shit and shave in the shower
drdoody
As I have said before, my colon is a thing of remarkable
resiliency. I have eaten things that have sent others to the ER
without a single ill effect unto myself. A favorite trick of mine is
to eat a dozen pickled eggs and drink half a case of beer the night
before I go to work then, when I have my prey locked up in an
ambulance with me the next day, fart and watch their eyes bulge out as
they gasp their last breaths. I don't just clog up the toilet
occaisionally, I choke the fucker to death *every* time I shit. Every
single time. I take a great deal of pride in the last leg of my
digestive system. Throughout my life, I have considered my colon to be
the end-all be-all of biological design.
Not any more.
Now I sit, wriggling on a pillow with an asshole raw and red as
any prison rape victim's. My previously undefeated colon makes ominous
rumbles and groans as it knots painfully, as if attempting to come to
terms with it's recent fall from enterological stardom. I am
disheveled. My hair is stringy and unkempt, my teeth yellowed and
fuzzy. I have been shitting once every 20 minutes, around the clock,
for the last 3 days. I have had no sleep. The Evil which has taken
control of my ass is relentless. There is no negotiation on the
subject. Every 20 minutes I will shit, my location is inconsequential.
There is no pleading, no bargaining with the Evil In My Ass. It is my
master. Anal Fissure Bob was a little bitch compared to this thing.
I don't know exactly what precipitated this condition. Perhaps it
was the year-old strawberry jam I used for that PB&J. It could have
been Salmonella from that KFC. I was thinking that it might be Ebola,
but I don't remember reading: "Patient shits until he dies" anywhere
in the table of symptoms. So, in lieu of any acceptable medical
explanation, I have began to call my affliction by a name worthy of
it's virulence. I will not call it "Runny Stool" or "Abdominal
Discomfort". "Diarrhea" doesn't come close to describing the hell I'm
currently experiencing. The Evil In My Ass is the only name the
accurately depicts my suffering.
I knew that I was completely under it's control this evening when
I attempted my first shower since my posession began. I had scarfed
down a triple dose of Immodium that my wife had fetched me from the
local pharmacy and I had every confidence that my anus would be
practically welded shut within minutes. I was enjoying the hot water,
shaving off the three-day stubble that had grown on my face when the
contractions began. I suddenly grew pale and beads of cold sweat
popped out on my forehead. A sound eminated from my gut, not a growl
or a rumble, but a shriek. That sound was the strangled scream of my
colon as it gave in to the power of The Evil In My Ass like the French
before the Blitzkreig. I cast a panicked glance towards the toilet,
gleaming cooly three feet away. It might as well have been on the dark
side of the moon. The Evil In My Ass was going to punish me for my
pharmacological transgression right then and there. Movement was not
an option. As I stood there, pale and clammy, I felt my asshole quiver
momentarily, then fail miserably. A stream of watery green liquishit
two inches wide issued from my ass with all the force of a firehose
and flew across the shower to paint the plastic curtain behind me. The
smell was heavy and sulfurous, the very scent of Hell itself. After a
few seconds, the stream stopped. The reprieve was momentary, I
realized as another shockingly voluminous gusher shot from my tattered
rectum, this time downwards, to paint the backs of my thighs.
I have no idea how long I stood there, clutching the shower
curtain rod to balance myself, coming to grips with the fact that my
mighty colon, my favorite body part, was no longer my own. Slowly, I
regained my composure. I cleaned the shit from the shower curtain,
then from myself. I dried, then dressed myself slowly, autonomously.
When I left that shower, I was not the man that I had been when I
entered it. Going in, I had been proud and strong with some symptoms
of "Abdominal Discomfort". Coming out, I was a complete bitch to The
Evil In My Ass. I was defeated, raped internally by an evil, alien
force. I was an old hand at pissing in the shower, had I thought that
my megagrogans would fit down the drain, I would have surely shit in
there before now. But this was against my will. This was a violent
reprisal from a force hell bent on destroying me from the inside out.
The Evil In My Ass had robbed me of sleep, it had soiled three pairs
of boxer shorts and caused me to rub my anus raw as hamburger. But now
it had showed it's true power over me. It could make me shit anywhere,
any time it wanted. It had shown it's true force and I was powerless
to resist.
I sit here now a broken man, subservient to the will of The Evil
In My Ass. This may be my last post to AT as I am seriously
considering suicide to be preferable to the helpless hell I now
inhabit. I was young once, and had a strong colon.
Goodbye cruel world.
Doc
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
"drdoody" <drd...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:a050c062.02012...@posting.google.com...
>> fuzzy. I have been shitting once every 20 minutes,
I'm jealous, I took my first shit in 4 days today.
> Discomfort". "Diarrhea"
^^^^
My lady friend, puking machine (bulemic) that she is, is also a shitting
machine. At least 3 times a day. Liquishits a lot of the time. She's shit
her pants. She talks about shitting all the time and invites me to watch her
shit. I do have a hang up about that: when I think of her a(r)sshole, I
wanna think of something sexy, not a shit-shoot.
Her last name is "Rhea," pronounced "Ray" not "ria."
TB
Ace Lightning
>My lady friend, puking machine (bulemic) that she is, is also a shitting
>machine. At least 3 times a day. Liquishits a lot of the time. She's shit
>her pants. She talks about shitting all the time and invites me to watch her
>shit. I do have a hang up about that: when I think of her a(r)sshole, I
>wanna think of something sexy, not a shit-shoot.
she probably eats Ex-Lax like candy - hey, if she can't
puke up the calories, she'll shit them out, right? (but
within ten minutes after eating, 85% of the calories have
already made their way directly to your thighs... but only
10% of the nutrients. extrapolate from that, and see how
laxative abuse is even less useful as a weight-loss strategy
than self-induced vomiting.)
it does sound as if she's also got a mild fetish about shit.
hey, why not indulge her fantasies and watch her?
and does she like you to watch while she pukes?
That Funky Chick
something like:
[snip tragic tale]
> I sit here now a broken man, subservient to the will of The Evil
> In My Ass. This may be my last post to AT as I am seriously
> considering suicide to be preferable to the helpless hell I now
> inhabit. I was young once, and had a strong colon.
While taking medical advice on a.t. is, well, potentially quite amusing--
it sounds like you may have been inflicted with the Bane of All Colons:
irritable bowel syndrome. The uncontrollable liquishits, the frequent
spasmodic twitching of your colon, the horrendous clenching gut cramps are
all familiar symptoms to those suffering this dread plague.
Fiber is Your Colon's Friend. Although it may be that pickled eggs are no
longer in your diet, cram enough fiber into your gut on a daily basis and
you can at least exert some level of control (at least enough to sprint
for the nearest toilet). Metamucil, Citrucil, Fibercon, Psyllium. These
are the infantry of your new war.
-Bertha
--
_'M ST_P_D Pat, I'd like to buy an 'O' please.
kiz...@mediaone.net
>
> On 24 Jan 2002 19:41:21 -0800, drdoody <drd...@hotmail.com> muttered
> something like:
>
> [snip tragic tale]
> > I sit here now a broken man, subservient to the will of The Evil
> > In My Ass. This may be my last post to AT as I am seriously
> > considering suicide to be preferable to the helpless hell I now
> > inhabit. I was young once, and had a strong colon.
>
> While taking medical advice on a.t. is, well, potentially quite amusing--
> it sounds like you may have been inflicted with the Bane of All Colons:
> irritable bowel syndrome. The uncontrollable liquishits, the frequent
> spasmodic twitching of your colon, the horrendous clenching gut cramps are
> all familiar symptoms to those suffering this dread plague.
The green color can mean some sort of bacterial goodness happening somewhere in
yonder shitpipe. I've had bouts of IBS, but the liquishit's color always stays
w/in the normal crap-tint range.
The few times that it's come out green have resulted in me getting some
antibiotics (which cleared it up within a couple days). There's a noteable
exception to this:
When I was in high school, I found out that if I drank Budweiser, the following
day's loaves were green. Not greenish/brown or olive...but bright green. See
the crayon at the far left of
"http://a62.g.akamai.net/7/62/421/f6999750128efb/www.crayola.com/crayolastore/images/amer_fav_50.jpg"
for an idea of the shade. Occasionally there'd be a couple streaks of bright
yellow running from end to end.
There was never any smell, just an explosion of sunny, springlike colors. It
looked kind of pretty when I wiped my ass.
> Fiber is Your Colon's Friend. Although it may be that pickled eggs are no
> longer in your diet, cram enough fiber into your gut on a daily basis and
> you can at least exert some level of control (at least enough to sprint
> for the nearest toilet). Metamucil, Citrucil, Fibercon, Psyllium. These
> are the infantry of your new war.
When I first started having liver problems a couple years ago (causing me no end
of hot, greasy, acrid liquishit), I was a bit surprised that my doctor told me
to start drinking a couple glasses of Metamucil every day. The way stuff was
flying out of me. the last thing I ever would have thought of was a massive
fiber doseage. It worked like a charm.
It's still amazing to me how fiber can get things flowing, or help firm them
up. I guess it's kind of like aspirin...it just knows what it's supposed to do.
That Funky Chick
<kiz...@mediaone.net> muttered something like:
> When I first started having liver problems a couple years ago (causing me no end
> of hot, greasy, acrid liquishit), I was a bit surprised that my doctor told me
> to start drinking a couple glasses of Metamucil every day. The way stuff was
> flying out of me. the last thing I ever would have thought of was a massive
> fiber doseage. It worked like a charm.
>
> It's still amazing to me how fiber can get things flowing, or help firm them
> up. I guess it's kind of like aspirin...it just knows what it's supposed to do.
It is interesting. You read the labels for these things and they all say
"for relief of constipation."
I remarked to the SD on this, and he said that this labelling is probably
just because it's easier to get FDA approval for one thing (constipation)
than it is to do all the testing and validation to get it approved for two
things (constipation AND diarrhea). But the basic building block of shit
is fiber, so whether the problem with your shit is too loose or too solid,
more fiber is the key to a better-quality shit.
I love my SD. You think he's all repressed and puritan, and then you get
into a discussion with him on making and substance of shit.
-Bertha
--
"Listen carefully to first criticisms made of your work. Note just what it
is about your work that the critics don't like and cultivate it. That's the
only part of your work that's individual and worth keeping."
-- Jean Cocteau
aemilia
>When I first started having liver problems a couple years ago (causing me no end
>of hot, greasy, acrid liquishit), I was a bit surprised that my doctor told me
>to start drinking a couple glasses of Metamucil every day. The way stuff was
>flying out of me. the last thing I ever would have thought of was a massive
>fiber doseage. It worked like a charm.
Hear hear. After I had the old gallbladder ripped out a few years ago,
my digestive tract was fucked. All Liquishits, all the time. It was
wretched. Then someone recommended fiber to me, and I started drinking
my metamucil everyday like a good old fart, and wouldn't you know it,
know I have huge daily grogans that come flying out of my ass, and
when I wipe, I leave no stain. Pure gastrointestinal heaven. I now
force everyone I know to hear the virtues of fiber and have hooked
several people on it.
aemilia
Nanook of the North
> On 24 Jan 2002 19:41:21 -0800, drdoody <drd...@hotmail.com> muttered
> something like:
> [snip tragic tale]
> > I sit here now a broken man, subservient to the will of The Evil
> > In My Ass. This may be my last post to AT as I am seriously
> > considering suicide to be preferable to the helpless hell I now
> > inhabit. I was young once, and had a strong colon.
>
> longer in your diet, cram enough fiber into your gut on a daily basis and
> you can at least exert some level of control (at least enough to sprint
> for the nearest toilet). Metamucil, Citrucil, Fibercon, Psyllium. These
> are the infantry of your new war.
Actually, one can do better. For all the hype that Metamucil et al.
get, there are less disgusting ways to get your fibre (or more,
depending on your point of view, w.r.t. the second of my two
suggestions):
1) Bran cereal. Yeah, I know that sounds gross. In my case, give me
a bowl of All-Bran or some damn thing and you might as well not
bother; it'll either go into the sink uneaten, or into the toilet
eaten and hurled. *However*, give me a bowl of Raisin Bran -- same
shit with a bunch of raisins in it -- enough milk, and 1 t. or so of
sugar, and I'll inhale it. Go figure. Experiment yourself and see
what works. Some people like icky-tasting cereals better if there's
yogurt or a different fruit in there. (When I have the
erythromycin-induced LiquiShits From Hell, my favourite trick is a big
bowl of Raisin Bran with a shitload of yogurt [flavoured, I'm not that
disgusting] on top. Kills two birds with one stone, as it were.)
2) Beans. Yes, beans. There's a fuck of a lot more fibre in beans
than you hear about. Baked brown beans, lima beans, regular
green-or-yellow string beans, garbanzo beans (aka chick peas), they
all have a fair bit of fibre.
And, of course, the added tasteless benefits that need no
introduction.
Anyhow, something-bran for breakfast and beans for lunch every day,
and your colon will thank you profusely (even if your domestic and/or
workplace companions don't...).
ObT: Having to lay off beany stuff on Tuesdays so I don't spend my
whole night class farting in response to the instructor's lectures....
Robert
--
From the messy desk of Robnorth - TSS Headquarters
Our civilization is founded on greed and fear, but in the lives of
common men the greed and fear are mysteriously transmuted into
something
nobler. - George Orwell, Keep the Aspidistra
Flying
John Lienhart
Ace Lightning wrote:
>
>
> she probably eats Ex-Lax like candy - hey, if she can't
> puke up the calories, she'll shit them out, right? (but
> within ten minutes after eating, 85% of the calories have
> already made their way directly to your thighs...
That statistic made me go "Oh, wow!" for a few moments when you posted it a few
days ago (also describing dental "benefits"), but then I had some second
thoughts. Given that people get their calories not just through sugar, but
through carbos, protein and fat, I just wondered what your source was.
Obt: Nothing really. Article in the local rag about a guy who killed his
girlfriend while street racing. Her dad's asking to let the kid go cause "he
helped me cut wood." Her granny wants him let go because his first words were "I
killed her." Her last words, according to the killer were "I love you." Watch
for the movie of the week soon on The Trashville Network.
Top Sirloin
>Actually, one can do better. For all the hype that Metamucil et al.
>get, there are less disgusting ways to get your fibre (or more,
>depending on your point of view, w.r.t. the second of my two
>suggestions):
Goddamn, when did this turn into alt.advice.big-fluffy-bowels?
Anyway, blueberries kick ass for fiber content.
ObT: Considering my current nasty smelling gastric distress, I should newgroup
alt.advice.big-fluffy-bowels.
-Scott Johnson
"There is nothing, I think, more unfortunate than
to have soft, chubby, fat-looking children who go
to watch their school play basketball every Saturday
and regard that as their week's exercise."
- John F. Kennedy, 1962
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
"That Funky Chick" <ber...@yetta.net> wrote in message
news:slrna52s1k...@yetta.net...
> Fiber is Your Colon's Friend.
I agree. Fact, my colon is a fiber addict, ya know? If I don't eat some for
awhile, the shit stops.
My chick-friend says maybe the prollem I have with shitting( constipation)
is that I eat too much fiber ceral.
She don't get it. But then, again, she shits her pants.
TB
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
<kiz...@mediaone.net> wrote in message
news:3C51998F...@mediaone.net...
> That Funky Chick wrote:
> >
> > strong colon.
> > spasmodic twitching colon,
> yonder shitpipe
.> green
>pretty when I wiped my ass.
>
That does it, I'm going to have to beat off. Or rape my lady-friend (as long
as she don't wake up)
Good night.
TB
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
"Ace Lightning" <ace.li...@verizon.net> wrote in message
news:3C5108DC...@verizon.net...
> and does she like you to watch while she pukes?
Well, she has invited me. And encouraged me. But when I think of her throat,
Evan Williams is on sale for 6.99 at CVS this week!
TB
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
> my metamucil
FIBER CEREAL::: it's a LOT cheaper!! Look at the label for grams of
fiber..........
tHERE, I just saved your life. And a couple of bucks.
silvasurfa
>
> FIBER CEREAL::: it's a LOT cheaper!! Look at the label for grams of
> fiber..........
>
Just find a health food store, and ask for psyllium husks.
That's what the fibre in metamucil is. But cheaper. And you can sprinkle it
on your cereal, or mix it into your orange juice, or make pizzas with it or
whatever.
Obt: The baby went poopy last night when I gave her a massage. Washed my
skirt, and drip dried it on the line. This morning I kep smelling wet dogs,
didn't know what smelt, till I worked out it was my skirt. I am a scent
rainbow... feet smell like cheese, skirt like wet dogs, top like icecream
(that's how breastmilk smells when it is dry but not yet cheesy), mouth like
yiros with garlic sauce, hair smells rank. Need a shower.
Ace Lightning
>>she probably eats Ex-Lax like candy - hey, if she can't
>>puke up the calories, she'll shit them out, right? (but
>>within ten minutes after eating, 85% of the calories have
>>already made their way directly to your thighs...
>That statistic made me go "Oh, wow!" for a few moments when you posted it a few
>days ago (also describing dental "benefits"), but then I had some second
>thoughts. Given that people get their calories not just through sugar, but
>through carbos, protein and fat, I just wondered what your source was.
my source is my grad-student son, a trained EMT who was
formerly a pre-med student, and is now working on a Ph.D.
in clinical psychology, and who has known at least ten
girls with eating disorders. i don't know where *he* got
that number from, but the sugar/carbohydrate calories *are*
very quickly absorbed in the stomach because they're
water-soluble. only the proteins and fats need to be further
broken down before they can be metabolized. this seems to
be the explanation for why bulimics who are not also anorexic
are usually of normal to slightly above-normal weight.
Ace Lightning
>>and does she like you to watch while she pukes?
>Well, she has invited me. And encouraged me. But when I think of
>her throat, Evan Williams is on sale for 6.99 at CVS this week!
um, wtf is Evan Williams, and what does it/he have to do
with your girlfriend making herself puke, and why is
either one a sexual turn-off?
kiz...@mediaone.net
She could probably sell them for a little extra mad money...
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
<kiz...@mediaone.net> wrote in message
news:3C5276F4...@mediaone.net...
> She could probably sell them <editors note: long poo-pies er, poopies>
for a little extra mad money...
I tell her that all the time. just tonight, she was telling me that she
dumpt 4 times and the first grogan was about 12 inches long (metric:do the
math).
I always tell her that there are a lot of guys willing to pay good money for
a video of a relatively thin lady shitting. And puking too.
TB
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
> ,calories *are*
> very quickly absorbed in the stomach because they're
> water-soluble.
> be the explanation for why bulimics
about 23 pounds to be exact. Don't know how many stone that is. Might be a
couple of kidny stones.
Personally between you and me; I think she could lose 30.
TB
xxxjoel
><kiz...@mediaone.net> wrote in message
>news:3C51998F...@mediaone.net...
>> That Funky Chick wrote:
>> > strong colon.
>> > spasmodic twitching colon,
>> yonder shitpipe
>>pretty when I wiped my ass.
>That does it, I'm going to have to beat off. Or rape my lady-friend (as long
>as she don't wake up)
>
>Good night.
>
>TB
Remember, Tiek-- "It's not rape if she blinkes twice for Yes."
Besides, it's not rape, it's "surprise sex."
Thank you, Jim Norton - www.eatabullet.com
-J
xxxjoel
Drunkard to the rescue, here.
Evan Williams is cheap domestic (American) whisky, not to be sadly confused
with the tasty Bushmills whiskey I'm presently swilling. Evan is similar to
Jack Daniels in composition, except Jack is decidedly more mellow and smoother
by comparison.
"Uncle Evan," as I've occasionally called it, will never pass down my throat
again as long as I live; neither will any Jim Beam product-- they're all just
too fuckin' nasty for my (allegedly) refined tastes. Hint: I drank enough of
that shit in school to turn any regular person into a drooling fucktard, but I
made it out without any side effec...nevermind.
My unofficial source of reference for gauging the degree of Evan Williams is
the phenominal documentary of life here in the States known as COPS. The
casual observer may not notice the subtle product references peppered
throughout each episode, but the unintentional placement never goes unnoticed
in my presence: Budweiser, Beam, Smith&Wesson, Marlboro, Wal-Mart, Copenhagen,
et cetera.
I've consistently seen Evan Williams bottles and/or advertising paraphernalia
(t-shirts, hats, etc.) in the backgrounds of the upstanding citizens' "homes"
featured on numerous episodes of COPS. Granted, it's typically the guy without
the shirt who's taken to the pokey, but I've noticed on several occasions he's
been nipping from the bottle of Evan. One of my personal faves was an episode
about ten years ago in which a young man in Texas attacked his girlfriend,
first with his fists and then with his teeth. He'd blackened her eyes and
lacerated her scalp with his mandibles and was too drunk to remove the
tell-tale strands of her hair dangling from his teeth as he was being
handcuffed.
"Wha'choo drink tanight?" an arresting officer asked.
"Bottle-a Ev'n Wil-um," loverboy slurred.
Case closed. Sure, I'm frequently too inebriated to form coherent sentences,
but when asked what's rendered me that way, I'll typically muster, "Case-a
Guinness," or perhaps, "Bottle-a Bushmills," before collapsing on the bed and
not after attacking someone who didn't deserve it (and that's why I could
never behave after drinking Crazy Horse malt liquor). But I digress...
cheers,
JOEL
--
xxxjoel.com
Matt Olson
> Evan Williams is cheap domestic (American) whisky, not to be sadly confused
> with the tasty Bushmills whiskey I'm presently swilling. Evan is similar to
>Jack Daniels in composition, except Jack is decidedly more mellow and smoother
> by comparison.
I'll have to find some of that, then. I'm a bourbon drinker, most
of the time, and Jack doesn't quite have the bite I'm used to.
And if it's cheap as shit, so much the better.
ObT: Work. No details -- hell, even if I could be arsed to add
X-no-archive tags to my posts, DejaGoogle would wag its cock in
their face -- but the rank idiocy of one of my cow-orkers is the
main reason why I've been feeling grossly depressed this eve,
for the first time in a good three years or so. Now, if I was
smart I'd get a scrip for something pleasant and chemical, but I
like orgasms a bit too much to experiment with the standard
antidepressants.
Cheers,
Matt
--
Matt "More nukes! MORE NUKES!" Olson, speaking for himself.
"Bags of dripping offal were sent to various journalists to publicise Doom II."
-- http://www.theregister.co.uk/content/28/22845.html
Ace Lightning
>>>>and does she like you to watch while she pukes?
> >>Well, she has invited me. And encouraged me. But when I think of
>>>her throat, Evan Williams is on sale for 6.99 at CVS this week!
>>um, wtf is Evan Williams, and what does it/he have to do
>>with your girlfriend making herself puke, and why is
>>either one a sexual turn-off?
>Drunkard to the rescue, here.
>Evan Williams is cheap domestic (American) whisky, not to be sadly confused
>with the tasty Bushmills whiskey I'm presently swilling. Evan is similar to
>Jack Daniels in composition, except Jack is decidedly more mellow and smoother
>by comparison.
well, that explains the connection with puking...
JustmeŽ
<WlI58.3811$Tu1....@rwcrnsc51.ops.asp.att.net>, and like, I thoughtthat, you
know, I had to say something back:
>
>
>Remember, Tiek-- "It's not rape if she blinkes twice for Yes."
>
>Besides, it's not rape, it's "surprise sex."
>
>Thank you, Jim Norton - www.eatabullet.com
>
YES! Master of Yellow Discipline, Jim Norton. I encourage every ATer to check
out his site, and if you ever get the opportunity to see or hear him...do it.
He's taken tastelessness to all new heights!
--Ginny
http://www.ginnysanchez.com
Buy my pictures. I need the money.
http://www.zazzle.com/posters/gallery/contributor_list.asp?contributor=ginnysanchez
Roy. Just Roy.
> were being pulled out with rusty pliars, and squeezed out the following:
> >>within ten minutes after eating, 85% of the calories have
> >>already made their way directly to your thighs...
> but the sugar/carbohydrate calories *are*
> very quickly absorbed in the stomach because they're
> water-soluble
While simple sugars are absorbed through the stomach wall, unless
someone eats nothing but dehydrated Jell-o powder and energy drinks (A
highly suggested combo if you want to bounce off the walls for a half
hour and then slump into a catatonic state while your body deals with
the shitload of insulin you just pumped into your system), calories
are rarely in the simple sugar form.
Most of our calories comes from a beast called "complex
carbohydrates", otherwise known as starch. Our spit breaks down a
little starch, and the acid a-churnin' around in the gut knocks up a
few whore-er, more, but most of the starch digestion & absorption
takes place in the small intestine.
The problem with diarrhetics is that they work on the colon,
downstream of the small gut. The colon's main job is to soak up &
recycle water. Ex Lax bitch slaps the colon like Mike Tyson in a hotel
room with a coed. The colon says, "fuck you", shuts down, and you
flush worse than a broken pay toilet on the Jersey turnpike. It
doesn't do a thing to the small intestine.
So, basically your EMT friend was right, only it's the small intestine
where the goodies are sucked in, not the stomach. So wtf didn't I just
say that in 1 sentence? Because I may not be a fugging teacher, but I
did stay at a Holiday Inn last night. Now if you'll excuse me, I have
to go watch 2 turtles doing the super slippery sideways butt slam on
the Discovery channel. God, education is great.
EMT420
> Now, if I was
> smart I'd get a scrip for something pleasant and chemical, but I
> like orgasms a bit too much to experiment with the standard
> antidepressants.
>
As of 5 days ago, I've officially rejoined the chemical brotherhood
and started taking generic fluoxetine after a 10 month hiatus. I'm
still on the 10mg kiddie dose until my stomach callouses up a bit.
As I recall from my last bout with Prozac, my most severe side effect
was loss of libido. Sadly, I expect this effect to have kicked in by
the time Linky gets here this year, but I plan to have a go at NJ's
Handsomest EMT before then.
ObT: The Gay Vomit Boy Test. There's guy on my squad who has an
absolutely smokin' hot body. About 6 feet, slim waist (not my usual
type, but I could definitely go for this one), furry, with a shaved
head. A baritone voice that makes me go all soggy. Perfect, so far.
His face kind of resembles one of those inbred pitbulls that the spic
gangbangers sic on each other. Flat-nosed and slightly wall-eyed. I
felt a strange kinship with Vommie when I said to myself, "yeah, I'd
still do 'im."
Ace Lightning
>>>>within ten minutes after eating, 85% of the calories have
>>>>already made their way directly to your thighs...
>>but the sugar/carbohydrate calories *are*
>>very quickly absorbed in the stomach because they're
>>water-soluble
>While simple sugars are absorbed through the stomach wall, unless
>someone eats nothing but dehydrated Jell-o powder and energy drinks (A
>highly suggested combo if you want to bounce off the walls for a half
>hour and then slump into a catatonic state while your body deals with
>the shitload of insulin you just pumped into your system), calories
>are rarely in the simple sugar form.
>Most of our calories comes from a beast called "complex
>carbohydrates", otherwise known as starch. Our spit breaks down a
>little starch, and the acid a-churnin' around in the gut knocks up a
>few whore-er, more, but most of the starch digestion & absorption
>takes place in the small intestine.
starch is water-soluble to a certain degree, though. water also
makes starches change the way their molecules arrange themselves -
this is why rice or pasta expand and get softer when you boil
them. (and also how dough is formed, but i'm not going to go
*that* deeply into food chemistry here.)
>The problem with diarrhetics is that they work on the colon,
>downstream of the small gut. The colon's main job is to soak up &
>recycle water. Ex Lax bitch slaps the colon like Mike Tyson in a hotel
>room with a coed. The colon says, "fuck you", shuts down, and you
>flush worse than a broken pay toilet on the Jersey turnpike. It
>doesn't do a thing to the small intestine.
taking laxatives as a way to purge food out of your gut to
prevent weight gain works even less than puking up the food
as soon as you've eaten it. it also screws with your electrolyte
balance worse than puking does. and you can develop what
amounts to an addiction to laxatives, in which your colon says,
"okay, if you're going to keep kick-starting me like that, i'm
just not going to work *UNLESS* i'm kick-started." this is a
Very Bad Thing - look up "megacolon" in your handy medical
encyclopedia.
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ
"Matt Olson" <ol...@csu304.cs.ualberta.ca> wrote in message
news:slrna5epct...@csu304.cs.ualberta.ca...
> <BLINK> Quoth xxxjoel (drun...@xxxjoel.com):
>
> > Evan Williams is cheap domestic (American) whisky,
> >Jack Daniels in composition, except Jack is decidedly more mellow and
smoother
>
> . I'm a bourbon drinker, most
> of the time, and Jack doesn't quite have the bite I'm used to.
ya pegged that. Jack Daniels is Tenessee whiskey, it ain't bourbon which
must come form Kentucky. Jack Daniels is somthin' akin to anitfreeze. And
real whiskey is spellt, "whiskey" with an 'e'. Don't get it mixt up with
cheap-o canadian hootch of which I can drink 2 pints and not even begin to
quaff a sqiffy. Or Scotch, which, well if it's from the highlands, I'll
drink if somebody gives it to me.
I equally love Evan's cheaper version: Heavin' Hill. Er, Heaven Hill. And
about Jim Beam: I'd rather drink a Swedes' piss.
TB
Ben Dover
��ؿ?ơ!�Ǯ <tiek...@yahoo.com> wrote in message
news:EYJ68.5157$Hu6.1...@typhoon.neo.rr.com...
>
> "Matt Olson" <ol...@csu304.cs.ualberta.ca> wrote in message
> news:slrna5epct...@csu304.cs.ualberta.ca...
> > <BLINK> Quoth xxxjoel (drun...@xxxjoel.com):
> >
> > > Evan Williams is cheap domestic (American) whisky,
> > > . Evan is similar to
> > >Jack Daniels in composition, except Jack is decidedly more mellow and
> smoother
> > > by comparison. <editors note: NO WAY!>
>
> >
> > . I'm a bourbon drinker, most
> > of the time, and Jack doesn't quite have the bite I'm used to.
>
> ya pegged that. Jack Daniels is Tenessee whiskey, it ain't bourbon which
> must come form Kentucky. Jack Daniels is somthin' akin to anitfreeze.
Actually Bourbon can be from any state, it just has to be made from at least
50% corn and aged in new oak barrels. Jack Daniels isn't bourbon anymore
because they started re-using the barrels. They had to change their label
from "bourbon" to "Tennesse Whiskey".
> (snip)>
>
Ubiquitous
drd...@hotmail.com wrote...
> As I have said before, my colon is a thing of remarkable resiliency.
Oddly enough, this week's episode on "Lexx", "Bad carrot", features
alien space probes shaped like carrots which attach themselves to
the base of the spinal cord, where they control their host. "And just
how do they make entry"?, you ask.
They lauch themselves up their victim's ass, that's how.
As a special bonus, this ep features the Lexx toilet, flatuence, and
the crew receiving anal probes (complete with a suctiony slurping
noise).
*************************************************************************
* Political Correctness strives to impose innocuous mediocrity as the *
* standard to which we must all aspire. *
*************************************************************************
xxxjoel
>>Besides, it's not rape, it's "surprise sex."
>>Thank you, Jim Norton - www.eatabullet.com
>YES! Master of Yellow Discipline, Jim Norton. I encourage every ATer to check
>out his site, and if you ever get the opportunity to see or hear him...do it.
>
>He's taken tastelessness to all new heights!
>
>--Ginny
>http://www.ginnysanchez.com
shamelessly stolen from www.foundrymusic.com:
The Norton Files with Jim Norton
Sobriety (04/06/2001)
I was lounging around my apartment earlier in the week, writing up a list of
Freudian slips I’ve had around burn victims. As I was alternating between
writing up my list and slicing off genital warts, I began to reminisce. It
suddenly dawned on me how wonderful my life is and how it’s all due to
sobriety. It has been many years since I had a drink or a drug, and I smiled
good-naturedly at the turmoil my life used to be in. No longer do I drink so
much on a date that I forget a girl has told me about her mastectomy, only to
wake up the next morning and scream, “Hey, where the fuck is the other one?”
No longer do I rape women over 60 with a meat cleaver, or spoil important
political dinners by loudly defecating in my tuxedo pants.
Putting the plug in the jug was by far the best decision I have ever made. I
am a good person, and deserving of love. It has been many years since I beat
up a disfigured person simply to impress a girl. I now understand that my
worth as a human being is not based on possessions, such as my rare collection
of trinkets made from gorilla hands, or my books of poetry on clitoral
circumcision. These are lovely things to own, but they do not make me a
worthwhile person.
My life today no longer revolves around negativity, but spreading joy. I have
recently named my memoirs, ‘Life, Love and Enlightenment’, changed from the
original title of, ‘The 10 Most Barbaric Things I’ve Done to the Foreskin of
an Immigrant’. I am also working on a children’s book, tentatively called, ‘
Pet Names for my Penis that Rhyme with Cesspool’. It revolves primarily around
Vietcong war crimes and songs I enjoy humming while gay bashing with a hammer
claw. Putting happiness in someone’s heart is now much more important to me
than any fluid I could pay a prostitute to drip on my chest. I believe in
taking lemons and making lemonade. In addition to my books, I am currently
working on a bloopers tape revolving around miscarriages and Cannonball Run
outtakes. I have also come to love all people regardless of race, despite how
slanted their eyes are, or how much fun it is to set their churches on fire.
Intolerance has not place in my life today, and I will never again throw moist
Rottweiler feces into a person’s face simply because their last name is Patel.
I have learned how to find pleasure in smaller things; such as taking needle
nosed pliers and pinching the taint of a retarded girl, while gently massaging
her large, turnip bulb shaped head. What could be more gratifying than seeing
the smile of a homeless man when you flip him a quarter, or watching his smile
disappear when you drill your fist into his rotten, unbrushed teeth. I think
of all of the friends that sobriety has blessed me with; Rich Vos, Jim
Florentine, Otto, Opie & Anthony and Andrew Dice Clay. It is pleasantly
comforting to wake up and realize you’ve surrounded yourself with sexual
deviants and total dirtbags. I am overwhelmed with gratitude when I remember
feeling up Stalker Patty. How many men can claim to have felt the prickly
haired nipples of Foghorn Leghorn’s nephew? It is a rare treat indeed to
touch the tits of a woman with the mental capacity of scrotum polyp.
Is my life perfect in sobriety? Heck no it isn’t. There are still times of
loneliness where I will pick up a girl with a stomach the size of a small
apartment complex and a cunt that smells like the toe webbing of a Haitian
marathon runner. As recently as last week I found myself enjoying the oral
favors of a prostitute when I suddenly thought, “By golly, that’s a large back
for a girl.” Realizing my error, I unfortunately lost my erection. I say
unfortunately because it was a blowjob worthy of a Golden Globe Award. I felt
momentary shame as my roommate pounded on the bathroom door asking me, “How
was it?”, while I stood at the sink scrubbing the foul breath of a
transsexual Silverback off my cock.
I have learned to give myself a break, however. No one leads an error free
life, and I know there are certain things I still do wrong. I have recently
started feeling guilty about inserting my fingers into my anus, then running
up to the Opie & Anthony radio program and backslapping, hand shaking and high
fiving the entire crew. I also know I should stop telling my 5-year-old
nephew to never sleep because Steve from Foundry Music is lurking under his
bed with an erection the width of a Pepsi can. I now sincerely believe it is
okay for a girl to say, “No” at the end of a date, and immediately resorting
to an aluminum baseball bat was simply childish on my part. I think from now
on I will tell a girl I have AIDS, instead of just splooging inside of her and
yelling, “Tag, you’re it!” I also feel that I should get a part time job
instead of making extra cash selling my mother’s period panties on the
Internet @smells_like_a_cadaver.com.
Today the keyword for me is humility. A man who can admit his mistakes is a
mature man indeed. To demonstrate, I would like to end our time together with
a few apologies:
To my neighbors, for doing things while baby-sitting your children which have
been misconstrued.
To my ex-girlfriend, for putting itching powder on your tampons and making out
with your dad at that Fourth of July party.
To my roommate Jim, for making you dream about onions by dangling my testicles
over your nose while you sleep and to my grandmother, for grabbing you by the
shoulders and screaming, “CUNT”, every time you ask me for your medicine.
The most important apology of all is to you, the public, for writing this
article in the first place.
Eat my ass and God bless, Jim Norton