You’ve had them before – those BMs that just won’t come out. All the grunting and squeezing, no matter what you do, there’s a boulder in your anus and it just won’t go. Constipation? Probably. Or maybe you diet has changed or certain circumstances have held off your need to drop one out. Either way, when it finally does come out, it’s pure pleasure… or is it? Like finishing a marathon without going anywhere. This is my story of the turd that would not leave. Like a stoner on your couch, the only way out is extreme aggression.

Two years ago, I had surgery on my throat. I had sleep apnea pretty badly and living with a tube hooked up to my honker on a nightly basis was completely out of the question. So enter: Dhar Sreepada:

I’m sure he’ll be happy to see his picture in a blog about bowel movements.

Anyway, look at this pimp. Uncomfortable looking portrait aside, this guy is the Indian John Shaft of Surgery. A truly smooth cat. Most doctors will huff and puff about how surgery would be the last option. Not this fucking guy. I asked, he said let’s do it. It’s one thing to be a good doctor, it’s another thing to exude confidence. He seemed like he was a doctor on a TV show, but not a show like ER, almost like if the doctor’s office was a game show. I was waiting for him to pause periodically to appeal to an invisible Applause sign in the exam room.

So what Dr. Pimphand was going to do was hack the shit out of my throat. Tonsils, gone. Adnoids, gone. He was even going to chop up my uvula too. What a guy. The surgery went off without a hitch and I have slept better since then. Which is all well and good. But during the 2 weeks on the DL, I didn’t really poop. A mostly fluid diet with a whole lot of stuff I didn’t have to chew, and of course, meds (but nothing that would have the DEA breaking down my door).

Towards the end of my wonderous 2 week vacation, I got the urge to take a crap. It was a welcome feeling that I had missed for some time.

So I sit down on the bowl. Nothing.

10 minutes go by. Nothing.

20 minutes go by. Nothing.

I had read – being the professor of poopology that I am – that surgery can back you up especially if you are away from solid foods for some time. So I get up, walk around a bit and return to my throne. After a little while longer, I felt something shift. But not the shift I was looking for.

What resulted can be best described this way. Take a baseball and then take a piece of paper and cut a circular hole in it so only a small portion of the baseball can fit through. Place the baseball in that hole and look at it from the opposite side the baseball is on. The paper was my bung, the rocksteady turd was the baseball. Or at least it felt that way.

So I knew what had to be done. With a deep breath, I squeezed, veins popping left and right. But no luck. This one did not want to go anywhere. I had to take drastic action short of jamming a pipe cleaner up my pooper.

What followed could be described as forcing a soccer ball out out a garden hose or running a 25 mile marathon. Rocking, sweating, squeezing, panting – at one point I thought my asshole was going to fall out before this nugget of shit would. It was really physically draining.

Eventually, I won out. The sucker dropped and for all the effort and stress, it was slightly bigger than a large grape! Jesus! Give me a break. A poop like this, you want to look in the bowl and see a bowling ball, not a golf ball. And this was foreboding as well – I wasn’t exactly feeling cleaned out for there was more to go. Although in the end I only prospected 4 pieces of fool’s gold, I was relieved to relieve. I then took a hearty nap afterwards.