sorbitol bomb, you’d best not try the Lemonade Fast. You cannot fart on that diet. EVER.
Just be glad this didn’t happen to you while you were at work.