To preface this entry I want to say that it is graphic,
disturbing, disgusting, decrepid, depraved, and heavily, well exclusively centered
on poop. Upon further reflection this is
in no way an appropriate thing to post most anywhere, but it’s hitting the
internet anyways. You have been warned.
So while this is not a true case of
Montazuma’s revenge, it still wasn’t fun and I will now describe to you all my
horrible poop from this morning. So this
morning at something like 430 or 5 I woke myself up with a thunderous
fart. It was awesome, I was proud, and I
smiled. Fun was had by all. However, after falling back asleep content
with how my day had started my tummy got a rumbly and tumbly and I remember
thinking that I would love to rip another one of those bad boys in order to
relieve the growing pressures in my GI tract.
However, it would just not come and I knew that I was in for a bad
ride. The gravity of the situation
became apparent when the scent of scrambling eggs and roasting arepas wafted
into my room and I woke up slightly nauseous instead of mildly euphoric as I
usually do. My alarm clock conveniently
went off just a minute or two after I woke up, so I said screw it, lets get
ready for battle. I proceed to strip to
my skinnies, wrap a towel around my waist and I soldier off to the bathroom for
what was surely to be the Ragnarok of all poops. As soon as I step out of my room I make eye
contact with Miriam, my host mother, who also happens to be dressed in her
bathrobe and towel and probably thinking relatively similar, albeit less
intense, thoughts to what was going through my head at that point. With due courtesy I offer to let her have the
shower first, but whether or not she knew it the bathroom was mine. She could have it first if and only if she
was willing to step over my dead body to get there. But of course she politely declines and
retreats back into her room and I step in for the first and round of the boxing
match. I drop the towel and I readied
myself for the struggle to come, naked as the moment I was born.
So here I
am, nestled on the porcelain throne, elbows on my knees, head in my hands,
waiting for the violence to come. But
strangely it doesn’t. It’s strange but
not unheard of. We’ve all had ghost poops
before where you’re convinced the apocalypse is coming, but all get is a little
toot out of the ‘ol trouser trumpet, but I’m not even getting that. The worst part is that my gut sounds like
there’s a fish periodically having seizures in a shallow pool and the pressure
is building, so I’m praying something is going to happen. Strangely no serious nausea though, that was
cool. But then it happened. All of a sudden gurgglies that were up in my
stomach just under my ribs suddenly shot down into my colon and then it came
out. A perfectly normal poop, neither
longer nor girthier than the average and to be honest I was pretty disheartened
by the tranquility of the situation. I
did feel a lot better, but sad at the distinct anticlimax. I sit there for a moment and then prepare to
pack up, hosting in my heart the same feeling disappointment and let down that Ron
Jeremy must have felt when he saw Zach and Miri Make a Porno. Then as I am reaching for the TP the girglies
come back full force. And the rumblies. And the tumblies. Even the heebies and the jeebies. And the next thing I know I am peeing out of
my butthole and it’s just a fucking mess.
The worst part is that I go for a courtesy flush about 5 minutes into
the onslaught I am not at all surprised to see that the flusher ma bob is
broken and that the bucket full of water sitting idly by my feet does in fact
have a purpose. The weird thing is that
it doesn’t even hurt. No burning or
cramping or anything like that. I found
myself strangely relaxed and pondering how this starkly contrasted my poop from
yesterday, which I was convinced was a watermelon doing its best to shatter my
tailbone. If that’s not the
juxtaposition of antitheses I don’t know what is. Anyways, that sucked. And when I was all done 15ish minutes later I
felt dirty, tired, slightly violated and more than a little betrayed. The worst part was solemnly pouring bucket
after bucket of water into the toilet bowl to hide the evidence of my shameful
excursion. Well, the visible evidence. My skillful planning of this event meant that
I was ready for a shower and once I was out and clean, I actually felt pretty
ok, but real tired so I proceeded to say fuck it, I’m taking a 630 am nap. And that’s the story of why I missed the
first hour of school today. Morally I
was slightly distressed, though, because Miriam ended up taking that shower
right after despite the warning signs which set her mother’s instincts a
tingling with an immediate understanding of what had just happened. The end. Poop is funny, and if you didn’t at
least chuckle at this story, then I don’t think that we can be friends. THE the end.
Oh, and I guess that I was pretty much better by the early afternoon, so
it doesn’t truly count as Montezuma’s revenge, but it’s a catchy title. THE THE end.
UPDATE:
Nope,
totally got the revenge. Got to school
this morning and I felt pretty funky. I
decided that I was too sick to stay and I expertly exited the building, and
good thing too, cuz within two minutes of leaving I was violently booting on
the side of the street. And when I got
back I had another bout of the ‘ol liqui-poo.
That would have been a story if I had let loose in the middle of class,
though. Anyways, whomever I tell my
symptoms to has said, “oh you have the amoebas”, so I guess that it’s a pretty
common thing. I probably will not be
drinking water straight from the tap from here on out, but then again that’s
also probably a lie. I just went to the
pharmacy and described my symptoms to the pharmacist and I got a resounding,
“ah, las amoebas” and for the whopping cost of 3 mil pesos (1.65ish American) I
got a two day course of tinidazol, which should clear me right up. Gotta love that dirty water. THE THE END.
I hope…
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