“Hey doc, whatchya gonna do with that tube of gel?”
Sometimes, you find yourself asking a question that you really wish you didn’t already know the answer to…
Previously on NSSMOTDF, Act I: The Setup…
…and, boy, was my ass tired…
Guy who Accidentally Added A 22-Mile Detour to His 3-mile Bike Ride
Act II: What’s Up Doc?
No, literally, my ass was tired. And real sore. Little did I know that my Tour de Middle of Nowhere was going to cost me the ability to poop for an indefinite amount of time.
I kid you not, I could not give a shit for the life of me. It sounds funny now, 21 years later, but having food go in one end of you but never come out the other end for weeks on end can cause some serious mental distress.
To make things worse, I lived in the dorms, so all my, uh, “efforts” to defecate weren’t exactly private. My futile attempts at producing even the slightest of turds usually only resulted in a staccato of high-pitched poots echoing loudly throughout our common bathroom.
And there was this one guy from Ecuador who found it particularly humorous. On multiple occasions when he would see me come out of the stall (and later in the hall) he would make a comment in between laughs in his slightly imperfect English: “Ha ha. You sound like a machine gun: dat-dat-dat-dat-dat!”
What an asshole.
After 3 weeks of being backed up, I finally caved in and went to the student health clinic, where the doc eventually came to the conclusion that my 3+ hours on my bike seat must have temporally damaged some important pooing-related nerves in my, uh, how you say “undercarriage.” He figured mineral oil would get me back on track and I should be just fine.
But before he let me go, he decided he needed to double check and make sure that there wasn’t anything more serious at play here, like, say, a tumor.
And, yada, yada, ya, that was the first time getting a finger stuck up my ass.
The point of the story is, with proper consent, a finger up the ol’ butthole isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Oh, and always take the time to read your dang map.
Now, if only I had a time machine, I know somebody who desperately needs to hear at least one of those two messages….
“But wait!” you say, “Isn’t this supposed to be the Mystery of the Disappearing Fingers? So far, by my count only one finger has gone missing in somebody’s rectum1…damn near killed ’em!…wait a minute…no, no. No. It can’t be.
Surely you wouldn’t have a Third Act…would you?”
Content created on: 10 September 2020 (Thursday)
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