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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.....