Bluddeanous Part 2

It has been several days now that I have left you in suspense about the Bluddeanous Period. It doesn't take a Shakespeare expert to figure out what the deuce problem may have been, and it doesn't take a degree in Deuceology to know that the punishment didn't fit the crime. I was a younger lad than I am today. It was several years into the Deuce Era, but I had yet to identify these times as such. Every once and a while, for the sake of a story, I have to reveal facts about me and my life that aren't exactly cool. There are certain nuggets of truth about me that are best kept private, but that must be shared for the sake of knowledge, understanding, and a good story. So, I now reveal a peculiar habit that I had at the time.

I consider myself a curious fellow. Someone who can't leave well enough alone unless I have all the facts of a situation. Well, this curiosity made it such that I couldn't drop a deuce without knowing the full effects of my actions. This led me to do what I believe many men would do. After a deuce, I look to the bowel to see what I have accomplished. This is perhaps the most normal part of what I am about to tell you. I will also sometimes peak down to see my progress. Again, this is a bit more on the normal side. What I am convinced is not normal, but what led me toward the Bluddeanous Period, is a little habit known as the wipe watch. If you have a gag reflex, skip down to the next paragraph. When wiping the remnants of a deuce from the depths of my buttocks, curiosity would compel me to examine what lie below on the toilet paper. Rather than depositing it immediately to its proper home, I would take a look to see what kind of art I had made. While brown is the most common, I've had my Picasso moments in a blue period as well as green (after drinking Kool-Aid), yellow, and combinations thereof.

Why did I tell you of such a disgraceful activity? Because this particular period in the deuce era had some warning signs in the wipe watch. Certain colors were included in the anal art that do not belong. The doctors say if you see black in your stool, you should seek help immediately. Not mental help because of you are looking at your stool, but a physician to examine your innards. Black stool generally means you have internal bleeding deep within your intestine. Red in the stool is less worrisome, but still something you are supposed to call your doctor about. Red obviously means blood. And while you may think bleeding is normal (especially if you are constantly ripping out ridiculous dumps like I have), it could be a sign of many different bad things.

So in the days leading up to the dump heard around my world, there were a few warning signs. While the art looked beautiful (I mean what's better to spice up a little brown or green than a splash of beautiful red?), it was not a good sign. A bad sign, though, that I failed to recognize. Then, one day my life came into focus. A day that I clearly learned I had a deuce problem. Like Neo choosing the Red Pill, I could never go back even though I really wished I could. It happened on a normal day. Maybe not a truly normal day, but a somewhat normal day nonetheless. I had drank a lot of beer the night before. I had a large chipotle burrito with corn salsa. The day before, I had a tough deuce to force out. Since that deuce, I had eaten a lot of food. And on this fateful day, I had plenty to release. It wasn't a completely miserable deuce, but it was plentiful and it certainly wasn't pleasant. I can't remember all the the specifics of it, but I know it was a deuce I wish I never had. After surviving the discomfort, I first took a look at the splatter on the toilet paper. This was bizarre. The entire paper was covered in red. Now, I had seen pink, or splashes of red over the brown. But this was just red. A dark scarlet red. Somewhat alarmed, I finished the business and stood to take in a bird's eye view of my accomplishment. And this folks, was no accomplishment. To my dismay, the entire bowl was red. There was a mound of normal deuce in there (with some yellow kernels of corn, of course), but the water looked as if Moses had been there. There were also drops of an even darker red on top of the Mount Dueceai. It was like Moses had in fact been there, but instead of delivering one of God's plagues, he was offering me the eleventh commandment: If thy have rectal dysfunction, thou shalt fix it.

I took this bloody bowl to be my burning bush and listened intently. I immediately called my doctor. And shortly afterward, I regretted it.

To be continued...