Shit Stories Part IX: Shit Adjacent and Tangent Stories

Foreword: In this entry, I didn’t transition between my thoughts very well. All these thoughts are interesting, tangental, and related so I want to keep them all together. But at the same time, I don’t want to clog it up with more sentences just for the sake of transitioning between thoughts without adding any additional content. …Okay, that was a lie, I’m just too lazy to put in the time to turn this shit story into a masterfully written shit story. Plus, I didn’t get any sleep and wrote about shit all night while having chocolate milk diarrhea so give me a break, alright?

Am I dozing off or just staring at my boobs? Why not both? Oh shit, I stole Ted's line.

Am I dozing off or just staring at my boobs? Why not both? Oh shit, I stole Ted’s line.

Some of you might wonder what the heck “shit adjacent” even means. I don’t mean it literally because the story doesn’t involve me standing next to a piece of shit or anything. In fact, there’s no actual shit in the story. It’s like when you’re taking a shit and you’re mentally prepared for shit to appear but you can’t push anything out. That is the analogy I have chosen. I chose a shitting analogy to describe my shit story. Actually, it’s not even an analogy because that’s basically the whole story, told in the guise of an analogy.

I am also shit adjacent.

I am also shit adjacent.

As a guy, I follow the convention that I should pee standing up. So when I falsely think that I need to shit and I’m s(h)itting but nothing comes out, I have to try really hard to squeeze some shit out and if nothing comes out in the end, I feel a bit of shame for having peed sitting down. That is some fucked up retarded emotions. I know that intellectually but it doesn’t stop me from feeling this way. Feelings are so gay. And by gay, I mean retarded. Which one is more offensive? “Why not write both?” – me. (…Everything I write is in my word so I wonder why I bothered quoting myself…)

And I'm ashamed of peeing while standing. Wait. Why am I taking a picture of this?

And I’m ashamed of peeing while standing. Wait. Why am I taking a picture of this?

That last section is interesting to me. I’m obviously aware that I am potentially offending a lot of people but I wrote it anyway. Why? Because it’s funny to me. I only wrote it because I found it funny and I chose not to censor my comedy. But what makes it so funny? It’s funny because of how easily I can offend so many groups of people. If people didn’t get offended by this stuff, it wouldn’t have been funny to me and I wouldn’t have written it, thus, not having created anything for them to be offended by. Ironically, it’s because they DO get offended that there’s more of this stuff to offend them.

Let me put on my "nerd" glasses and smile and pretend I understood what you just read.

Let me put on my “nerd” glasses and smile and pretend I understood what you just read.

Girls living with guys often complain about them not putting the seat back down. I wonder why I never hear complaints about guys not lifting the seats up at all and peeing all over the seat. There’s no way this never happened. I guess people just generally don’t talk about shit and piss as casually as I do. Where’s our thanks for not peeing all over the seat? Even if we end up peeing all over the floor, at least you’re not sitting in our urine. I also never hear guys complaining about girls always leaving the seat down. Mathematically speaking, the guy would’ve lifted the seat up as many times as the girl had to put the seat down. She may complain about having accidentally sat in the bowl with no seat, maybe even touching some CLEAN toilet water, but that’s not the same as peeing on the seat (because our urethra is set to shower setting) and having to clean up the urine. You also never hear about a guy who sat in the bowl without the seat. It would seem that guys are conditioned to always check the seat status with every toilet visit where girls have a problem of assuming it’s down.

Stop complaining about the seat you guys. Do you want to pee in snow instead?

Stop complaining about the seat you guys. Do you want to pee in snow instead?

So many hypothetical girlfriends have left me for being thoughtless and counter nagging them. It’s thoughts like these that keep me in the single and virgin statuses. To continue counter nagging my hypothetical girlfriend, I’m actually not thoughtless at all as evidenced by the amount of thought put into this blog.

 I'm one of those hypothetical girlfriends. I'm so hypothetical that I don't even have a head.


I’m one of those hypothetical girlfriends. I’m so hypothetical that I don’t even have a head.

Shit Stories Part VIII: Asshole Hair

Finally, the asshole hair story has arrived. …Actually I take that back. I’m going to delay that story a little more… I hope I’m not inadvertently hyping up that story too much.

Delayed again?

Delayed again?

(edited) I’m often amazed at how young pretty girls (like this one http://acaffeinatedbrunette.com/about/) actually appreciates my shit humor. Too bad that the closest I ever get to these girls is over the safe distant gap of the internet. The thought of a pretty girl laughing at my shit and gaping hairy asshole is a bittersweet image. I should post pictures of gorgeous girls in my Shit Stories to create a wonderful contrast of imagery.

I'm a pretty girl too, right?

I’m a pretty girl too, right?

Hmm… That’s actually not a bad idea. I should post random pictures of pretty girls to my shit stories just for a laugh. It’s hilarious because it subliminally associates these pretty girls to my shit stories. If 10 people likes this entry, I’ll make it happen.

Because of this stupid context I got mixed up in, now it looks like I've having an accident.

Because of this stupid context I got mixed up in, now it looks like I’ve having an accident.

Finally, for real this time: Asshole Hair. I’m asian and don’t have body hair for the most part so it freaks me out to know that I have hair in a place as disgusting as my asshole. Because I can’t actually see it, I have some denial of its existence. Maybe I’m too smart for my own good because I can’t fool myself and I know it’s there. I know it’s real because I can feel it when I scrub my asshole during showers.

I'm asian and scrubbing my hair too. I'm talking about the other hand you can't see.

I’m asian and scrubbing my hair too. I’m talking about the other hand you can’t see.

I’ve been paying more attention to my shits lately to gather material for this blog. (It’s sad that this is what my life has become… a shit blogger…) I was thinking about my asshole hair one day and realized something disgusting about it. When I shit, those asshole hairs are bound to get smeared with fecal matter. And when I wipe, because I’m not wiping each strand of asshole hair individually, there’s no way they’re clean. Does this mean I spend most of my days with traces of shit in my pants? Since I’m not the only one with asshole hair, that means most people are walking around with shit in their pants. For sanitary reasons, I want to get rid of those hairs but there’s no way I can do that on my own; it’s a recipe for a comedic disaster. Maybe I need to pay someone to trim my asshole hair. I feel sorry for whoever has that job.

Does that... does that mean I have shit in my pants too? =(

Does that… does that mean I have shit in my pants too? =(

Shit Stories Part VII: Chocolate Milk Diarrhea

Before I get to the asshole hair story, I’d like to update you on my chocolate milk diarrhea situation. As I predicted, there was more to come and it was knocking very impatiently on my asshole door as I was posting part VI. Fortunately, everything worked out and I don’t have a new disgusting shit story to write about. (Hmm… maybe it was a misfortune that I didn’t shit my pants.) In an earlier Shit Story, I had written about how some of my shits are very urgent and I barely make my way from my room to the washroom. I spend most of my life being unemployed and I had wondered if my impatient diarrhea would render me unfit to work. Since I’ve had so much time to think about shit on the shitter in the past hour, I now realize that I don’t have bowel problems at work because I don’t retardedly drink entire cartons of chocolate milk while I’m working.

I know how you feel. I just had a close call too.

I know how you feel. I just had a close call too.

The diarrhea that came out of me just now was very watery. I remember the first time I had watery diarrhea. As a young boy, I knew that girls don’t have dicks but I didn’t know what a vagina was yet so I just assumed girls pee from their assholes. Since the watery diarrhea feels a lot like peeing, I thought I had become a girl. I actually checked to see if my dick was still there. Once I felt my own dick, I was relieved that I hadn’t turned girl. That’s what childhood was for me apparently.

Wtf are you reading...

Wtf are you reading…

Shit Stories Part VI: Shit vs. Diet

I’ve started several multi-part topics and it’s interesting that Shit Stories is the most appreciated one. Tonight, I present to you: two more shit stories. So you can, without further ado, do more reading on doo-doo. (Trust me, I hate myself for that lame shit pun more than you can imagine.)

I hate you too, Ted.

I hate you too, Ted.

Much like the way food can affect one’s urine, it can also affect one’s fecal matters. Over the years, I’ve noticed certain foods that affect my shit. When I eat too much meat, I tend to get painful constipations. When I eat too much seaweed, my shit is stinky and pasty and takes many pieces of toilet paper to wipe. When I eat papaya, the shit comes out smelling like papaya… mixed with shit. I don’t know why that hasn’t turned me off from eating papayas.

Papaya.

Papaya.

The one (that just happened) which inspired me to write this entry, is drinking a 1L carton of chocolate milk. I’m very lazy so I drink straight from the carton. I’m also hygienic so I never put the carton back in the fridge after I drink straight from it. Combining these two retarded traits means that I often drink a whole litre of chocolate milk in one sitting. I don’t know why I keep do this because it doesn’t feel good to have so much liquid sitting in me. I also sucks to feel myself actively getting fatter. And to put a cherry on top, it always comes out as diarrhea. I really should exercise more discipline and stop drinking entire cartons of chocolate milk. Heck, I should’ve been exercising that discipline 10 diarrheas ago.

Exercise.

Exercise.

The next shit story is about asshole hair. That will be coming up in about an hour, once I finish writing it. Maybe an hour and 10 minutes if there’s more chocolate milk diarrhea coming out of me.

I will sit here waiting and holding it in too.

I will sit here waiting and holding it in too.

Shit Stories Part V

Sometimes at the end of a shit, I try to squeeze out one last piece and I can feel it kinda sorta come out but it won’t detach and I just know that it’s going to be a bad wipe. It’s the complete opposite of a clean shit that doesn’t require wiping. Moments ago, I was taking a shit and it felt like one of those. I stood up and looked in the bowl. Nothing intense: I wasn’t staring or holding up a magnifying glass or anything. I just casually took a glance to see what kind of shit came out of me. I know that it’s perfectly normal behavior but somehow writing it out in words makes it sound perverse or some shit. Anyway, I looked and saw that the shit had pretty normal color and texture, not (black) diarrhea or anything. I wiped with mental preparation that it’s going to be a messy wipe and sure enough, there was… substance. With these lingering shit wipes, it’s always mushy or wet. If it were dry, it would just plop out and not stick to the asshole. So the substance felt a little wet. At this point, everything is still within expectation.

I'm mentally prepared too.

I’m mentally prepared too.

When I felt the moisture during the wipe, I thought I had mistakingly taken too small a piece of toilet and wiped shit on my hand… again… It was turning into a bad day because I hate getting shit on my hand. Then I looked at the toilet paper to see what I had wiped. (Again, I know that this is perfectly normal behavior but it still sounds so fucked up when described.) First off, no shit on my hand, phew, but what I saw surprised the shit out of me. (By the way, it’s kind of retarded that I can’t even tell whether I touched shit or not.) Bear in mind that the crap I just took was painless and normal looking so I wasn’t expecting anything crazy. What I saw on the toilet paper was… pure blood. There was no blood in the toilet bowl, but I wiped blood (with no shit) from my ass. That has never happened to me before. Blood wasn’t oozing out or anything, but there was enough that I felt it through the toilet paper when I wiped with my back turned. The blood was also pretty light colored, almost pink. First I have black diarrhea and now I have pink blood. I’ve been taking some pretty colorful shits.

Hah, coloful.

Hah, coloful.

Shit Stories Part IV

Have you ever played a lot of tennis or badminton or anything else that exhausts your forearms? It’s always amazing how simple actions become harder with tired forearms. I once discovered that after playing hours of badminton, sticking up my middle finger became impossible. Who would’ve thought? And amongst these difficult tasks is wiping your ass. If you keep up with my blog or know me in real life, you would know that I’ve spent the past few months being unemployed and worthless. I do nothing with life and don’t even exercise. But one day, all of a sudden, wiping my ass was as difficult as if I had exercised. I coined a term with my friends where I label my (lack of) actions as next level laziness. I hope that my next level laziness doesn’t make me stop wiping. That would be beyond next level laziness. And even beyond that would be not even bothering to shit in a toilet. Hopefully, I can maintain two levels away from voluntarily shitting my pants.

I play tennis all day and I can still reach my ass.

I play tennis all day and I can still reach my ass.

I have a few theories on why I might have had a difficult time wiping my ass:

Theory A

Maybe I’ve been eating and shitting so much that the repetition of having to wipe has become an exercise.

Theory B

Maybe I jerked off too much. This theory applies because jerking off exercises foremans; not to be mistaken that there’s any relationship between my masturbating and my asshole.

Theory C

Maybe my body just decided to disintegrate and I’m reaching a point in life where I can’t even wipe my own ass or jerk myself off.

You call those theories?

You call those theories?

I try to have more than one story for each of my blog entries and keeping right on track, I have a second shit story. That’s right, I didn’t write that last story for a few days because I was saving up for a second story, not because I’m a lazy shithead who doesn’t work and can’t even keep up a blog. I’m wrapping up the second story right now and it turns out that both these stories are lengthy enough to be their own entries so I’ll publish them separately. If you love these shit stories, buckle down because the next story will be coming up in a few minutes if it isn’t out already.

I can't wait.

I can’t wait.

Shit Stories Part III

Let’s talk about the last time I soiled my pants. The last time that I had shit in my pants was when I was ten years old at the CN Tower (tourist attraction in Toronto). I actually don’t remember too much about that day. It would appear to be a repressed memory but it wasn’t THAT bad as far as I could remember. There was definitely shit, but not a lot. It was during lunch and I had to go to the washroom to clear the situation. I remember feeling a lot of shame because I felt I was too old to be shitting myself, especially in public. I don’t remember much else.

Are you hiding anything embarrassing? Are you sure you were ten?

Are you hiding anything embarrassing? Are you sure you were ten?

However, I can remember the last time I pissed my pants in full detail. I was six years old and it was a bed wetting incident. I blamed it to having drank a cup of water before bed and for a decade after, I would never drink anything within two hours before going to bed. I vividly remember the dream I had that night. In the dream, I was in a public washroom with four urinals. I was the only one there and decided to make a game out of it and pee in each urinal equally. I would pee in the first urinal for two seconds, stop, turn to the second urinal and pee in that for two seconds and so on. After the third urinal, I woke up and realized that I was actually peeing in real life too. I wonder if I was also peeing in two second bursts in real life. Since then, every time I’ve had a dream where I was peeing, I would wake up instantly and check if I’ve peed myself again. I was always surprised and relieved to find that I was dry. In a sense, I am a little disappointed that the two theories I developed at six years old about bed wetting (the pee dream and the water) have both been debunked.

I'm not hiding anything under these sheets.

I’m not hiding anything under these sheets.

For those who don’t know, I am an unemployed bum adult man-child. I’m pretty much at home 24/7. On several occasions, I’ve gone through the experience of being fine one minute and then urgently needing to shit the next minute so badly that I barely made it to the toilet before shit bursted out of me. I only had to walk 12 steps of the washroom and I always wonder if I weren’t home during these times, would I have shit myself in public?

Yes. Yes you would have.

Yes. Yes you would have.