September 2, 2009

  • Meet my butt:

    Butt1

    Butt and I have always had a great relationship–one based on trust and mutual respect.

    As my body’s primary exit orifice, Butt has the very important job of getting all the stinky gas and poop I’ve accumulated out of my system. This is by no means an easy task, especially if you’re my butt because my daily diet consists of cheddar cheese and coffee. Most butts would have quit after a day, but Butt is different. It thrives in challenging situations, and practically welcomes them. Got a rock-hard doot kernel that won’t fit through your butt hole? Butt will squeeze it out–even if it means it has to sit on the toilet for 10 minutes, and push so hard your face turns red and your body sweats bullets. Sudden gas attack when you’re in a crowded room? Not only will Butt release the tension without making a sound, it will do it with such force that the toxic fart will smell like it’s coming from someone else.

    Despite all the great things Butt does for me, I can’t bestow it with the title of Awesomely Awesome Butt of Awesomeness. I’d like to, but I can’t because unfortunately, it has one very unpleasant flaw:

    Butt2

    No, I don’t have a problem with my butt having sharp teeth (whose doesn’t?). My problem with Butt is that it likes to eat toilet paper.

    It happens randomly. I’ll be wiping myself clean after taking a satisfying dump, and Butt will suddenly take a bite out of the 2-ply:

    MunchMark  

    I don’t understand where this behavior is coming from. Butt and I have always worked according to certain rules, one being “no clenching during a wipe.” And it’s usually very mindful of the importance of obedience, which is why I find this occasional rebellion so shocking…and disgusting. Sure, Butt’s happy about having a snack, but what about me? I mean, there’s a scrap of toilet paper up my butt. What am I supposed to do? Leave it there? It’s probably got crap on it! I’ve got no choice but to do the unthinkable before this doodoo tissue rots in my ass–i.e., I have to pick it out.

    Cats

    And forget trying to have a heart-to-heart with Butt. It never listens anyway. I bet it’ll just blame me for causing its snack attacks.  

    Butt3

    Damn you, Butt. Damn you!

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