Thanks for the props, MF. Mother Fucker. Male Floozie. Most Fairylike.
Here I am, on Day 38, and my bowel movements still have not returned to normal. I am pretty much shitting every third day. I grumped Monday, and I grumped this morning. It's getting a bit out of hand.
This morning's movement was special. Since quitting, the constipation has resulted in some mighty gigantic and robusto shits, but today's really was exceptional. I guarantee that if I was shitting in the woods, this dump would have laid out on the leaves at least 18 inches, end to end. Probably more.
You can imagine that a turd of such proportions is not toilet-friendly. After squeezing out what seemed to be a Peterbilt transmission, I flushed. No dice. My crap just stood up straight like the fucking Titanic and twisted in the bowl. I tried again, to no avail.
I couldn't just walk away from this mess. It wouldn't have been ethical. Because honestly, the next guy who sat down - if he didn't look - would have gotten my log right up his asshole.
I cleaned up and crept quickly and quietly out of the bathroom and into the offices. I spied a pencil on one of the marketing girl's desks. I swiped it and returned to the bathroom.
Chop chop chop chop...With the pencil, I broke my megapoo into seven or eight manageable pieces and flushed. The grump chunks, defeated, swirled into the sewer.
One interesting observation: I probably should have used the eraser end of the pencil. As it turned out, I drew all over the porcelain while playing ninja with my poop.
And what to do with the shitty pencil? I opted to wipe it clean and put it back on the girl's desk. That'll teach her to take my yogurt from the break room fridge.