My Shitty

My three year-old has had bowel movement problems ever since he started to eat solids. We have tried just about everything to help him, short of taking him to a specialist (and freaking him out). So, he gets very constipated, and out of fear, he refuses to poop.

I have to give him laxatives to help him poop; however, not too long ago the laxatives were not producing results. His stomach was distended and I knew he really had to go. This being the case, I went to the store and bought an enema. Not a fun process to pull off.

Poor little guy.

I hated to give it to him, but he had to get rid of some of that poop. A few minutes after administering the enema, I knew by the noises he was making that there were going to be some results. I grabbed an old towel in case of an extra big mess was on its way. Then, I laid him on the couch to clean him up and get a new diaper.

It smelled horrible. Worse than normal.

I lifted his legs to wipe his bottom and to my extreme surprise a huge, twelve-inch poop torpedo shot out directly into my lap. My clothes were covered with poop, as well as the towel. The poop even got between the cushions of the couch. After the shock of the experience was over I laughed my ass off and told him he just did an awesome big poop. He was very proud of himself! Having been in the living room, my other two children were also laughing hysterically. Talk about one hot mess!

Poop Report

I had split up with my girlfriend a couple of weeks ago, and I was feeling down when a good friend called and invited me out to the local pub. “Great!” I thought, “I could use some relief and friendship.” It was not long before we chatted up two alluring young women at the bar. One thing the led to another, and before long we were dancing and drinking way too much.

It didn’t take much persuasion for “Sarah” to invite me to her apartment. When we got there, we flopped on the couch and exchanged niceties until she leaned over and whispered a proposition in my ear.

“Yes!” I cried. I stood up and she divested me of my pants and underwear and began to give me, um, er, oral ministrations. My legs were shaking so much that I had to sit on the couch. Her expertise had me on the edge for a long time. Finally, the ministrations reached a crescendo, and we disengaged.

After a while, I dressed. It was then, with rising horror, that I saw a shit stain on “Sarah’s” beige couch, exactly where I had been squirming a few minutes before. The stain was about half an inch wide and maybe four inches long. I immediately grabbed a pillow and positioned it over the stain, hoping this would give me time to think what to do. Should I tell her, or try to escape unnoticed? Should I beg for forgiveness and clean it up?

She came back into the living room and remarked, “That pillow doesn’t go there.” I recognized in her a neat and clean freak, and felt a rising wave of nausea as she grabbed the pillow.

She shrieked and the pillow fell from her hands. “Was it you who made this stain?” she implored. I knew right then I had to confess.

“No, it was your dog that did it.”

“I don’t even have a fucking dog!”

“Yes, it is mine,” I allowed.

“Well, then clean it up, for fuck’s sake!” she shouted.

“Alright,” I croaked, “Give me a toothbrush and some Lysol.”

Well, I scrubbed the stain and some of it was coming off; but shit on beige? Good luck. “This is the best I can do,” I moaned. Soon, I was banished from the apartment and onto the street.

Several weeks later, I saw her dancing and drinking with a new guy. “Heh,” I thought, “he`ll probably soil the other side of the couch. Great revenge!”

Poop Report