How to Enjoy the Deuce Diaries

Like a bad CSI episode, this blog will keep you guessing until the last minute. I will bring to you the past, present, and future of my bathroom emergencies. I encourage you to post your own stories, express your sympathies, or make suggestions to make my life better under the comments after any blog that moves you. If you are looking for the sheer entertainment of the truthful near-deuce (in pants) encounters, then read the "Deuce-aster stories." If you are looking to play the guess what's triggering the irritable bowel syndrome home game, read the "Daily Diet and Deuce Effects" posts which are labeled by date. In these posts, I will describe what I ate and what level of stress or nervousness I was dealing with. But like searching through a big dump after eating a few Chipotle burritos, you will find some kernels of goodness in these posts. This is because my life is a constant adventure. My stomach is like Mount Vesuvius, ready to explode at any moment and bring hell upon any day. Therefore, you just might find another entertaining story about the runs. And you may be Sherlock Holmes and find the way to stop this menace!

Monday, November 17, 2008

Bluddeanous: The aftermath

As I have mentioned before, there are some stories that I should learn to keep private. Especially since there are individuals out there who know the real identity of Deuces Wild. Would Clark Kent parade around in nut-hugging red speedos over blue tights if people knew he was superman? Probably not. So it is with great hesitation that I share this next story. But as they say in show business, the deuce must go on.

After being diagnosed with hemorrhoids, the doctor wanted to make sure I didn't get an infection. It makes sense, the last thing I would want is green puss excreting from an infected inner anus. If I were my own doctor, I would have recommended that I take antibiotics.

Instead, I was required to take the equivalent of anal neosporin. Probably the grossest prescription known to man: the anal suppository. These bullet shaped hole pluggers needed to be rinsed to moisten the exterior. Then all 2 or 3 inches of it needed to be inserted into my rectum. This was certainly far from enjoyable in its own right. But the results were almost as bad.

The first result of being rammed in the anus was that my fingers would smell like the nastiest place on earth (the Deuces Wild's deucer). Given the raw stench that comes out of my ass, there is no reason to put things at the source. The second result was even worse. As the days would go on, the warmth of my lower intestines would melt the suppositories into a creamy goo. The creamy goo would turn into a creamy brownish white substance that would leak into my underwear. And as being such a deucer, you may have guessed that I tend to expel some noxious gasses more often than most individuals. What you can also probably deduce, farts with a melted gooey suppository are a bad combination. The more explosive the roars from below, the greater the fall out damage was. Each blast required the awkward duckwalk as the goo crawled its way around my lower region in an uncomfortable manner. On lucky days during the suppository times, my boxers would have a gentle creamy stain, creating mild discomfort before they were thankfully removed. On the worst of days, they would be a warzone with caustic debris spattered all over them. Of course there were a few casualties of boxers that needed to be discarded and pants that needed to be triple cleaned before being used again. But while the dirty river of poo-infused, melted neosporin-like cream found its way to deep corners of my skin, there was no green infected puss.

So while I stood humiliated yet again, I at least lived to crap another day. Many days in fact. And with the conclusion of the Bluddeanous Period, it would be several more years into the deuce era before I realized that my bomb-dropping habits were far from normal.

Stay tuned..

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Bluddeanous Period: the conclusion

To recap, the bluddeanous period of my life was a not-so-fresh moment. The discovery of red globs in my dump had put me on edge. The doctors put me on more edge when they made me scrape out dingleberries and poop smears to share with them and when a dirty old man put his finger up my butt. At this point, they decided to scare me with all the terrible things a little rectal bleeding could mean. Cancer, colon polyps, celiac disease, and a host of other things that inevitably lead to death or a lifetime of suffering. So then came the next step....The anal probe.

The anal probe is not a pleasant step in the Bluddeanous Period. It wasn't just the probing of my anus that concerned me, it was also what preceded the ass exploration. And all of this is conducted under a shroud of fear that this may be the last time I count on growing old and possibly accomplishing something great (like blogging about my deucing).

I was scheduled for a colonoscopy several weeks in advance. So I had plenty of time to fear the preparation for the probe, the probe itself, and the possible results of the probe. The rules for a colonoscopy are simple: Get everything out of the system because the doctor doesn't want to be navigating the brown river as he explores the inner intestines. Nor does the doctor want to be dumped on when the probe in-deuces the deuce.

To prepare for the colonoscopy I had to stop eating and limit myself to water only for some time before the big event. I remember 18 hours, but looking online I've seen doctors request a full day. I don't quite remember how long it was, but that was not the difficult part. There was one thing that I was allowed to have...actually one thing that I was required to have in the hours preceding the exploration of my anus. I had to take a very strong laxative. At first I felt a few rumbles. Then I had a very smooth and easy dump. It was almost like drunk people "breaking the seal" by urinating. Once I took this first crap, the floodgates were open. I was enjoying a nice episode of the Golden Girls at the time. Rose was in the process of saying something stupid when my stomach spoke to me forcefully. The gurgles begged me to escape this miserable show and head to the bathroom. Hell hath no fury like a second bowel movement after a pre-colonoscopy laxative. I felt like Harry in Dumb and Dumber. I wished I had a handle by the toilet to brace myself when chunky brown liquid explosively shot from colon. It was wet and it was sloppy. And it was seemingly never-ending. But it did end. And I got back to the tv just in time to see Blanche give me weird feelings as she was acting slutty before I had to return to the bathroom to expel some goo (brown goo, not white goo you perverts, Blanche isn't that sexy).

The night involved being within five feet of the bathroom, which unfortunately was inside the smell-zone radius. I felt urges to fart, but wisely headed to the toilet before attempting to release some gas. Eight out of ten fart urges would have stained my pants had I not taken the precaution. As the night wore on, the deuces evolved from chunky brown liquid, to smooth brown liquid, to yellow liquid with brown sea anemones swimming within, to yellow liquid, to light yellow liquid and finally to near clear liquid. By the end of it, my ass was wiped raw and my boxers needed to be thrown out.

After my colon had fully been cleansed, it was doctor time. The procedure was in the hospital and I had to put on the gown. I never understood why they have the back open for your butt to hang out. If it was reversed, the patient could at least hold the gown closed when the doctor wasn't examining unchartered crevices. Instead, people like me are left demeaned holding the butt of the garb together or exposing their rear end to all the nurses and hospital employees. We should really start a petition to get the gown gap reversed. But I digress.

The last thing I remember from the colonoscopy was being told that I would be awake during the procedure but wouldn't feel a thing or remember it. I was shown the screen would display my bowels to the seemingly full room of doctors, interns and others who wanted to see my anus. Since I thought I might die, I invited my parents. I don't remember if they were in the room when the gown was spread open to reveal my chocolate starfish, but I care not to ask. Some things are better not thought about. So with a room full of people, I was given drugs then the business.

The anal probe revealed that I simply had a case of hemmorhoids. A young recent college grad had the same anal disfunction as an old grandpa. But at least it wasn't anything serious. I thought I would get some preparation H and be on my way. Unfortunately, the doctor had a prescription that I wish I had enough drugs to forget the same way I forgot the anal probe. That my friends, is a story for another day.


Today was a whole TWO pounds released from my innards. I took three weigh-ins and it is even possible that it was a 2.2 pounder (two out of the three said 2.2 pounds, but I refuse to certify results of over two pounds). Unbelievable! And it didn't even pierce the waterline into the free air. I thought the whole pound yesterday was impressive. No wonder I was farting so much last night. I was carrying two pounds of rotting meat and vegetables in my intestines. It was a smooth, easy, and rather wet two pounds. I have gotten back into the habit of eating the Activia Yogurt at night and whole wheat cereal in the morning. It seems to be quite a combo. Tucked in between breakfast and nightly yogurt, I had a vegetarian burrito, rice with black beans and cheese, peanut butter on whole wheat bread, and a bunch of costco samples. Oh and two ice cream sandwiches. No deucasters.

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

First weigh in

A one-pound deuce streamed from my bowels. The first half pound came effortlessly while the remnants required a gentle push from within. We will see how long this new weighing technique keeps me interested in writing about my dumps. But for the moment, it is the greatest invention ever!

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

brief return 11-11-08

I apologize to all those who heralded my triumphant return after a month long hiatus only to wait a month and half until the next deuce diary entry. Its been a busy few weeks. And in the meantime, my anus has taken a pummeling. Tiring of yogurt (there are only two flavors that are any good and those have gotten old), I resorted to switching off between yogurt, align, and nothing. I've missed days and tried to make them up with two yogurts, a yogurt and align, or two aligns the following day. Not good. Fortunately, there have been only two near-deuce-in pants experiences that I can remember. Neither of which were exciting enough to bring me to blog about it. But both filled the bowl after coming dangerously close to filling my boxers. In between these deuceasters came blood in the toilet bowl, anal explosions, constipation and diarrhea. So life has not been good since I have tired of the yogurt. I am at a cross-roads where I need to decide whether to suck it up and eat my yogurt regularly, or live in fear of painful or uncontrollable craps.

So my latest purchase has the potential to bring me back to the computer to share about my deuces. I was given a scale that I can weigh myself on. I had nowhere to stash it, so I placed it in my bathroom. While this was done without thought, it did generate a genius idea. I weighed myself when I got it. Then ate a big meal and accidentally stepped on the scale when I went to urinize. I discovered that I gained 1.4 pounds from my meal. And I discovered that a scale in the bathroom is the most genius invention ever. It spawned a new plan: first a championship-style weigh-in before a bout with the toilet, followed by a measurement after the release of some excess baggage, coupled with a bit of mathematical calculations and hooha I will be able to report to you how big the dump is in exact terms. Imagine the possibilities.

So deucefans, I promise to try harder to bring you the news of the deuce. And I still have a few stories you need to hear. Mcdonald's, anal probes, ass amoebas and so much more. So thanks to my loyal fans for hanging in there. more is to come.