I have reached the point in my life where my creativity well has run dry. The Dannon Activia has plugged up the anus in a way I never thought possible. Since my last post I have ventured to the magical land of Japan where the public restrooms are so spotless you almost feel comfortable accepting their offered spray of water to cleanse the dirty blowhole. I have felt the ill-effects of traveling without the Activia and having to drop the post-alcohol binge deuce in a lockless bar bathroom with piss and barf remnants on the floor where the pants would hit in a natural deuce position only to discover there are 6 inches of toilet paper. Beyond that, my life has be relatively devoid of inspiration for the greatest diary ever written...by me at least.
So I employ the loyal deuce followers to share your stories. There have been several comments posted claiming "I have so many stories to share" etc. I know there are millions of you out there who out of necessity have crapped outside, in your pants, on your significant other etc. Activia is sold by the millions and even Jamie Lee Curtis is on tv telling us how she can't shit normally. So I ask you, no I beg you, to share your embarrassing story with the deuce diaries. Leave it as a comment, and I will move it to the big lights of a main post.
Us random deuce droppers must unite. We must fight our independence. Not from tyranny or persecution. But fight for our right to deuce. To band together as one group who declares in one voice that we will not be ashamed of crapping where one ought not crap. We will not go up four stories in our building to avoid being heard dumping by our co-workers. We will not flinch when the door accidentally flies open to reveal us in our deucy vulnerability. We are going to deuce on!
Friday, December 3, 2010
Thanks Bill!
In an awesome turn of events, a man named Bill was encouraged to come visit this wonderful, but dormant site. Fortunately for the world of deucers, Bill had a story of his own to share. An instant classic. So a nod to Bill, where ever you are, thanks for sharing this story:
"One sunday morning before leaving for basketball, the hot wings from the night before started trying to come back out into the world for another look. After two rounds of thanking the porcelain gods, I decided I was okay to make the 15 minute ride to the court. Half way there I realized just how wrong I was. I was soooo wrong that there was no time to find a bathroom on the side of the highway. The next exit was going to have to suffice. My thoughts were just pull over and dump on the sidewalk like an untrained dog. I saw some bushes in front of someone's house on a string of row-homes that would hide me at least a little bit. As I turn to pull down my pants and bare all to the world at 7:15 AM (all church goers), I saw a gift from above across the street...A dumpster with a two sided wall around the back of it. I ran over about to burst and decided I was going to have to get in, but as luck would have it there was a card board box behind it. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH relief. An explosion that rivals the A-bomb directly into the box. Using an old sock in my car to clean up, and tossing the box into the dumpster I was ready to go play ball. Actually, one more round at the court and I was lighter than ever."
"One sunday morning before leaving for basketball, the hot wings from the night before started trying to come back out into the world for another look. After two rounds of thanking the porcelain gods, I decided I was okay to make the 15 minute ride to the court. Half way there I realized just how wrong I was. I was soooo wrong that there was no time to find a bathroom on the side of the highway. The next exit was going to have to suffice. My thoughts were just pull over and dump on the sidewalk like an untrained dog. I saw some bushes in front of someone's house on a string of row-homes that would hide me at least a little bit. As I turn to pull down my pants and bare all to the world at 7:15 AM (all church goers), I saw a gift from above across the street...A dumpster with a two sided wall around the back of it. I ran over about to burst and decided I was going to have to get in, but as luck would have it there was a card board box behind it. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH relief. An explosion that rivals the A-bomb directly into the box. Using an old sock in my car to clean up, and tossing the box into the dumpster I was ready to go play ball. Actually, one more round at the court and I was lighter than ever."
Thursday, January 22, 2009
January 22
I have come to realize that if I take a yogurt at night and have a bowl of cheerios in the morning, a deuce will inevitably follow within 5-10 minutes of finishing the bowl of cereal. Without the cheerios, I can store the very sludge that wants so desperately to come out for hours. Therefore, life is so much better when I have the time and inclination to eat a bowl of cheerios in the morning.
This particular morning, the cheerios induced deuce allowed me to flawlessly relinquish 1.4 pounds of excrement. At the sight of it, I thought I had dropped off two pounds. It must have not been a dense dump, becuase it created a mound that pierced the sky. In fact, I was in danger of leaving such an architectural wonder that had I released any more building blocks the deuce tower would have approached my cement factory.
---Deuces Wild
This particular morning, the cheerios induced deuce allowed me to flawlessly relinquish 1.4 pounds of excrement. At the sight of it, I thought I had dropped off two pounds. It must have not been a dense dump, becuase it created a mound that pierced the sky. In fact, I was in danger of leaving such an architectural wonder that had I released any more building blocks the deuce tower would have approached my cement factory.
---Deuces Wild
Friday, January 2, 2009
Sad Truth
The holidays came and went and the deuce diaries failed to earn me any christmas cash. In an ominous reverse game of chicken or the egg, it is unclear which died first the ad revenue or the deuce writing. While the holiday overeating led first to some constipation and then to some soft semi-sloppy craps, nothing worthy of print occurred. I believe I broke the record for the Deuces Wild's largest deuce in history, but I failed to the proper measurements before and after the big show. It started off with a firm log that felt as if it could end the performance. But after a brief squeeze, the rest of the load was dropped into the hatch prepared for launch. That seems to be a familiar story these days.
I digress. Allow me to get to the point. There is only so much time I can devote to blogging about my dumps without some sort of financial benefit. There are great links on the side bars for such products as the self-wipe toilet aid. In case it is absent, you can check it out here: Self Wiper I don't know why but there is something about this product and the picture that makes me laugh. I probably won't be laughing when some sort of debilitation forces me to buy it. Until then, I'll get some joy out of the picture of the arm flexing and holding an anal wiping apparatus.
Let me get to the point. I have a few more hilarious stories that need to be shared. But you must do your part. Show me the money! And give me some feedback in the comments while you are at it. In the meantime, I am going to go lay down. I ate too much Indian food and am suffering through a minor case of the mud butt. I had a few thick squirts of dirty, curry-fried butt cream and am hopeful that a going horizontal may keep the remaining feces in place within the intestines until it has ample opportunity to solidify.
Until next time....
I digress. Allow me to get to the point. There is only so much time I can devote to blogging about my dumps without some sort of financial benefit. There are great links on the side bars for such products as the self-wipe toilet aid. In case it is absent, you can check it out here: Self Wiper I don't know why but there is something about this product and the picture that makes me laugh. I probably won't be laughing when some sort of debilitation forces me to buy it. Until then, I'll get some joy out of the picture of the arm flexing and holding an anal wiping apparatus.
Let me get to the point. I have a few more hilarious stories that need to be shared. But you must do your part. Show me the money! And give me some feedback in the comments while you are at it. In the meantime, I am going to go lay down. I ate too much Indian food and am suffering through a minor case of the mud butt. I had a few thick squirts of dirty, curry-fried butt cream and am hopeful that a going horizontal may keep the remaining feces in place within the intestines until it has ample opportunity to solidify.
Until next time....
Monday, December 8, 2008
The Missing Days
I should say that for the past month and a half I have stayed exclusively with the dannon activia yogurt. The days of switching back and forth between yogurt, nothing, and align gi caused so many troubles it wasn't worth it. While there are few food more vile after a night of heavy drinking, there are few activities more vile than uncontrollable diarrhea. While this past month and a half have been mainly uneventful, there were some concerning incidents. Unfortunately, I do not have the details to pin down the exact root of the problem.
But there was a binge week that created its own nightmares. There were three straight days of three-deuce extravaganzas. Having been there, done that at this point, I wasn't too excited or concerned. But following these festivals of deuce, was a long weekend of alcohol and greasy food. The Friday night began with a mix of dark beers and a half-pint of Pabst blue ribbon. The following morning began my first all-day drinking fiesta in years. College football started at noon, and so did the drinking. College football continued until midnight, and so did the drinking. Pro football started Sunday at 10 am and so did the massive headache and wet pudding craps. In between this time was fried food, cheesy food, and general greasiness. Oh, and I can't forget the college football pause for Indian food. Lots and lots of spicy Indian food was inhaled in a drunken rage.
Now that I had started indulging, I was on a roll. The next few days continued with french fries, hamburgers, nachos, cake, pie and other fatty foods. Then came the return of the Bluddeanous. It started with just a touch of red within the mounds of brown. Nothing to be concerned about as this has occurred before. Soon enough, however, came rivers of blood. Not just a drop or two, it appeared as if the toilet was in the ER. This occurred for a few days and got to the point where I would crap more blood than...well.... crap. Not good. Not good at all. But having just written the post about my anal suppository experience, I was well-refreshed in what would happen if I went to the doctor with my bloody secret. So I kept it to myself (and the toilet bowl of course) and prayed that I would heal on my own. I should mention that I also saw an ER episode where a woman died bleeding out of her butt. There are some embarrassing ways to say goodbye to the physical world, but I can think of few worse than being done in by a leaky hemorrhoid. So I monitored the situation and thankfully my deuces returned to normal (at least normal for me) after a few healthy meals and added fiber to the diet.
But there was a binge week that created its own nightmares. There were three straight days of three-deuce extravaganzas. Having been there, done that at this point, I wasn't too excited or concerned. But following these festivals of deuce, was a long weekend of alcohol and greasy food. The Friday night began with a mix of dark beers and a half-pint of Pabst blue ribbon. The following morning began my first all-day drinking fiesta in years. College football started at noon, and so did the drinking. College football continued until midnight, and so did the drinking. Pro football started Sunday at 10 am and so did the massive headache and wet pudding craps. In between this time was fried food, cheesy food, and general greasiness. Oh, and I can't forget the college football pause for Indian food. Lots and lots of spicy Indian food was inhaled in a drunken rage.
Now that I had started indulging, I was on a roll. The next few days continued with french fries, hamburgers, nachos, cake, pie and other fatty foods. Then came the return of the Bluddeanous. It started with just a touch of red within the mounds of brown. Nothing to be concerned about as this has occurred before. Soon enough, however, came rivers of blood. Not just a drop or two, it appeared as if the toilet was in the ER. This occurred for a few days and got to the point where I would crap more blood than...well.... crap. Not good. Not good at all. But having just written the post about my anal suppository experience, I was well-refreshed in what would happen if I went to the doctor with my bloody secret. So I kept it to myself (and the toilet bowl of course) and prayed that I would heal on my own. I should mention that I also saw an ER episode where a woman died bleeding out of her butt. There are some embarrassing ways to say goodbye to the physical world, but I can think of few worse than being done in by a leaky hemorrhoid. So I monitored the situation and thankfully my deuces returned to normal (at least normal for me) after a few healthy meals and added fiber to the diet.
Friday, December 5, 2008
12-5-08
After my morning bowl of cereal, and before my morning wee, I released 2.1 pounds of excrement. Some of that had to be the urination that was stored through the night, but I was still impressed. The first half pound (that's a guess, no intermediate measurement was taken) was expelled with ease. Then I hit the deucer's equivalent of the runner's wall. I knew I had more left deep in me, but I was stuck at a stopping point. I did something the doctors have told me countless times not to do. I gave it a little squeeze or two. After I squeezed off a few rounds, the river of dump started flowing. The last pound came out effortlessly and I am now ready to start my day.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
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..
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.
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.
11-13-08
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.
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.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
I'm back 9-28-08
My fellow diahreaders,
I apologize for my long absence from the deuce blogging world. The day after my last blog entry, I had a week long vacation. Without access to the internet, the deuce diaries suffered. When I returned, I realized that there is more to life than taking dumps and writing about it. So I moved on. Life was happy, my bowels were cleansed effortlessly, and no dump grabbed my attention enough to pull me back to the keyboard to write about it. But something has changed. I have been eating the yogurt everyday since the last entry, but I can almost not stand it anymore. No matter how much I drink, how much I eat, whatever I eat, I have to sit down and eat the same tasting yogurt day in and day out. Now I am starting to realize why people choose align. Also, it seems that the demons in my colon were sizing up the enemy before their recent and successful attack. The revolution in my intestines has not caused any urgent bowel movements. But I have had an aching stomach on numerous occasions, blood has returned to my stool, and nothing is coming easy. If I were George W., I would advocate a troop surge. But i don't want to eat even one yogurt a day let alone multiple yogurts. So with a sore ass, blood in my crap, and an achy stomach, I am at a crossroads. And at this cross-roads, I beg for your forgiveness and hope that you can help me through these dark times.
so without further ado, I return...to the deuce diaries.
I apologize for my long absence from the deuce blogging world. The day after my last blog entry, I had a week long vacation. Without access to the internet, the deuce diaries suffered. When I returned, I realized that there is more to life than taking dumps and writing about it. So I moved on. Life was happy, my bowels were cleansed effortlessly, and no dump grabbed my attention enough to pull me back to the keyboard to write about it. But something has changed. I have been eating the yogurt everyday since the last entry, but I can almost not stand it anymore. No matter how much I drink, how much I eat, whatever I eat, I have to sit down and eat the same tasting yogurt day in and day out. Now I am starting to realize why people choose align. Also, it seems that the demons in my colon were sizing up the enemy before their recent and successful attack. The revolution in my intestines has not caused any urgent bowel movements. But I have had an aching stomach on numerous occasions, blood has returned to my stool, and nothing is coming easy. If I were George W., I would advocate a troop surge. But i don't want to eat even one yogurt a day let alone multiple yogurts. So with a sore ass, blood in my crap, and an achy stomach, I am at a crossroads. And at this cross-roads, I beg for your forgiveness and hope that you can help me through these dark times.
so without further ado, I return...to the deuce diaries.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Bluddeanous Period Part 4
To recap: After discovering a red bomb exploded in the toilet that changed my world forever like Hiroshima, I went to the doctor to get to the root of the problem. I was demeaned with the task of proving there was blood in stool, which resulted in an uncomfortable and unholy, well I guess quite hole-y, use of popsicle sticks. After storing poop smears in my apartment for several days, I finally collected enough brown stamps to turn them in to the doctor for my prize.
Lo and behold, they discovered that there was actually blood in stool.
This came as a huge surprise after my dump looked like Stephen King's Carrie at the prom. And boy did they ever have a prize for me. They scheduled an appointment to meet with Dr. Steve. I just made up his name just now, but it seems fitting for the story. I don't remember the actual doctor's name, just the size of his thumb. My apologies for those of you who weren't interested in this kind of story. But sometimes the truth, and a doctor's appendages, hurt. And this is definitely one of those cases.
So I have an appointment with who we will call Dr. Steve. An old, pedophile looking doctor with thick dark-framed glasses. He wore the white doctor's coat of authority, but looked more like a senile Wal-Mart greeter. He had a grandpa-type uncertainty to his voice when he asked me to get changed into the gown. When he returned, he struggled to read the chart through his thick glasses. Then he told me to turn around and put my hand on the tables. I will never forget his request as he lubed up his gloves, "Please squeeze like you are having a bowel movement." Then with one fell swoop, his cold lubricated finger was in my asshole. It kind of scoped around in there. Then he said to himself, "nope." He fumbled through to place another finger in there. Not more fingers at the same time, I just think he felt like he wanted a different angle. I am convinced this one was his thumb, but I didn't have the courage to look. The last thing I wanted to do was make eye contact with a man who had his hand in butt.
He looked rather confused. I would make a joke that he looked pleased with the events as he smoked his cigarette, but that wouldn't make me look good either. Instead, he really just looked puzzled. He scribbled on the chart and said something like, "well, I didn't see anything." That could either have been because he looked half-blind, because his exploration wasn't exactly a visual inspection, or because there really isn't much to see in the naked anus with a naked eye.
As I was advanced to the next step, I learned that like the popsicle stick search for proof of blood, this anal violation was not necessary. Ideally I would have skipped to step four of this awful experience (not that step four gets any better). But instead, I had one more experience to go through before the Bluddeanous Period would be complete.
To be continued...
Lo and behold, they discovered that there was actually blood in stool.
This came as a huge surprise after my dump looked like Stephen King's Carrie at the prom. And boy did they ever have a prize for me. They scheduled an appointment to meet with Dr. Steve. I just made up his name just now, but it seems fitting for the story. I don't remember the actual doctor's name, just the size of his thumb. My apologies for those of you who weren't interested in this kind of story. But sometimes the truth, and a doctor's appendages, hurt. And this is definitely one of those cases.So I have an appointment with who we will call Dr. Steve. An old, pedophile looking doctor with thick dark-framed glasses. He wore the white doctor's coat of authority, but looked more like a senile Wal-Mart greeter. He had a grandpa-type uncertainty to his voice when he asked me to get changed into the gown. When he returned, he struggled to read the chart through his thick glasses. Then he told me to turn around and put my hand on the tables. I will never forget his request as he lubed up his gloves, "Please squeeze like you are having a bowel movement." Then with one fell swoop, his cold lubricated finger was in my asshole. It kind of scoped around in there. Then he said to himself, "nope." He fumbled through to place another finger in there. Not more fingers at the same time, I just think he felt like he wanted a different angle. I am convinced this one was his thumb, but I didn't have the courage to look. The last thing I wanted to do was make eye contact with a man who had his hand in butt.
He looked rather confused. I would make a joke that he looked pleased with the events as he smoked his cigarette, but that wouldn't make me look good either. Instead, he really just looked puzzled. He scribbled on the chart and said something like, "well, I didn't see anything." That could either have been because he looked half-blind, because his exploration wasn't exactly a visual inspection, or because there really isn't much to see in the naked anus with a naked eye.
As I was advanced to the next step, I learned that like the popsicle stick search for proof of blood, this anal violation was not necessary. Ideally I would have skipped to step four of this awful experience (not that step four gets any better). But instead, I had one more experience to go through before the Bluddeanous Period would be complete.
To be continued...
Sunday, August 24, 2008
8-24-08
Tropic Thunder is the theme of the week. I had more bellows from below today. I am on a personal hot streak. I would be the Michael Phelps in the Olympic sport of non-diarrheal deucing. Today was another 3-bagger. Amazing! That's 10 in three days, and I doubt I am finished. It started off normal enough. The usual cereal for breakfast, followed by a firm if not hard deuce. Then came more cake, of course. I had the leftover taco salad for lunch. Then I went to an acquaintance's house for dinner and the dump machine fired up again. This was not an ideal deuce situation because there is no sound proofing between rooms and the dinner table was a mere inches from the bathroom. That's city living for you. I had a big hard log that needed to come out just before dinner, and a few nuggets that begged for freedom after dinner.
Dinner was corn, steak, and salad. Finished off with raspberry sorbet and brown sugar homemade ice cream. And obviously, I need to get back into the peanut butter paradise cake. I am addicted. I would think I would gain five pounds from all this food gluttony, but I appear to be crapping it all out.
Stress: I drove the car today just before I deuced at the acquaintance's house.
Dietary supplements: the usual, minus the methane stuff.
Did I mention that I love this cake? God bless cold stone creamery.
Dinner was corn, steak, and salad. Finished off with raspberry sorbet and brown sugar homemade ice cream. And obviously, I need to get back into the peanut butter paradise cake. I am addicted. I would think I would gain five pounds from all this food gluttony, but I appear to be crapping it all out.
Stress: I drove the car today just before I deuced at the acquaintance's house.
Dietary supplements: the usual, minus the methane stuff.
Did I mention that I love this cake? God bless cold stone creamery.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
8-23-08
The morning started off right. I had to do some fantasy football drafting. Before I settled into the war room, I shed all of the alcohol, cookies and pizza from the night before. It was quick, it was quiet, and it was painless. But boy, was it extravagant. I thought that I wouldn't be able to crap again for days. But no. I was wrong. Another deuce was in store for me. I was about to make my draft pick (a reach for Calvin Johnson WR in round 3, for those who care), when an intended fart revealed a secret: there was more dump to give. So I urgently headed to the bathroom and shed some more weight. There wasn't a lot of girth to this excrement. It almost diarrheal, but not quite. It kind of burned, and was not pleasant. But I survived. I was left hoping that the day would not be another three deuce extravaganza like yesterday. But one never knows what is lurking in the bowels. I miraculously avoided a three-deuce day...by stretching into four deuce territory. Simply amazing. Shortly after I summarized my first two deuces in this very diary, I went to go shower. I felt the presence of more brown cream in my anus. I decided to relieve myself of this substance. I only dispensed two earthworm shape & size crap strips, but boy did it smell. The stink per square inch was off the charts. It even made me grossed out and I created it. I had to spray cologne before I got in the shower just to withstand the gag reflex.
Later in the day I went to see Tropic Thunder. Hilarious movie. Definitely a summer must-see. Near the end of the two hour film, I felt some tropic thunder myself. I required two pepto bismol to stay in the movie. I survived the film to see the climactic and laugh-out-loud ending. I then made a deposit to the local crap bank and felt much better.
Now let's get to the business of what created this marathon day of deuce.
Brunch: egg, ham, cheese, cream cheese on wheat english muffin
After brunch: peanut-butter paradise cake from Cold Stone Creamery. Chocolate cake, chocolate icing, chocolate ice cream with peanut butter swirls and peanut butter cups. Heaven!
Dinner: Fatburger!!!! The greatest burgers in the world. I say burgers plural because I had one and a half cheeseburgers with fried egg. Yum. But this isn't the cause of today's deuces because I had the four deuce drops before I even began dinner. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
After dinner: More cake!
Then celebrated with champagne and strawberries. Finished a whole bottle and felt quite a bit tipsy.
Dannon activia got lost within the whole celebration day. I popped an align before I went to bed.
Later in the day I went to see Tropic Thunder. Hilarious movie. Definitely a summer must-see. Near the end of the two hour film, I felt some tropic thunder myself. I required two pepto bismol to stay in the movie. I survived the film to see the climactic and laugh-out-loud ending. I then made a deposit to the local crap bank and felt much better.
Now let's get to the business of what created this marathon day of deuce.
Brunch: egg, ham, cheese, cream cheese on wheat english muffin
After brunch: peanut-butter paradise cake from Cold Stone Creamery. Chocolate cake, chocolate icing, chocolate ice cream with peanut butter swirls and peanut butter cups. Heaven!
Dinner: Fatburger!!!! The greatest burgers in the world. I say burgers plural because I had one and a half cheeseburgers with fried egg. Yum. But this isn't the cause of today's deuces because I had the four deuce drops before I even began dinner. Can't wait to see what tomorrow brings.
After dinner: More cake!
Then celebrated with champagne and strawberries. Finished a whole bottle and felt quite a bit tipsy.
Dannon activia got lost within the whole celebration day. I popped an align before I went to bed.
8-22-2008
Breakfast: cheerios with lactose free milk
Lunch: I was talked into going to an Indian/Mediterranean restaurant. I got felafel, but I think they spiced it with a little curry. I also had to eat a few bites of someone's butter curry chicken. The result was not catastrophic, but not great either. I'll get to that in a moment.
Before Dinner: Dannon Activia Yogurt and a chocolate chip cookie.
Dinner: homemade pizza on wheat dough (from Trader Joe's). Topped with sliced tomato, mushroms, basil, artichoke hearts, feta cheese (not expired this time) and pine nuts. It was delicious.
The evening involved seven coronas, a few tortilla chips with tostitos nacho cheese in a jar and three chocolate chip cookies.
Exercise: 20 minutes aerobic and weightlifting.
The Deuce Story: This was like a soap opera. Each plot was interconnected and ongoing. I had a small but seemingly complete dump before exercising and after breakfast. Then, the deuce story continued with a bowl filler after the work-out. The deuce drama made a reappearance after lunch, but the story was never told to the bowl. Instead my stomach felt the subtle pangs of a deuce in training, not ready to be released into the wild. On my way home from work, I was able to visualize the release of the goo that was inhabiting the passage way of the lower intestine just short of the colon. I felt the presence within me and felt I needed to share it with the world. But I had other things to do. So my friend lingered there, never becoming impatient, but just letting me know if its presence. Finally, just before dinner, I had an opportunity to set it free. I was surprised at how large it had grown, given that I had just birthed several pounds in the morning. But the release was not as satisfying as I thought. It wasn't separation anxiety like a parent feels before dropping their kids off at college. It was a feeling of incompletenes. As if I wasn't quite through with the task at hand. I took a cab out to a friend's house to consume the aforementioned seven coronas. In this cab I felt rumbles in my stomach and was convinced that I would be forced to go straight for the friend's Le Deucery. But the beer settled my stomach, and the deuce was not to be heard from again. Until the next morning.
Lunch: I was talked into going to an Indian/Mediterranean restaurant. I got felafel, but I think they spiced it with a little curry. I also had to eat a few bites of someone's butter curry chicken. The result was not catastrophic, but not great either. I'll get to that in a moment.
Before Dinner: Dannon Activia Yogurt and a chocolate chip cookie.
Dinner: homemade pizza on wheat dough (from Trader Joe's). Topped with sliced tomato, mushroms, basil, artichoke hearts, feta cheese (not expired this time) and pine nuts. It was delicious.
The evening involved seven coronas, a few tortilla chips with tostitos nacho cheese in a jar and three chocolate chip cookies.
Exercise: 20 minutes aerobic and weightlifting.
The Deuce Story: This was like a soap opera. Each plot was interconnected and ongoing. I had a small but seemingly complete dump before exercising and after breakfast. Then, the deuce story continued with a bowl filler after the work-out. The deuce drama made a reappearance after lunch, but the story was never told to the bowl. Instead my stomach felt the subtle pangs of a deuce in training, not ready to be released into the wild. On my way home from work, I was able to visualize the release of the goo that was inhabiting the passage way of the lower intestine just short of the colon. I felt the presence within me and felt I needed to share it with the world. But I had other things to do. So my friend lingered there, never becoming impatient, but just letting me know if its presence. Finally, just before dinner, I had an opportunity to set it free. I was surprised at how large it had grown, given that I had just birthed several pounds in the morning. But the release was not as satisfying as I thought. It wasn't separation anxiety like a parent feels before dropping their kids off at college. It was a feeling of incompletenes. As if I wasn't quite through with the task at hand. I took a cab out to a friend's house to consume the aforementioned seven coronas. In this cab I felt rumbles in my stomach and was convinced that I would be forced to go straight for the friend's Le Deucery. But the beer settled my stomach, and the deuce was not to be heard from again. Until the next morning.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
8-18-08 through 8-20-08
I have been bad at keeping up on the deuce bloggin'. I am sorry to disappoint my loyal fans. Each day since I last wrote involved the same breakfast, the same lunch, but different dinners.
breakfast: cheerios with lactaid
lunch: almonds and a turkey sandwich
dinners in order: Chicken stuffed with ricotta cheese and covered with tomato sauce. Disgusting chicken teriyaki with white rice and lettuce topped with dressing that tasted like black licorice rubbed in someone's butt crack from a restaurant that smelled like rotting garbage. Not the best restaurant choice. Today's dinner was homemade taco night. Same as usual. Delicious!
The deuce stories. 8-18-08: I had a mildly large deuce before I exercised. But then I had an encore performance that would make an audience cry. Not that there was an audience, but this one was powerful. It was smooth like Michael J. Fox...in Teen Wolf of course, I am not trying to be ironic. If you are too young to know Teen Wolf, rent it. The first one, of course. Jason Bateman is hilarious (not just because his last name is about masturbation), but Teen Wolf Too is not exactly a classic. But car surfing in Teen Wolf? Genius. Seriously go take a dump and then rent it.
8-19-08 and 8-20-08: the same deuce story. After breakfast, two logs that would make a lumberjack salivate were expunged from my system. It was like Groundhogs day when I looked in the bowl on the 20th. I am glad my radio alarm didn't play "I got you babe" or else I would have gotten scared.
Dietary supplements: I have been trying a weird pill, in addition to my routine. methyl sulfonyl methane. I don't know if it is a good idea, but I have a weird nail injury and someone recommended this may help. If you have heard of it, let me know what you think, please.
Activia Experiment: I took a big risk. I had cookies late at night and didn't feel like having yogurt on the 19th. So instead, I popped an Align GI pill before I went to bed. The other nights I took my dannon activia. I didn't have any ill effects of the switch.
breakfast: cheerios with lactaid
lunch: almonds and a turkey sandwich
dinners in order: Chicken stuffed with ricotta cheese and covered with tomato sauce. Disgusting chicken teriyaki with white rice and lettuce topped with dressing that tasted like black licorice rubbed in someone's butt crack from a restaurant that smelled like rotting garbage. Not the best restaurant choice. Today's dinner was homemade taco night. Same as usual. Delicious!
The deuce stories. 8-18-08: I had a mildly large deuce before I exercised. But then I had an encore performance that would make an audience cry. Not that there was an audience, but this one was powerful. It was smooth like Michael J. Fox...in Teen Wolf of course, I am not trying to be ironic. If you are too young to know Teen Wolf, rent it. The first one, of course. Jason Bateman is hilarious (not just because his last name is about masturbation), but Teen Wolf Too is not exactly a classic. But car surfing in Teen Wolf? Genius. Seriously go take a dump and then rent it.
8-19-08 and 8-20-08: the same deuce story. After breakfast, two logs that would make a lumberjack salivate were expunged from my system. It was like Groundhogs day when I looked in the bowl on the 20th. I am glad my radio alarm didn't play "I got you babe" or else I would have gotten scared.
Dietary supplements: I have been trying a weird pill, in addition to my routine. methyl sulfonyl methane. I don't know if it is a good idea, but I have a weird nail injury and someone recommended this may help. If you have heard of it, let me know what you think, please.
Activia Experiment: I took a big risk. I had cookies late at night and didn't feel like having yogurt on the 19th. So instead, I popped an Align GI pill before I went to bed. The other nights I took my dannon activia. I didn't have any ill effects of the switch.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Bluddeanous Part 3
WARNING, this post is not intended for those who are easily queasy. In case you have not been following the details of the Deuce Era or its Bluddeanous Period, let me catch you up to speed. I had been having plenty of poop problems, but I hadn't realized there was something abnormally wrong with me until my bowels exploded to form a sea of red around the brown mound in the bowl. This warning sign was literally bright enough for me to take heed.
So I headed to the doctor. This was my first mistake. As I explained to the doctor the discovery of blood in the toilet, he became visibly worried. He did what no doctor should do. He would make concerned faces and interject with statements like "that's not good." He then became doctorly and explained the things that it could be. It could be colon cancer, colon polyps, a peptic ulcer, Crohn's disease or other serious issues. Of course he concluded by telling me that I shouldn't worry. Right. The first step was to make sure that I did in fact have blood in the stool. Apparently a bowl full of red isn't good enough. So I was put through the completely degrading, uncomfortable, and clearly unnecessary task of getting laboratory-certified proof that my rectum was bleeding. This was the first in a series of unnecessary and humiliating circumstances that a little blood in the anus caused.
I was sent to the lab where I was given further instructions. I was given a brown paper bag. No problem. I was given a piece of paper. Everything still seems okay. I was given several 6 inch popsicle sticks. A little weird. Then came the instructions. I needed to collect three samples....of my dump. Not cool, but it got worse. The samples couldn't be from the same dump. The samples couldn't be from the beginning of the dump or the end of the dump. I was to collect them with the popsicle sticks and smear them on the piece of paper. I was to write the date of specimen collection next to each smear. And I was to save the poop smeared paper until I had collected all three. Oh yeah, and I couldn't collect the sample after it had touched the bowl.
So here I am doing a circus act in the bathroom. My craps had to be lengthy enough to have something to catch between the first and last squirt. It had to be soft enough to leave a deposit on the popsicle stick. And I had to aim carefully to get it on the stick with no splashback or dispersion onto my hands or the toilet seat. So imagine, if you a will, a poor Deuces Wild who had already known there was blood in his stool, doing a squat above the toilet with sticks in hand, trying to administer the excrement at the appropriate time and stabbing at them like Ralph Macchio with chop sticks. The worst thing was that a few deuces failed to produce a consistency that could be grabbed with the popsicle sticks in mid air. With two down and a paper smeared with brown, smelly crud, the third catch proved elusive. I broke down and had to violate one of the doctor's orders. I was either going to get a sample from the bowl or it was not going to be a specimen from the middle of one of my sessions. Having a roommate at the time, I didn't want to get a weird diagnosis by scraping the tainted dung. So I went for the remnants. I failed to catch a hearty deuce in midair. In haste, I did what no man should have to do. Before I wiped with toilet paper, I used the end of the popsicle stick to extract some "hanging chads" surrounding my anus. Triumphantly, I smeared them on the paper, wrote down the date and brought my work back to the lab. Now it was time to wait for them to tell me what I already knew.
One would think that this would be the lowest of the low. The darkest depths of despair that could ever be reached in a Bluddeanous Period. But no. It got worse. Not much worse. That wouldn't be possible. But worse it got indeed.
To be continued.....
So I headed to the doctor. This was my first mistake. As I explained to the doctor the discovery of blood in the toilet, he became visibly worried. He did what no doctor should do. He would make concerned faces and interject with statements like "that's not good." He then became doctorly and explained the things that it could be. It could be colon cancer, colon polyps, a peptic ulcer, Crohn's disease or other serious issues. Of course he concluded by telling me that I shouldn't worry. Right. The first step was to make sure that I did in fact have blood in the stool. Apparently a bowl full of red isn't good enough. So I was put through the completely degrading, uncomfortable, and clearly unnecessary task of getting laboratory-certified proof that my rectum was bleeding. This was the first in a series of unnecessary and humiliating circumstances that a little blood in the anus caused.
I was sent to the lab where I was given further instructions. I was given a brown paper bag. No problem. I was given a piece of paper. Everything still seems okay. I was given several 6 inch popsicle sticks. A little weird. Then came the instructions. I needed to collect three samples....of my dump. Not cool, but it got worse. The samples couldn't be from the same dump. The samples couldn't be from the beginning of the dump or the end of the dump. I was to collect them with the popsicle sticks and smear them on the piece of paper. I was to write the date of specimen collection next to each smear. And I was to save the poop smeared paper until I had collected all three. Oh yeah, and I couldn't collect the sample after it had touched the bowl.
So here I am doing a circus act in the bathroom. My craps had to be lengthy enough to have something to catch between the first and last squirt. It had to be soft enough to leave a deposit on the popsicle stick. And I had to aim carefully to get it on the stick with no splashback or dispersion onto my hands or the toilet seat. So imagine, if you a will, a poor Deuces Wild who had already known there was blood in his stool, doing a squat above the toilet with sticks in hand, trying to administer the excrement at the appropriate time and stabbing at them like Ralph Macchio with chop sticks. The worst thing was that a few deuces failed to produce a consistency that could be grabbed with the popsicle sticks in mid air. With two down and a paper smeared with brown, smelly crud, the third catch proved elusive. I broke down and had to violate one of the doctor's orders. I was either going to get a sample from the bowl or it was not going to be a specimen from the middle of one of my sessions. Having a roommate at the time, I didn't want to get a weird diagnosis by scraping the tainted dung. So I went for the remnants. I failed to catch a hearty deuce in midair. In haste, I did what no man should have to do. Before I wiped with toilet paper, I used the end of the popsicle stick to extract some "hanging chads" surrounding my anus. Triumphantly, I smeared them on the paper, wrote down the date and brought my work back to the lab. Now it was time to wait for them to tell me what I already knew.
One would think that this would be the lowest of the low. The darkest depths of despair that could ever be reached in a Bluddeanous Period. But no. It got worse. Not much worse. That wouldn't be possible. But worse it got indeed.
To be continued.....
8-14 to 8-17
Well folks, I took the wrong time to take a deuce diary hiatus. There were some bowel issues that I was just too busy to write about. So I'll do my best to create the knowledge from my fuzzy memory.
8-14
Probably had the regular breakfast.
Lunch: a delicious sandwich! Artichoke hearts with curry, curry mixed with mayo, turkey and gouda cheese on wheat bread. Yummy.
Dinner: Turkey burger with guacamole, low fat mayo, potentially expired feta cheese (cooked with the burger on the grill) and lettucce
After dinner: yogurt.
Stress: none. It was a beautiful day. Sat out on the balcony and relaxed with some beers. 4 beers to be exact. A Kolsch-style beer if that helps the sleuths out there.
The deuce story: a non-descript deuce that has eluded my memory.
8-15
Breakfast: barbara's oats cereal
Lunch: Turkey sandwich with lettuce, low-fat mayo, provolone cheese and guacamole.
Dinner: chicken stuffed with olives and feta cheese (not the expired kind). Pasta salad on the side.
After dinner: Dannon activia with fresh berries.
Stress: none
The deuce story: Now this deuce was memorable. Whether before breakfast or shortly after, I remember unleashing a fury upon the toilet. A massive deuce of perfect consistency was gently evacuated from my intestines. It was easy, although it left a horrible odor that persisted for nearly a half hour. I figured all was right with the world. No ill-effects of the curry or the potentially expired feta cheese. But that would not be the case. I decided to leave work early because it was a beautiful day. I was heading home when I felt as if my colon were a cannon that just got loaded. Out of nowhere, and without pain or warning, I came to the conclusion that I had a bomb in the hatch that needed to be released. There wasn't extreme urgency accompanying this feeling, but I would not dawdle on my way home.
When I did get home to give birth to this new child of mine, I went straight for my library. There I read the latest issue of People magazine and felt my anus get scorched by the curry concoction made in my stomach. This was not a comfortable experience.
8-16-08
breakfast: the usual
lunch: leftover turkey burger with reduced fat cream cheese, sprouts and guacamole.
dinner: at a football game, I chowed down some disgustingly dried out chicken fingers, french fries, a bbq pork sandwich and more french fries, and 5 bud light beers.
Stress: none
Exercise: 25 minutes aerobic after breakfast
The Deuce story: I remember feeling slightly uncomfortable, as if the deuce effects continued, but unfortunately I don't remember the specifics. I think I dropped it like its hot after exercising and it wasn't a comfortable spread. But again, the details of the day are vague.
8-17-08
Breakfast: wheat english muffin with american cheese, turkey bacon, and egg
Lunch: black beans with pork and rice.
Dinner: Grilled Portobello mushroom on wheat bread with reduced fat cream cheese, sprouts, and blue cheese. Leftover pasta salad on the side.
The deuce story: A big one. It came out smooth and easy. It also filled the bowl. But I finished this one with a little more discomfort than I began. It seemed smooth and easy. However, soon after, it felt as if a pole had been shoved up my butt. I don't know what that actually feels like, but this is how I would imagine that to feel. I had a little trouble walking or sitting. As the day progressed, though, I have returned back to normal. So that is good news.
8-14
Probably had the regular breakfast.
Lunch: a delicious sandwich! Artichoke hearts with curry, curry mixed with mayo, turkey and gouda cheese on wheat bread. Yummy.
Dinner: Turkey burger with guacamole, low fat mayo, potentially expired feta cheese (cooked with the burger on the grill) and lettucce
After dinner: yogurt.
Stress: none. It was a beautiful day. Sat out on the balcony and relaxed with some beers. 4 beers to be exact. A Kolsch-style beer if that helps the sleuths out there.
The deuce story: a non-descript deuce that has eluded my memory.
8-15
Breakfast: barbara's oats cereal
Lunch: Turkey sandwich with lettuce, low-fat mayo, provolone cheese and guacamole.
Dinner: chicken stuffed with olives and feta cheese (not the expired kind). Pasta salad on the side.
After dinner: Dannon activia with fresh berries.
Stress: none
The deuce story: Now this deuce was memorable. Whether before breakfast or shortly after, I remember unleashing a fury upon the toilet. A massive deuce of perfect consistency was gently evacuated from my intestines. It was easy, although it left a horrible odor that persisted for nearly a half hour. I figured all was right with the world. No ill-effects of the curry or the potentially expired feta cheese. But that would not be the case. I decided to leave work early because it was a beautiful day. I was heading home when I felt as if my colon were a cannon that just got loaded. Out of nowhere, and without pain or warning, I came to the conclusion that I had a bomb in the hatch that needed to be released. There wasn't extreme urgency accompanying this feeling, but I would not dawdle on my way home.
When I did get home to give birth to this new child of mine, I went straight for my library. There I read the latest issue of People magazine and felt my anus get scorched by the curry concoction made in my stomach. This was not a comfortable experience.
8-16-08
breakfast: the usual
lunch: leftover turkey burger with reduced fat cream cheese, sprouts and guacamole.
dinner: at a football game, I chowed down some disgustingly dried out chicken fingers, french fries, a bbq pork sandwich and more french fries, and 5 bud light beers.
Stress: none
Exercise: 25 minutes aerobic after breakfast
The Deuce story: I remember feeling slightly uncomfortable, as if the deuce effects continued, but unfortunately I don't remember the specifics. I think I dropped it like its hot after exercising and it wasn't a comfortable spread. But again, the details of the day are vague.
8-17-08
Breakfast: wheat english muffin with american cheese, turkey bacon, and egg
Lunch: black beans with pork and rice.
Dinner: Grilled Portobello mushroom on wheat bread with reduced fat cream cheese, sprouts, and blue cheese. Leftover pasta salad on the side.
The deuce story: A big one. It came out smooth and easy. It also filled the bowl. But I finished this one with a little more discomfort than I began. It seemed smooth and easy. However, soon after, it felt as if a pole had been shoved up my butt. I don't know what that actually feels like, but this is how I would imagine that to feel. I had a little trouble walking or sitting. As the day progressed, though, I have returned back to normal. So that is good news.
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