Disappointment and the Perfect Shit.

SO I am a little dissapointed with myself today. I was planning on getting up and riding bike this morning, but the lazy monster bit me right in the ass once again. Thats 3 days in a row I have been a slacker. Yesterday was somewhat excuseable because we were supposed to play basketball last night, but alas, it was raining. I think my lack of morning exercise is mostly due to the fact that I haven't been drinking very much at night. With no hangover at 5 in the morning, it doesn't seem necessary to punish myself for drunkeness, and the bed feels so much better without an army of dwarves pounding out weaponry for the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy between my ears. On to the perfect shit. I increased fiber in my diet starting yesterday mainly to improve the quality of my craps. Someone asked if I was crapping badly, the answer to that is yes and no. My frequency of bowel movements isn't quite where I would like it to be, and the product produced isn't exactly a nugget of joy. But I guess thats why they call it shit, other than a nugget of joy. Either way, my quest is to produce something that I would like to call the perfect poop. It is something that when moved, creates in you a profound sense of loss, but yet an eternal contentment, knowing that this was something you created, but is now gone forever. The manner in which it leaves the body is key. Not only does your gut feel empty, but it leaves no trace as to where it came from, a clean cut. I like to call it a 2 wiper. The first wipe turns up nothing, warranting a second wipe just to make sure your eyes did not decieve you. If there is one thing to put a smile on you face and a bounce in your step consistently, a Perfect Shit will do it. I was happily blessed with one yesterday afternoon, and I attribute it to the extra fiber. I will let you know how this happy experiment goes in one weeks time. Until then, may your turd cutter be sharp as a razor.


Jess said...

Wow, you really waxed poetic about poo; it was darn right romantic.

Also, I'll never get the exercise-as-punishment business. Before we know it, you'll be wearing one of those leg straps with the barbs in it, like in "The DaVinci Code."

Anonymous said...

your one disturbed fuk