A Thanksgiving Feces: Turd-key, Bran-berrys, and Sweet Poo-tatoes
November 24-28, 2004
Wednesday night I left for Pittsburgh on an empty stomach, saving up for a holiday weekend full of eating events.
I ate a small breakfast and no lunch on Thursday, to ensure that there was as much room as possible for me to eat everything in sight at our big Thanksgiving feast at the nursing home.
There were 3 different turkey platters, 2 stuffings, cranberry sauce, sweet and mashed potatoes, and plenty of vegetables on (and around) the table. And like 4 pies for desert. For the record, I ate all that shit. Twice. I love Thanksgiving.
The only thing I like better than eating Thanksgiving dinner is crapping it out. There’s nothing more satisfying than taking my annual Plymouth Rock Plop and filling up the bowl with giant turkey turds – turning it into a virtual “cornucrappia” o' plenty, if you will.
However, as I woke up Friday, there was a problem – it was all still inside me. Worse yet, it wasn’t showing any signs of coming out. I had to meet some cousins at Starbucks for 11 AM coffee, but even a pumpkin spice latte couldn’t induce the turtlehead out of its shell. Then it was off to lunch. Surely some creamy alfredo pasta would do the trick! But I sat on the couch all afternoon and felt nothing. This thing went Galapagos on me!
I was scheduled for a big dinner at an expensive restaurant. I had to make room, but ran out of time. So I went out and piled on some veal chops and pumpkin cheesecake, which I figured would be more than enough to allow my little brown frends to slip past the guards and move on to freedom from their dark, cavernous, anal prison. I headed back to the nice, comfy restroom – but it wasn’t meant to be. I squeezed and squeezed and the result of my labor was but a mere 3 poo pebbles.
I gave up and went to the bar. A few pitchers of tasteless Miller Lite dried my system for the evening. Surely the morning deuce would alleviate my bowels.
But I woke up at noon and was dragged out to a hibachi lunch. I had no idea where it would all go, but apparently I still had room for a filet mignon, a plate full of fried rice, 6 shrimp, and an eel roll. It must have been stored in my lungs, or perhaps it found shelter within the fatty tissue of my ass.
I came back home and sat down on the couch. Then it hit me. It was huge. Several large logs and the nightmare was over. I even found Waldo and his chick on the crapper. [The fact that someone made millions off of that stupid “Where’s Waldo” concept made me want to drown myself in the toilet with my giant feces still afloat.]
Closing out the Weekend…
I c[r]apped off my weekend with some rest-stop coffee on the ride home, which hit my intestines immediately.
I bolted for the restroom, but all the stalls were occupied! I paced back and forth ready to pounce upon the first empty throne. Luckily, a dad quickly finished molesting his kid in the handicapped stall and vacated. I jumped inside and unleashed a single moist log. “Hmmm,” I thought. “Could this actually turn out to be a smooth and healthy session?”
My intestines quickly shot down that notion – in the form of an avalanche of excrement that contained no solid matter whatsoever.
The rest of the ride home couldn’t have been any more pleasant.

