Timing Is Everything
I found the secret to the perfect shit, my newly-found friends, and I feel it is my duty to share the good news. I believe that it is all about TIMING. Now I will try to explain why.
From the first methane dew dripping out of your ass until the final explosive decompression, a few milestones deserve our attention if we aspire to a timely, satisfactory, and complete evacuation of your compost. I have ripped my anus on a few occasions, mainly because I failed to pay attention to some obvious cues. I suffered many an ass bleed from straining too hard, all because the brown bastards in my bowels were held back for too long, eventually being sucked back far beyond the reach and the good will of my rectum muscles.
I'm a happy camper when comes poopoo time. I revel with pleasure when I hold back the gifts of digestion. It makes me shiver and my arm hairs raise in ecstasy. My arse inevitably breaks into a transparent methane sweat, but to my own amazement, I can't figure out where it comes from. From the shithole? The butt itself? I just can't put my finger on it.
Anyways. After breaking my waters and excreting a couple of tablespoons of this shit juice by way of osmosis, I hit the bathroom. THIS IS THE SECRET POINT IN TIME. If I wait until the sweat stops dripping from my butt, the cruise missile WILL be drawn back in by some mysterious force. If I sit on the ceramic pit before the shit dew appears, nothing will happen until the toilet seat is branded on my ass. I then become impatient, strain too hard, and my anus rips. I lose a few teaspoons of blood in the process, which is not a bad thing, I suppose -- I presume a little bleeding actually helps relieve high blood pressure. But the protruding chunks of exposed rectal flesh do sting like a fucker. Thus I recommend recognizing the signs of the shit ferry: ass sweat, do not loiter with the shivers of pleasure, and then pop out a few babies.
A little about my preferences: I prefer cow piles. Big fat pudding mounds that sit on the bottom of the toilet and protrude out of the water like mud icebergs. These are my pride and joy.
Once I was standing naked in my girlfriend's living room, and shat by accident on the carpet while waiting for her to vacate our only washroom. I shouted a salvo of verbal and anal warnings before the fact, but she herself was unloading her daily prize and could not accommodate me. So after fighting with the inevitable for a couple of minutes, dancing like a moron between the TV set and the couch, I heard a small thump near my right foot. Oh, no. My face flushed with horror. Talk about first impressions. I just moved in a week ago, and as a thank you I pop out a few lumps of crap on my girlfriend's carpet. Dandy.
She walks out, looks me in the eye, wondering what the hell I'm doing there, contorted like an imbecile. Another thump. This time it lands square between my legs. She goes: "Is it what I think it is...?"
The shame I felt. I could have let 'it' all out in a final answer to her question, but the last remnants of my dignity commended me to whisper "yes"; and, careful not to let any more shit drop out of my tired ass, I tippy-toed to the washroom to evacuate what was remaining of my now public and disgraceful turds.
Timing is everything.