The time I took an hour-long shit

Being a shitter (n. A person who takes shits) is a lot like being a baseball player.

Sometimes you're in the zone and then you get in a slump. For one reason or another, a major leaguer, paid millions for his services, cannot for the life of him hit the ball well. Same goes for a shitter. You can be in a month-long zone where every shit you take is a well-packed turd and becomes a one-wiper. But then you fall into a slump.

I, friends, am in a slump.

Saturday night I got home around 1 a.m. and had been gassy as hell the last few hours. Probably the tacos at Jack in the Box. It would've been in my best interest to pump out a crap like an hour before I left where I was, but it was the wrong time, wrong place.

So I waited. Bad move.

Rule No. 1 about taking a good dump: When you first feel it, go for it. If you wait, it just makes a mess and takes a chunk out of your day.

But I broke the cardinal about taking a good dump and it cost me. Severely.

I sat down around 1:05 and everything was working fine. I settled down with a three-week-old issue of SI, read about the increasingly-popular dribble-drive-motion offense being run at many high schools and colleges, the race in the NBA Western Conference and Miguel Tejada's hero status in the DR.

That took about 25 minutes. And I still hadn't gotten to wiping.

Now our pal Lozo says that no crap should take longer than five minutes. Au contraire, Mr. Lozo. Au contraire. After 25 minutes, I was just getting started.

I'd prefer to not be graphic, but after about a half an hour, I still felt the pressure of some excrement, but it just couldn't work its way out.

This is where things got dicey.

My legs were asleep, my ass was asleep and I was out of reading material. I knew I wasn't done, but I needed aid in working the shit out of my body.

I walked around.

Pants around ankles, I walked into my living room, watched some SportsCenter and waited. It worked, too, as when I sat back down, I was able to work a bit out. But I still wasn't done.

So I walked around some more. I thought about doing some jumping jacks, but still covered in my own feces, feared a potential spray on the white carpet.

Around 2 a.m., I was fed up. I was trying to get to bed at a reasonable time and was sick of sitting around covered in my movements.

I wiped, pulled my pants up, and walked away, pretending nothing happened.

But something clearly had. I may never be the same...