Dining Table Conversations: System, Efficiency and Economy

In a previous post I spoke about my struggle for content (Would it be wrong if I called it Mein Kampf?). So I've taken to carrying my journal around with me and scribbling anything and everything that comes to my mind. I was lying on my bed admiring the vocal gymnastics of Pentatonix when I was visited by the shits.

(that link will take you to their performance of the dog days are over by Florence and the Machine. Tolu prefers their performance of Video Killed the Radio Star but it's not his blog :P)

Yes, I felt the sudden impulse to blast. I quite enjoy taking dumps. There's something cathartic about them. When I'm having a hard day, I know that I can always retire to my toilet seat and exercise my abdominal muscles. The more constipated I am, the more satisfying the work out. It's important to note that you have to get the constipation just right. If you hold that baby in for too long you'll require some local anesthetic and a team of nurses fisting you to relieve you of your load.

(True story: An enema at the time was about £290. My school nurses like Mr. Shalford from the 1967 movie, Half a Six-Pence believed in three things above all else: system, efficiency and economy. So rather than take me to the hospital, they decided to operate on me in house.)

The only thing different about the ritual was that this time I dragged my journal with me to document the experience. With a Hey and a Heee and a Ho Ho and a Ho and a Ha and a Hey Hey, I was done. I grabbed some bog roll for the wipe, 1 swipe, 2 swipes, no stains (LUCKY BARRY!!!). Moments like that require a victory dance. After my victory dance I retired to my computer and wondered why I was more comfortable than any normal human being had any right to be with the working of their bowels. Most people shy away from discussing the activity, but I relish it.

The answer did not take long. Any one who has spent any decent amount of time with my family will tell you that we're altogether too comfortable with the movements of our nethers.
I will recreate one of our dining table conversations.
Characters: Afam, Mum, Dad, Gbaddy, Tintin
Afam: (FARTS)
whole table pauses looks around
Dad: Who did that?
We all look around. I know that after quick analysis of the fart it will be clear that only two people could have produced that particular kind of fart; light and nutty.
Afam: It was my mum. It's her particular brand.
Mum: It wasn't me.
Afam: (blush)
Gbaddy: What have you been eating?
Tintin: You didn't even have the common decency to make it silent.
Afam: It took me by surprise. All the others were silent.
Dad: When last did you visit the toilet?
Afam: A few days ago.
Dad: You're supposed to do one at least once a day!!
Afam: Never!
Mum: Your dad is right. Once a day yields the best results. Since you seem reluctant I'll make a big pot of vegetable soup for you tomorrow. (This particular soup is called Afang. It's flushing powers are off the charts.)

Deeper analysis of my memories proved even more damning.
I have a cousin called Pompom. When he was a little tyrant, he always forgot to wipe up. So we created a process for him.
  • Blast.
  • Analyze blast
  • Wipe
  • Deliver Analysis.
So whenever Pompom came sprinting out of the toilet, if he failed to deliver his analysis we would know that he had only completed stage 1. That way we could reassign him the mission and prevent civilian casualties.

So comrades I advise that you gain some insight into the mood altering powers of your blast. It really does make for happier days.


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