Oh my god ... it's full of, well, NOT STARS!

by effenheimer at 03:30 PM on November 23, 2002

This is a sophomoric tale of college roommates. It is a written version of your USA Up All Night B Movie tales of college boys doing gross stuff. This is not a short story of heroism. This is juvenile BS. So, no surprises and no complaining. I don't want to hear it. I spend my time in "the real world" writing with constraints and when I come here, it's to exercise some portion of the brain that rarely sees the light. This story comes from a whole host of stories I have about the waste of time I call my college years. Yes, its vulgar. Yes, it is disgusting. That is half the point. I like to think of it as stercoraceous. ENJOY! or not.

1989-1990 senior year part I
Bobo was a mutant. He consumed enormous quantities of food every day. A couple pounds of hamburger for lunch with chips and two liters of pop. For dinner, several live chickens, a village full of potatoes and a Yugo.

Now that's a lot of food. Newton tells us that for every action there is an equal and opposite RE-action. If ya know what I mean.

Bobo apparently only took a dump once ever two days, but when he did, man ... watch out! Alert the media, sound the alarms, evacuate Tokyo.

Now, you might wonder how I would come to know something so disgusting. Well, it wasn't from some deep, "Breakfast Club" style conversation, believe me.

Pete1, Pete2 and I were sitting around the living room of our college apartment one afternoon when Bobo disappeared for an hour to complete this rare ritual of expungement. Suddenly Bobo came out of the john, grabbed his coat and left the apartment without saying anything to anyone. This was pretty fucked up since Bobo never left the apartment for anything except strippers and groceries and it wasnt dark enough for him to be leaving the apartment any way.

So the Petes and I were intrigued. We surmised that something terrible must have happened in the bathroom. Slowly we crept, inch by inch, toward the bathroom. The door was closed. Not a good sign.

Now the average person can guess what is coming. This is not an attempt at high art OR originality. But I spend the better part of my week writing quality features and columns for the good people of Council Bluffs and Southwest Iowa and if I don't get to do a 180º once in a while ... I bust. So if you are eating bean burritos stop eating or reading, one or the other.

We opened the door and what we saw was like a scene from "2001: A Space Odyssey."

My god ... it's full of shit! said Pete2.

And how!

Now I don't mean the toilet was reasonably full of shit like when even the heartiest of eaters leaves a big one behind. I used to work on a dairy farm when I was a kid and even cattle don't drop a load like the one that lay before us in the violated bowl of 49C Schilletter Village.

It looked like a Dairy Queen sundae straight from hell. The bowel was so full, we couldn't have shut the lid without it hitting a little curly-q that was perched on top like it had been laid there professionally. Now that I think about it, I don't remember there being any toilet paper in that bowel. That was probably because there wasn't enough room for any paper.

Bobo had clearly plugged the toilet. Hell, he almost plugged the lid. There wasn't even any water to be seen in there for the love of God! He ran out of the house to buy a plunger but the Petes and I didn't think a plunger was gonna cut it. Dynamite might have put a dent in the curly-q but it would have taken a team of 19th century Chinese railroad workers with drilling equipment to break it up properly. Bruce Willis in "Armageddon" had an easier job.

What puzzles me most is this: A man doesn't just shit like that by surprise. This had to have been a regular thing for Bobo since he was old enough to consume mass quantities of animal flesh. It isn't like one day you wake up and drop a fucking load the size of a midget and it takes you by surprise. You don't excrete something that would embarrass a water buffalo after a life of mild consumption. No, you build to this after a lifetime of gluttony.

For the love of god, after you've been on the toilet for, oh ... say 20 minutes or so ... you would think a little voice inside of your head would say "why not flush now?" You know? Half way through, why not give it a little flush, just in case? If only to keep the stink from peeling the paint off the walls, just a little flush. Just to give the single-celled organisms who never did nothin' to nobody a break, jiggle the handle.

Disgusting mother fucker.