Pain At The Rump

I have a bit of a personal problem, and that problem is thus: Recently my employer purchased new leather office chairs to replace our old cloth chairs. Much like Ms. Babble, the old chairs were worn, unsightly, and riddled with a variety of unidentified stains. Here is a reasonable facsimile of my old chair:


And here is a hot-linked stock photo of my new chair:


Right now you're probably thinking, "So Dyckerson, what's the problem?? I would kill for an office chair like that!"

Well it's kind of a long story. I'll give you the long version. You see, thanks to a certain Sassy Blonde who shall remain nameless, I have acquired an addiction to fiber. A few months ago while seducing Her Sassiness online, we somehow got on the topic of bowel movements. It seems that the lovely Sassy shits at least seven or eight times per day, whereas at the time I was only shitting about once a month.

"DYCKIEPOO!!!" she exclaimed. "You're going to kill yourself! You must have more fiber!!! Fiber is key!!!!!!"

I immediately put down my laptop, pulled up my pants, and ran to the store. I stocked up on every kind of fiber product you could imagine. Fiber cereal, fiber breakfast bars, fiber powder, chewable fiber tablets, fiber brownies, fiber ice cream, fiber Doritos, fiber Coke, and fiber aspirin. Needless to say, my fecal output has skyrocketed. I am now shitting three or four times per hour. PER HOUR, people!!!

I have also become far more flatulent.

To say that my farts stink would be an understatement. My farts are vile, offensive, and downright unsavory. Imagine the aroma of fresh turds...combined with the odor of boiling cabbage...combined with the stench of a rotting skunk carcass in the middle of a country road on a hot summer morn. My farts have been known to make grown men weep. My farts could wilt the flowers on wallpaper. My farts could knock a buzzard off a shitwagon. My farts could strip the chrome off a '57 Chevy. My farts could knock a grown buzzard off a '57 shitwagon covered in chrome wallpaper.

Therein lies the problem: My gas attacks often strike me on the job. The pressure usually starts building up after my mid-morning fiber boost. I usually try to hold it in for a while, but by early afternoon, the force becomes unstoppable. I have no choice but to unleash my noxious fumes into the office via my anal orifice.

Being made of a somewhat porous fabric, my old chair was significantly more...how shall I put this?...more absorbent. In the old days, I could release a fart, and my chair would dutifully soak up a good 50 or 60% of the sound and the odor. By the time my old chair was retired, I estimate that it contained at least 75 pounds of foul flatulent funk.

Contrast that with my new chair. Nowadays when I let loose, the leather upholstery forms an inpenetrable shield, thereby rejecting my gaseous emissions and deflecting them back into the atmosphere where they can be experienced by all. And when the vibrations from my ass cheeks ricochet off the chair, the sound level is amplified greatly. What used to be silent but deadly is now deafening and fatal.

I have already tried a number of strategies to deal with this unfortunate circumstance. I have tried various Renuzit and Febreeze-like products...but they only add to the nasal assault. I have tried creating a diversion to mask the sound, such as slamming a desk drawer or clearing my throat...but these tactics fail to address the stank issue. I have tried walking around the building and cropdusting...but the stench always seems to follow me back to my desk.

People, I need solutions, and I need them NOW. It is only a matter of time before I am caught and outed by an offended co-worker. So tell me, how do you hide your farts???

Somebody Call Guinness!

This is Mighty Dyckerson coming to you LIVE from atop the toilet in my luxurious second floor lavatory. Why am I blogging from my shitter, you ask?? Well surely by now you've heard about the Little Old Lady Who Lived in a Loo. She made headlines last week when cops found her in a trailer where she had been welded to her toilet seat for two years. When I read about this, I was heartbroken. Grandpa Dyckerson had held the potty sitting record for decades...and now this bitch comes along and shatters it! So not to be outdone, I have set out to RECLAIM THE TITLE by sitting on my toilet nonstop for THREE YEARS!!! I know, it seems like an impossible task. But have no fear, for I have planned ahead.

First and foremost, I have made provisions for food and water. Actually, water is no issue - the bathroom sink is right there at arm's length. As for food, I have stocked the medicine cabinet with a wide assortment of delicious CHEF BOYARDEE CANNED PASTA MEALS. Mmm-mmm, that's good eatin'! In addition, I have my cell phone programmed with the numbers of all the pizza and chinese delivery joints within a 10-mile radius. Directions to my toilet are taped to the front door for the delivery guys. A spare house key is cleverly hidden under the door mat.

As for sleep, I should have no trouble catching 40 winks with the pillow and blanket I have in here. Hell, I even have an ottoman for propping up my feet. I'LL BE LIVING IN THE CRAP OF LUXURY!!

Now many of you are probably wondering if my ass skin will become fused to the toilet seat. Please, you're not exactly dealing with an amateur here. I have already anticipated this very possibility; therefore, I have coated my throne with a thick layer of TEFLON. Furthermore, I have sprayed my ass liberally with PAM NO-STICK COOKING SPRAY. So no way is my ass sticking to anything. Of course, I'll have my kitchen spatula standing by just in case.

But how will I stay connected to the outside world, you ask?? Well obviously I have my CRAPTOP COMPUTER with me, and this baby has a wireless card so I can steal Internets from the neighbors. I also moved my DVD PLAYER and BIG SCREEN TV to the bathtub, so I have ENDLESS HOURS OF ENTERTAINMENT just inches from my face. And finally, I have instructed my postal carrier to TOSS MY SACKS OF FAN MAIL through the bathroom window. So far, he has only missed once. (Too bad about the neighbor's cat.)

There, that should just about take care of everything. I'll keep you updated on my progress as the months roll by. Now if you'll excuse me, it's time for my dinner...

...FUCK! I dropped my can opener into the bowl!! Any plumbers out there???

I'm All Shook Up

The other night I was in desperate need of a ballcock, so I decided to pay a visit to the local Lowe's Home Improvement Whorehouse to check out their fall line of plumbing fixtures. As I browsed amongst the faucets, nozzles, and assorted other paraphernalia, I came across something so amazing...so astounding...so REVOLUTIONARY...that it will forever change the way you look at toilets! A picture is worth a thousand turds, and lucky for you, I had my trusty camera phone with me. Ladies and germs, I am proud to present to you.....the PRESLEY!!!



Yes, it's really called the Presley - a throne truly fit for a "King"...or a really fat bastard who sings horrible music. Check out those sleek lines and those sexy, glistening curves. See that curvy protrusion behind the bowl and under the tank?? THAT'S WHERE THE SHIT GOES!!! Too bad it's not made of glass so you can watch it go down when you flush. I haven't drooled this much since I first unwrapped my Onkyo TX-SR505S! Too bad the Presley doesn't come in silver so they'd match. As I stood there among the many onlookers basking at its porcelain splendor, I was overcome by the urge to eat a PB & banana sandwich and gyrate my hips. I thought to myself, Dyckerson, you were meant to die upon this toilet. But with a price of $179 plus installation, this crapper was too rich for my blood.



Still, you're probably wondering if I took it for a test drive. What kind of a sick, deranged nut job do you think I am??! Of COURSE I did!! It was easy too, thanks to that Burrito Supreme I had for lunch that day. Even without a water supply, the Presley didn't disappoint. The mere sensation of my ass cheeks pressed up against the contours of that chilly seat was enough to send me to the brink of orgasm. There wasn't a square of bathroom tissue to be found, but fortunately a Lowe's associate from the lumber section let me borrow a 2x4.

That reminds me, I need to send that good samaritan a thank you note.

An Inconvenient Poop (Part 2)

In case you're tuning in late and missed the first installment of An Inconvenient Poop, I'll give you the Dyck's Notes version. Last Saturday after eating a nutritious lunch, I went for a walk and got a case of the shits. I searched for a suitable shitter substitute and ended up squatting in a storage room behind the neighborhood high school. In doing so, I released a steaming pile of crap and sullied my buttocks. And now, the exciting conclusion of.....An Inconvenient Poop!!!

WARNING:
The following post contains actual photos of Mighty Dyckerson's feces.
Parental discretion is advised.

As I squatted in the corner hovering above my fresh turd tart, my thoughts turned to my personal hygiene. I was nearly a mile from my house. How the hell was I going to wipe myself? I searched the area frantically for something that I could use as toilet paper. A lump of coal from the barbecue? (Nah, too awkward.) A handful of sawdust? (Nah, too messy.) The little pieces of black foam that fit over my DyckPod earbuds? (Nah, too expensive to replace.)

In the comments to part one, Danielle the Hor asked if I was going to sacrifice a sock. This was not an option, as the lining to my Nikes was already shot to hell, and my feet were sore and blistered from the walk. I needed my socks. So reluctantly, I pulled up my shorts, leaving them low enough so as to prevent any direct contact with my crack. Basically the way the kids wear their pants nowadays. I then wobbled my way outside and continued my search for a suitable asswipe.

Finally, there it was. Laying on the ground outside the door to the boys' locker room, a damp towel. It was like a miracle from Heaven. With great euphoria, I grabbed the towel and quickly returned to the scene of the grime. Two or three passes through my great divide and I was good to go. It was at this point that I got to see my handiwork for the first time. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you.....my feces:





I apologize for the lack of detail, but my camera phone isn't the greatest. This picture was actually taken several hours after the incident, by which time the poo had darkened considerably and lost much of its moisture.

I stood there for several minutes and marveled at the shape and contours of my scatalogical sculpture. Satisfied that my bowels were sufficiently emptied, I tossed the newly monogrammed towel on top of the barbecue and continued on my journey.

But the story doesn't end there. I was several hundred feet from the school on my way home when the unthinkable happened. The cramps returned, and they were just as bad as last time. That's right, it was time for round two, where the points are doubled and anything can happen. I immediately made a U-turn and headed right back to school to "drop off the kids" as it were.

To my surprise, I returned to find the storage room was now occupied...by a swarm of flies buzzing around my pie. "Fuck," I thought to myself. "Those little bastards didn't waste any time! I'm going to have to start a new pile." So I walked over to the opposite corner, wedged myself against the two adjoining walls, and left an another apple for the teacher. This one hit the floor with such force, I think it actually cracked the concrete. See for yourself:

The lighting was better in this photo, so you can see a little more of the texture and detail. Bon appetit, you nasty old flies! This time cleanup was a breeze since I already had my trusty towel standing by. I just found an unused section of terrycloth, ran it through customs, and draped it neatly across the barbecue to dry out in the sun.

At this point I was reluctant to leave. I had already downloaded two enormous piles...but could there be a third??? I decided I would take a precautionary lap around the building to make sure the urge to purge did not return. Thankfully it did not, for my ass was raw and my towel was out of clean spots. So I made the long walk home and did some final touch-up work in the bathroom.

What have we learned from all of this?

1. Never ignore those painful stomach cramps. They never just "go away" on their own.
2. If you're going to be outside for any length of time, carry a wad of toilet paper with you.
3. Camera phones take lousy pictures.
4. Flies take to shit like a duck to water.

HAPPY LABOR DAY, SUCKERS!!!!!

An Inconvenient Poop (Part 1)

Exercise is a very important part of my regimen. At least once a year, I like to get outside and take a brisk walk around the neighborhood. It boosts my energy and gets the old blood flowing. Well last Saturday, something else was flowing.

I had just consumed a luncheon consisting of Chef-Boyardee beef ravioli and three chocolate flavored SlimFast shakes. That's some good eatin' right there, but my tummy was not happy. Nevertheless, I felt the need to walk off my afternoon repast. So I changed into my jogging outfit, grabbed my DyckPod, and hit the trail.

The warning signs were all there. I should have turned around after the first stomach cramp. But no, I bravely trudged on, thinking I'd be safe and sound in my domicile well before the shit hit the fan. Indeed, the cramp subsided, and I continued my stroll with confidence.

Part of my route takes me right past a certain high school which shall remain nameless. Note this is a heavily populated suburban area with lots of houses and busy streets. This is also the halfway point of my journey - the point at which I am the farthest from home base. As I neared the school, the cramps returned and increased in intensity. Pressure began to build. Soon it became quite clear that I was not going to make it home. I needed to dump some fuel...and FAST. But where??

My first option was a thin patch of trees that served as a natural buffer between the school parking lot and the adjoining neighborhood. But with people's back yards in plain view, this area did not provide the privacy I would require. Then I eyed the empty school bus parked in the lot. Perhaps I could leave my deposit in the aisle and let the bus driver deal with it. A hell of a way to start the school year, but that would be their problem. Alas, the door was locked. Desperation was setting in.

I hobbled my way behind the school and looked for anything I could use for a makeshift bathroom. There was a trailer classroom - locked. There was a dumpster - no privacy. At last, I found my oasis. It was a generously sized equipment room attached to the back of the school - gated, but UNLOCKED!


I entered the area and inspected the situation. In one corner stood a dusty propane barbecue. In another corner, a well-worn snow shovel waited for Old Man Winter to make his return. And in the center, a giant funnel-shaped contraption with a trash can positioned under the business end. The can was filled with something that resembled sawdust. What the fuck was that thing??! Beats the hell out of me...besides, I had other fish to fry.


As you can see from the photos, this area was not entirely enclosed. I knew I had to work fast...and judging from the Vesuvius-like pressure building inside my colon, that would not be a problem. I found an empty corner, wedged myself against the two adjoining walls, and dropped my shorts...along with everything else. Within mere seconds, an enormous mud pie jettisoned itself out of my ass and hit the concrete slab with a loud SPLAT that reverberated off the brick walls and shook the barbecue.

As I squatted there and relieved myself, I began to think of the myriad of laws of was breaking: Trespassing, indecent exposure, littering, brandishing a deadly weapon, you name it. Soon, I realized I had another hurdle to overcome. And I'll tell you what that was.....in PART DEUCE of An Inconvenient Poop! Stay tuned!!!!!