a quick prelude to this post. On my most recent trip home to grab more party supplies and old porn collection i came across a folded piece of paper (with writing on it). I wrote this when I was on vacation probably 3 years ago and it was during a time of.. uh.. being uncomfortable.
I have been training my whole life. From the moment I was born my mother was running me through the steps. After the first handful of years I took control of the reigns and have been continuing to do so multiple times per week ever since. After taking the reigns, my family helped with the costs of training, and now, later in the game, I have taken over the costs. Thousands of dollars have been dumped into my training. I was a chiseled champion!
The month leading up to my university education i had almost perfected my skill. After 18 years I bet I was in the top 10% of the country, judging in all the main categories: quickness, clenliness, efficiency, and average overall size. With this efficiency I needed less supplies than my peers/competitors. I had gotten to the point where 4 out of 5 trips to the, once porcelain throne, I didn't even need to wipe! (i did, however, do a courtesy wipe) Then one day, all this training went down the drain (no pun). It started freshman year, I managed to keep it together for about the first month with slow, but steady, decline in performance. About half way through my first semester it really hit me. I couldn't make it 200 yards away from the dining commons before breaking into a full out sprint for the closest rest room. Imagine going from having a cleaner asshole after you shit than most arm pits to pulling the t.p out from your ass with more brown silly puddy on it than seems physically possible to hang on to your ass with gravity trying to get it away, not to mention the cheek spreading and hip convulsion to try to rid myself. I digressed 15 years at least, I'm just thankful I can take care of this mess by myself now.
Alright, I think you have the picture. Now I'll let you know how severe it got with a few anecdotal stories. Some of the worst few times included running from my car to near bathrooms, or when bathrooms were too far away, the side of the road would work for me. But easily the most notorious story would be the time in my dorm. I left the dining commons and headed for me dorm room. About half way there I got the rumbling in my stomach. After standing still for what felt like an hour, I continued to my room. At this point I didn't need to shit and decided to let it congeal a little bit before I drop him off, maybe I wont need to wipe this time! I start playing some video game on my computer. A half hour passes, maybe, when I get that feeling again and I jump up in sprint toward my door. I am paralyzed in my doorway praying I don't shit my pants. I quickly rack my brain.
"I won't make it to the guys room.. I'll just shit in the girls room (about half the distance as the guys room, both not far)"
*rumble*rumble*
"FUCK I'M NOT EVEN GOING TO MAKE IT TO THE GIRLS BATHROOM!" I quickly scan my room for some answer when I find it two feet away "Trash Only." Hallelujah!
I won't go into detail on this specific specimen but it wasn't a clean wipe. What did I do with the trash bin? I put it in the trash room because I felt that was the most appropriate spot for it. I stole back another so I wouldn't get charged for loosing a trash bin and I think I stole back the same one (cleaned by the janitors... god bless those people)
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