Summary

An author humorously recounts their experience of writing an article while urgently needing to use the restroom due to constipation.

Abstract

The author of the article is dealing with constipation and decides to multitask by writing a story while on the toilet. They've been struggling with bowel movements for days, exacerbated by stress from selling their house, new job responsibilities, and the pressure to write. The author humorously describes their situation, including the impact of poop-helper medication, the interruption by their son with a math problem, and the urgency to finish the article before the inevitable bowel movement. The article is a lighthearted take on a common human experience, aiming to entertain and relieve the author's guilt over not writing recently.

Opinions

The author finds humor in their own predicament, using it as a source of inspiration for their writing.
They express a need to write quickly due to the impending bowel movement, making light of the situation with jokes and puns.
The author acknowledges that constipation can be a serious issue but chooses to cope with it through humor.
They poke fun at the complexity of "New Math" as presented by their son's homework question.
The author seems to believe that everyone, regardless of status, has to deal with bodily functions, which is a humbling and equalizing aspect of life.

I’ve been constipated for days. Time for some juvenile humor.

Quick! Finish the Story. I Have to Poop

OMG! It’s happening! Run!

Colourbox.com Courtey of Yahoo Free Images

Oh, crap! Literally.

I have to write this quickly, so please forgive any errors. I just took some more poop-helper and it’s starting to work, finally. I’m sitting on the toilet while I write this because, well, I ate 4 cans of alphabet soup yesterday and I am about to have the biggest vowel movement ever!

I haven’t submitted an article to Medium in what feels like forever because of a new morning routine, getting the house ready for sale, and new job duties at a new job. I think the stress has caused me to be constipated. So I decided I’d write a quick story and submit it to alleviate my guilt.

The problem: as I started to write, I felt the beginnings of a major movement.

In fact, I have to poop so bad, I have a lump in my throat. . . I know, sorry, not sorry.

Hey! I wonder? If a clown farts, does it smell funny?

This isn’t my first attempt to finish a story recently. I have written some stuff over the last week or so, but at the end of the article, when I check the word count, I find that I have written 3000 words of rambling, multi-directional crap (see what I did there?).

So I made a vow this morning. I vowed that I would write a quick, short article and submit it to a publication. I need the .04 cents I hope the article makes to pay my income taxes from last year. Yeah, it was a good year. . .

All of a sudden, all the poop-helper I have been taking for the last 3 days decided it was time. Really? Now?

Hey! Did you hear about the constipated accountant? He couldn’t budget. Yep. I said it. I know, constipation can be a serious problem. Is it okay to joke about it? Shit, no!

So, here I am, sitting in my quiet space (on the toilet) with my laptop on my bare lap, typing faster than I ever have, at least 8 words a minute, so I can get this done and get ready for work. Butt I have to poop, badly. In fact, I’d tell a poop joke here, but it’s too corny (silence from the crowd). Poop? Corn? Never mind. Besides, the wombat is peaking out of the cave and I have to concentrate.

Just as I started to relax/push, my 14-year-old son came to me with a math problem. Knocking loudly on the door and almost scaring the crap out of me (I wish), he said, “Dad. Help me with this problem?” I said, “Is it math?” Son: “Yep.” So I told him to tell me the problem.

I don’t know math, but I try. Every time he does this, he already knows the answer. He just wants to test me. I’d rather have a colonoscopy.

He says, “ A boat’s top speed is 12 miles per hour on still water. It’s traveling down river to get to their fishing spot. It takes 3 hours to get there. When they are done fishing, they head up river to go back home. How far away is the fishing spot, how fast were they traveling to get there? How long did it take to get there? How fast were they traveling back home up river, and how long did it take to get back home?”

Silence. “I thought you said one question?”

Son: “It’s New Math. That is one question.” He laughs at his own joke.

Cracking open the door, “Son, I am on the toilet, then I have to get to work. Go ask your mother.”

“She said to ask you. She said you told her you do your best thinking on the toilet.” Smart-asses, everyone of ‘em.

“Okay. Let’s see. . .” I pondered for a few seconds. “If you can answer my question, I’ll answer yours, deal?”

“Deal!” he said, holding his nose closed with one hand and covering his mouth with the other. He thought he had me. I take a shallow breath, barely holding in the brown snake.

Me: “How’d the mathematician figure out his constipation problems?

Son: Thinking he has the answer. “On the toilet!”

Me; “Nope. He worked it out with a pencil. See ya!” I slammed the door shut.

Listen, don’t hate the author.

Poop is the great equalizer. Even the great, and famous, and beautiful have to poop. Although I will admit, as a young teen, I didn’t think pretty girls farted, much less pooped. I learned differently when I joined a fraternity. Marriage confirmed it — women are worse than men.

Uh oh! The turtle is sticking his head out! It’s happening!

Sorry, guys. Gotta go drop the kids at the pool!