Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Over the hills and fart away

After my post-climactic shower with Kelly, I hop in the car and race home. I was having a really good time with her, but my stomach is still killing me.

I didn't realize until I got into the car just how many farts I had been holding in. berr-rrrrrrrrrrrap! bap-bap-bap-bap! My ass is a machine gun, blasting out hot balls of gas, one after the other. It feels good, but my little car smells like a boatload of rotting fish. I open all the windows, and I can still smell it.

I get home and try to take a shit. Nothing. I don't like to rush these things with laxatives: I find it's better to let nature take its course.

I go to bed, and I am asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow. I wake up at 3am to a strange dream...

A man steals my wallet at knifepoint, then stabs me right in the gut. I can feel the knife slicing my insides. It hurts!

I snap awake, and sit up. I am doubled over almost instantly with severe abdominal cramps. I run to the bathroom.

NOTHING. Then, a massive fart. Loud and deep, it sounds like a Harley Davidson. Then another big fart, then another.

Why the hell did I close the bathroom door? I live ALONE, for Christ's sake! And the smell is really starting to get to me, believe it or not. Since when does a man not like the smell of his own farts?

Finally, the cramps pass. I get up and check my e-mail for a few minutes. I am really tired, and my stomach feels good enough to go back to bed. So I do.

5:00am. I awaken to another round of cramps. More huge ass-blasts: One that sounds like a jackhammer, one like a trumpet, one like a diesel truck. But still no shit.

Whenever I suffer from constipation, which is not often, I go for a long jog, and that usually loosens everything up down there. It also helps to get rid of gas, I find.

I run for five miles. By the time I get home, I am sprinting for the bathroom.

FINALLY, paydirt. A LOT of paydirt.

I fill the bowl with a pile of brown, wet cement-like shit (what, you didn't think I was going to describe it?), sticking up out of the water like a volcano. Forget two-flushers; this is, like, an eight-flusher. But I feel much better.

I decide to head into work very early so I can get my project over with and start my weekend. I am supposed to call Lila after I am done so she can come over and clean. I figure I have six hours of work to do, at least.

I get to work around 7:30, and start cranking out reports. I am way ahead of schedule.

All of a sudden, I get a sharp pain in my abdomen. Another fart. berrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...... it trails off. It's weaker than the others, but still bad: A vaguely low-tide type of smell. I'll probably have these "aftermath" stinkers for several hours, at least.

9:00. Melissa, the accounting manager, arrives. I asked Melissa for her login password yesterday, so I could access her computer today and run a report that I needed. She acted very concerned about giving me her password; so much so that she actually offered to come in today rather than give it to me. "Maybe there are some....other things I could help you with while it's running," she says.

Now, I know what you guys are thinking, and please stop. Melissa is about 50, and overweight. Not to be crude, but I wouldn't fuck her with someone else's dick.

Melissa gets the report started, and I give her a couple of spreadsheets to update.

9:30. Tommy comes in. "I'm just here to clean off my desk for next week. I'm way behind," he says. "Let me know if you need something."

WTF. Is EVERYONE working today?

10:30. Melissa comes to my desk with the report. "This is strange," she says.

"You mean it's DONE?" I ask. "That was fast. TOO fast! That report should have taken at LEAST two hours."

"Not only that," she says, "but look at these numbers!"

I take the report and turn to the section where it shows our year-to-date cash revenues. They are far too low. Shit.

The report ran faster than it should have. The numbers are too low. I wonder if.....

An IM window pops open on my computer. It's Tommy.

TOMMY: That lawyer chick was talking about you yesterday

STEVE: What lawyer? Julie?

TOMMY: Yeah the Asian one

STEVE: what did she have to say?

TOMMY: Says you broke her heart - says you must be a fuckin faggot

STEVE: Shut up man

TOMMY: I don't know what your problem is - she is fuckin incredible - maybe you are a fuckin homo

STEVE: The only thing I'm puttin up your ass is my shoe

Julie is such a fucking baby. I talk to her a few times, and then "dump" her (we weren't really dating), and I "broke her heart"? I don't think I even kissed her! Then again, this is Tommy I'm dealing with. He's probably exaggerating.

Huge cramp. I can barely sit upright. I lift a leg and rip off a long, loud fart.

berrrrrrrrr-RAAAAAAAAAAAAP! Pap-pap-pap!

It was loud, piercing and whiny, like one of those motorized mini-bikes that kids ride. And the smell? This thing could peel wallpaper! I take a deep breath through my nose and chuckle to myself like a little girl.

I hear breathing behind me. I turn around.

Melissa is still standing there.

That fucking dump of a pizza place ought to be shut down.