Crapulous bowels!

A disclaimer, though Lord knows if it will penetrate far enough into my thick-browed readership. The following curt monologue deals with words of a scatological nature, and if being exposed to such terms makes you either wretch or titter like a school-girl than considered yourself alerted of the following: your existence makes me sick. I hate you for your stunted maturity as much as anything else.

With regard to other matters at hand ..... DIARREAH! That was but a test. Check your reaction, if it fell into one of the above categories then please do the world the simple favor of having yourself euthanized.

As it were,
Curse the wretched bowel movement, basest of all the machinations of hell's grim tyrant. Such displeasure it brings me when I have to perch myself on the commode and wait for my sphincter to get its business done. Cannot a man enjoy his dinner of pig entrails soup and not fear that the next day he will be pinned to some toliet by interminable defecation, as I am now? Thankfully enough I have my deficient protege "D.C." on hand to take dictation as I howl at him from the stall.

Let us not speak of the stench, unholy though it may be. Let us not spend words upon the gruesome sound, squealing from my lower parts with such fervor that I must shout over it to be heard. There is no call to even mention it's horrible texture. No, for the worst of it all is that while embroiled with these excessive and frequent evacuations of my stool I cannot help but feel somehow made level with the common man. Truly this is a grim and terrible world if, in the end, my shit stinks too.

Well, at the very least I may be satisfied with my unique method of pants donning - whereby I put them on both legs at once.

-Philboyd Snrub