You’ve been out all day. Running errands, trudging through rush hour traffic, counting the 37 items the asshole at the grocery store has in his cart while he fumbles for exact change in the express register.
It’s called express for a reason, motherfucker.
You ate a big breakfast before you left the solitude and comfort of your home. Drank lots of coffee. You were going to be out all day. You didn’t want to get hungry. You needed the energy. Stopping for lunch wasn’t an option. No time. It’s your only day off.
Halfway through your Things to Do, you notice the familiar rumblings of the fudge factory revving its engines. You know it’s only a matter of time before the prophecies of the ancient scroll Everyone Poops come true, and the Gods of Guano* sound the Call of the Colon — the Bellow of the Bowels breaks the Seventh Seal of the Sphincter and the rectum rush becomes too much to contain. Continue reading