Poo's Your Own Adventure

about a year ago i was asked to contribute an article or story to a friend's upstart 'zine. i'm not down with the literary circles of the bay area like i once was so i couldn't tell you what people write about in self-published mini-mags these days. regardless of whatever is mainstream, michelle was starting a 'zine about "shitting oneself". now whether she had chosen this subject matter because fecalphilia had gone mainstream since i'd left the country (what are the odds?) and she thought she could make millions or because she felt a duty to fill a niche market i forgot to ask.
all i know is that she was starting a poo 'zine and she came to me.
i don't claim to be an expert on the subject. i've never taken an oath in court and testified as an expert witness on the subject and only once have i ever been credited in a documentary or film involving poo-related hijinx (twice if you count the video where jeremy jaeger defecates white to abdicate himself of witchcraft charges).
below, please find my submission. it's a 'choose your own adventure'. one interesting note is that i had one of my interns proofread it to make sure the pages all linked up. probably didn't see that as part of his job requirements when he was studying civil engineering. so i humbly submit to you the first "Poo's your own Adventure" entitled:

MR. BROWN GOES TWO IN WASHINGTON

“Shake him again.” Are the first words you hear. You’re instantly aware of your own weight and dull pain running up and down your right side. Shortly thereafter you realize that you are being shaken. You recognize the voices. They belong to your best friend Paul and his sister Suzie.

Suzie says to Paul, “He couldn’t have forgotten.” and this instantly wakes you up. Your eyes open quickly and the light floods in and stabs the back of your skull. You were sure it was four in the morning but the bright daylight confirms your fears that your family is arriving at the airport this morning and your alarm didn’t go off to wake you up.

As you scramble to your feet you realize why your alarm didn’t wake you up. Your alarm clock is next to your bed which is 15 miles away. The sign outside reads, “Pizza and Pasta”. You are the manager.

“What time is it?” You ask either Paul or Suzie. Over their shoulders you see customers in the parking lot confused by the open door and chairs still on the tables inside.

“Late.” They reply in unpracticed unison.

If you choose to return home and change and shower before going to the airport please turn to page 13

If you choose to lock up your store and head straight to the airport please turn to page 4

Page 4

“No time to lose!” as you reach into your pockets for your keys. You pull out two sets, neither of which are familiar. You throw them in the tip jar as you run out the front door. You pause briefly to mimic locking the front door so as to convince the customers in the parking lot that unfettered access to balls of pizza dough and pre-sliced pepperoni isn’t theirs for the taking.

“Where’s my car?” you ask.

“Maybe your family will want to help you find it.” Says Paul. This sends you into a panic sweat. Your balls are drenched and you feel an uncomfortable pit form at the bottom of your stomach.

Turn to page 6

page 6


You jump into the backseat of Suzie’s old Geo Prism. The movement has made you aware of the effects of last night’s binge. The Jaegermeister you taste on your breath has radically softened the already delicate stool consisting of Taco Bell’s latest ethni-fusion: the nacho stir fry.
”Run, don’t wok to the nearest toilet” you mutter ominously to yourself.

“You smell like a bar rag.” Paul informs you as he pushes the passenger seat against your knees. Bringing your knees closer to your chest has the anticipated effect and as soon as the doors close a pocket of gas moves like an overfed St. Bernard to the back door. It wants out.

If you choose to relieve the pressure immediately, turn to page 80

If you choose to hold it in and spare your friends, turn to page 79

Page 7

The road to the airport is uncrowded. With the exception of a deep rumbling deep in your stomach, the debacle of the past night’s binge is starting to fade. The wind blowing in through windows has a calming effect and your mind wanders.

Suzie snaps you from your mindless wanderings. “Paul, do you think we should stop for gas? We weren’t planning on taking our car to the airport so the tank is kinda low.”

“We’ve got enough,” he replies, “but we either refill now or after we pick up his family.”

“Well before we pick them up, you two are dropping yourselves off at some political rally right?”

“Heil Hitler.” They say in practiced unison.

Turning to face you, Suzie asks, “You must be hungry. Do you want to stop for a bite?”

If you choose to pull over for a bite and refill the tank, turn to page 9

If you choose to keep driving, turn to page 1,000

Page 8

When you finally reach the freeway towards the airport, cars are moving slowly.
”Must be an accident… road was fine when we went to find you at ‘Pizza and Pasta’”

You immediately regret the previous detour. Time is no longer on your side and you begin to get nervous.

You picture your family waiting at the airport terminal, holding their luggage and waiting on the curb breathing in taxi exhaust and you immediately begin to perspire again.

The nervous feeling of butterflies hits you and spreads to your stomach. Immediately your stomach rumbles loudly.

“Please don’t tell me you’re hungry.” Says Suzie.

“Ummm.” Is the only response you can muster. All of your energy and attention is focused on clenching your asshole shut. “Divert all power to rear shields Chewy!” escapes your lips. Confused, Paul mimics a wookie, and rolls down the windows as a precaution.

You feel like Gallipoli is taking place in your lower intestine. Deadly gases and trench warfare are all you can think of. A single bead of sweat runs down your temple. The buildup is unbearable. You realize you’re not even sitting anymore but completely stiff as a board. If a butterfly were to land on your abdomen you’d explode.

If you can’t stand it and ask Paul to pull over, turn to page 50

If you think you can hold it in, turn to page 61

Page 9

“Let’s pull over.” You reply. Your stomach, which agrees with your decision but is being disagreeable on all other counts, rumbles audibly belying activities that rarely end cleanly.

You pull into a small gas station and Paul begins filling the tank.
”Can I get you anything from the shop?” you offer politely.
”Snap into it!” is his reply.

At the counter you grab a bag of Lay’s chips, a sprite and two Slim Jims for Paul.

“Can you tell me where the restroom is?” but even through the inch of bulletproof glass you can see that the answer to your question is reserved for the desperate. His cocked eyebrow reads loud and clear. “If you can hold it, you should hold it.”

“Oh Yeayuh.” Paul says as you hand him the Slim Jims.

Again, squeezing yourself into the back of the Geo Prism, the uncomfortable positions and shifting involved, has shifted a large pocket of gas.

You jump out of the car before Suzie gets in and you attempt to relieve the pressure. Unfortunately you realize that riding the tail end of the gas is nacho stir-fry that has been marinating overnight in six shots of Jaegermeister. Convinced you can hold it, and picturing the much more pleasant airport restroom, you fan three times behind your ass, jump up and down twice and spin around once before getting back in the car.

Turn to page 8

Page 10

You point yourself at the Domestic gate and pray that you’ve made the correct choice. As you approach the curb where your family should be you can see a large crowd gathered and some commotion. Your stomach ties up in knots. Guilt. Fear. Concern.

As you get closer you see the cause of the commotion. Two monkeys are throwing their feces at everyone leaving the baggage claim.

The monkeys are your parents

Your parents are monkeys. You didn’t shit your pants but your parents are monkeys.

Page 13

“Would you mind if we go home and grab some clean clothes first. I smell like sour milk.”

Paul takes a deep breath and replies, “It’s your call.” And points the car away from the airport and towards your house.

Your eyes roll back into your head and you fall into a restless that is interrupted only five minutes later when the car stops in your driveway. You quickly climb through the rear window and let Paul and Suzie in the front door.

As you jump in the shower you hear the familiar sounds of “The Fairly Odd Parents” coming from your television. The warm water seems to wash away all the ills of the previous night or two and it’s only the strongest act of willpower that pulls you out of the warm shower and into a clean t-shirt and debatably clean jeans.

“Let’s roll!” you exclaim as you burst from your bedroom into the living room. You’re feeling unstoppable.

“Your crotch is still wet.” Says paul getting up slowly.

“It’ll dry in the car. You guys ready?”

The Geo Prism speeds away from your house.

Turn to page 8

Page 50

Through gritted teeth you exclaim, “Pull over!”

Naively Paul shouts “Dude! Don’t throw up in the backseat!”

“Just pull over man!”

This is easy and difficult all at the same time seeing as Paul is in the middle lane of traffic that isn’t moving.

“Um.” Suggests Suzie.

Your stomach makes more noise which this time can’t be mistaken for hunger but instead something far more insidious. Off comes Suzie’s seatbelt and she opens the passenger door in the middle of traffic. Looking around, you feel like you’re in the middle of the scene from “Independence Day” where everyone is trying to get out of Washington D.C. Thinking of Jerry Bruckheimer only makes you have to shit even more.

Turn to page 2719

Page 61

You think of baseball. After all it had worked in the past to prolong your ejaculation. It works. The armies amassed at the gates of your sphincter were turned away. You celebrate and mentally pump your fists in the air like the Negro regiment in that Matthew Broderick film you watched in Junior High and High School.

“Can you guys name a film other than ‘Glory’ that everyone has seen six times but has never once paid to rent?”

A peaceful silence follows. After some time Suzie pipes up. “Donald Duck in Math Land is a distant second.”

Heads nod in agreement. Traffic is still barely moving and time is passing. Your parents’ plane is probably landed by now and you still have to drop Paul and Suzie off in town at some political rally and then get to the airport.

“By Jove, let’s take the side roads. At least we’ll be moving.”

“Capital idea.”

Turn to page 1000

Page 68

You let the phone continue vibrating against your thigh as you speed to the airport. You check the clock on the dashboard of the Prism. 22:15. You subtract twelve to account for Suzie setting the alarm in non-military time in the PM.

It’s a safe bet that the phone call was probably your family calling to say they are at the baggage claim wondering where you are but seeing as you’re only ten minutes from the airport you speed along.

As you approach the terminals you realize that you forgot to check to see which airline your family is coming in on and hence you’re not sure of the gate to meet them at. You have to make a quick decision. The signs read “Local” and “Domestic”.

If you choose to go to the Local gate turn to page 90

If you choose to go to the Domestic gate turn to page 10

Page 69

You dig deep into your jeans and try to extract the cell phone. You fumble around and drop the phone under your seat. At the first traffic light you bend down to retrieve it but bending at the waist turns you into a cake decorators frosting gun. Before you can close the airlocks you frost the inside of your pants.

You’ve shit yourself. Your parents leave everything to the cat.

Page 79

You decide to hold in the gas. The same laws of chemistry that govern the atoms in the sun are playing out in your abdomen and the expanding pressure pushes out several beads of sweat on your forehead.

You’re starting to look and feel like the fat man from “Who’s Line Is It Anyways?” except you’ve removed your right shoe and are using the sock as a kerchief to dab your brow.

Unable to relieve the pressure by removing your pants belt (you’re not wearing one), you realize there are only two ways to relieve the painful and uncomfortable bloating. The second option involves a caesarian section.

It is at this time that a trapped pocket of gas that has been waiting anxiously behind a stopped 18-wheeler turd on your intestinal highway decides to pass on the shoulder. The pocket of gas, eager to get to work, speeds along the shoulder and slams into the traffic cop that is your sphincter. All the methane and sulfur pockets are furious and the taco bell stir-fry is letting new commuters on at every on ramp. The backup seems to go on for miles.

An uptight pocket of gas shouts, “linch the sphincter!”

If you choose to bend to the will of the mob and fart on Paul and Suzie, turn to page 80

If you choose to continue holding it in turn to page 79 (again)

Page 80

“Thanks again for picking me up guys.” You say as you let out a cocktail of gases.

“Our pleasure.” Starts Suzie. But Paul, who was looking in the rearview mirror noticed that you inexplicably leaned three degrees to one side whilst you said this.

“I’m gonna kick your ass if you just did what I think you did.”

“Wha-“ starts Suzie but she stops her question as both front windows begin to roll down. “Dammit. Go Paul. Drive!”

You slump down comfortably in the back seat as the Geo Prism speeds out of the parking lot.

Turn to page 7

Page 90

As you drive into the airport you look carefully for your parents at the Local gate. At first you don’t see them. Instead, standing on the curb are sixteen clowns in all their clown glory. “I can’t believe they’re allowed to travel like that.”

Then you see the humpback whale on the curb.

Bells are ringing.

You slowly open your eyes and realize you’re lying down on the floor of the pizza and pasta shop that you manage. The bells are customers trying to get the front door open. The smell is a corn-infested shit that you took around page 2719. The good news is it’s mostly contained to your underpants and cargo shorts. For good reason you’re afraid to stand up.

You’ve shit your pants at work and you don’t work in German porn. Consider yourself fired and disowned.

Page 1000

This turns out to be the best and only good decision you’ve made in weeks. You’re delighted when you hit roadblocks miles earlier than expected.

“Closed because of your rally guys. Guess you’ll have to walk from here.”

You leap into the front seat and thank Paul and Suzie for their help as the throw the Prism into first. As you’re about to put it into second you feel a vibration coming from your pants. Unexpectedly, it’s just your cell phone.

If you choose to answer your phone turn to page 69

If you choose to keep driving and ignore the phone turn to page 68

Page 2719

You run into the median, the only part of the freeway with some shrubbery to provide a little privacy. You can feel the eyes of everyone in their cars on you but the sensation is nothing compared to the full body pain you feel.

Like a penguin you waddle around looking for a nest in which to give your warm and explosive birth. You sense the collective gasp of your fellow motorists as you squat and pull pants and undies down with one movement.

The shit is like a liberal arts graduate: directionless and misguided. Much of it lands on your heels and finds its way into your shoes.

The satisfaction of relieving the unbearable pain is now gone but instead replaced with worry. How can you get in the car with so much shit on your shoes? You look at Paul and you can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

That’s when you lose your balance. You were lightheaded already and now looking to your right and left has left you with just enough vertigo to topple backwards into your own mess of fiesta compost.

This time when you look up to see Paul he’s motioning Suzie to get in the car and lock the doors. As he honks at the cars in front of him to move, you realize your ride is trying to get away from you.

You’ve shit yourself on the median of a major highway. You’ll be on the evening news and everything around you except your face will be pixilated for the sake of the viewing audience.