Shit Stories Part X: Where Exactly Is My Asshole?

That is a question I ask myself every time I wipe my ass. I want to know this so that I can clean my asshole more effectively. I know where the crack is, that’s obvious, and I know the 5 inch diameter from which I wipe shit. However, I do not know the exact location of my asshole. I could find out by poking around until my finger goes into me but I don’t really want to do that. But if I don’t want to stick my finger in my ass, how would pinpointing the location of my asshole help me clean it better?

You got it down to 5 inches? Lucky.

You got it down to 5 inches? Lucky.

I haven’t poked around my ass too much but if I were to do it, I think I would need to poke upwards, at around 45 degrees. I think that’s the direction that leads inside me. I would be poking upwards as opposed to poking horizontally because that would just be poking where my vagina would be if I were a girl. It’s weird to analyze and write about (and read about) the finer details of an asshole.

45 degrees. Like this.

45 degrees. Like this.

A lot of guys wouldn’t want anything to poke around their assholes because they fear that it might feel gay to have something go up their ass. I’m actually not afraid of the gay part. In fact, writing this blog is actually giving me an urge to try it out. The main thing that’s stopping me is sanitation (or sanity). I don’t want to use my finger because I don’t want to get shit on it. I don’t know how much shit is in a passive asshole and I’m not about to find out with my own naked finger. I don’t want to use disposable gloves because I’m THAT cheap, even though it’s only a couple cents. And I don’t want to use any of my household tools because it would get tainted for life.

Do you want to borrow the vines from my house?

Do you want to borrow the vines from my house?

…Umm… the more I’m writing about this, the more I’m actually curious about fingering my own ass. I shall give strangers on the internet power over my life. If this entry gets more than 100 likes, I will finger my own ass. If it turns out to be a terrible experience, I will have hilarious new material to write about. Even if I don’t get 100 likes, I would probably do it if I read a very convincing testimony. If it turns out that I like it and I don’t have anything funny to say, well, you will have made my shitty life a little better… and gayer. It’s a win-win.

You should try two fingers.

You should try two fingers.

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.

My Mom Vs. Normal Part II

My mom does this thing where she’ll cook something, wait until I take a bite, and then ask me if it’s raw because she isn’t sure. A normal person would easily test it herself if she has any respect for her cooking or the person eating it. She might as well wait until I take a bite and ask if I taste any shit because she forgot if she got shit on her hands from wiping.

This next little section doesn’t really belong here but I’m too lazy to create a new entry for it:

I was just thinking that it would be cool if a friend wanted to hire me as a live-in housekeeper. My main goal is just to keep a roof over my head and avoid having to pay bills. Damn, I’m so jealous of slaves.