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All night I had been plagued with explosive releases of pungent abdominal gas until I deigned to open the rear gate and allow a somewhat cohesive mass to drop into the water filled porcelain bowl upon which I sat. As I sat pondering the day ahead an unnatural squirting sound came from my belly. This was no rumbling, but a definite squirt followed another. There was rumbling, though. The rumbling of colonic distress, but I chose to ignore the ominous warnings.


I returned to bed and suprisingly experienced yet another explosion from that nether portal between my legs. Thinking it was my position that was encouraging my bowels to rid themselves of the noxious fumes, I turned to my right side. Unfortunately, a few minutes later I was blessed with a false fart, signalling a day of total misery in company with the porcelain edifice in our bathroom. Needless to say, the composition of the rectal missignal was sufficiently liquid to transfer a good portion to the sheets under me.


I made a mad dash to the bathroom and sat upon the county sewage interface. As copious amounts of lumpy liquid were expelled into the water below, I stared at the solid leavings, barely digested leavings of the false fart soiling my pajamas. I identified rice, shrimp, pinto beans, seeds of various sorts, and bits of onion. This wasn't from the night before, but from the night before that; in other words, it was right on schedule, but some sort of irritation in my bowels prevented the appropriate absorption of fluid in the ascending, transverse, and descending colon.


I resigned myself to a day of sitting uncomfortably somewhere in our house awaiting a rectal signal to dash to the toilet.


Ah, but was I naive to the physiological events ahead!


As I sat watching television, an odd sensation filled my mouth and my stomach was definitely extremely nauseous. There was no mistaking it. Something was trying to come up.


I ran to the toilet, raised the seat and awaited my body's need to rid itself of the contents of my stomach. I was puzzled though because there was another dinner down there some where. I assumed it was already making its way through the small intestine, so why was I receiving a signal to vomit?


For the record, I do not vomit. The wife vomits on a regular basis. You could say she's practically an expert at regurgitation. When I was in fourth and fifth grade there was a kid whose nickname was "Throw Up." Luckily, the frequent interruptions to class eventually subsided and he went back to his regular name.


But, I do not vomit. On numerous occasions I have had the feeling that my stomach was going to rid itself of something unwated, but mind over body exercises were always successful. Yesterday, that was not the case because my my was too occupied with interpreting anal signals.


Strangely, I did not vomit and returned to my recliner to enjoy the company of Bonita and some buttered toast, the perfect food for upset bowels, I thought. Little did I know my stomach was not in the mood to have any more food, perfect or not, stuffed into it.


A few minutes after finishing the last piece (I had only two) the unmistakable feeling returned and I hurried to the bathroom as I felt air being forced into my mouth. I made it to the bathroom. I got the toilet seat into the elevated position. Unfortunately, the first spasm splashed between my legs. I corrected my aim as the second and subsequent spasms vomited out of my mouth and nose.


Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day trying to relax. The diarrhea stopped and I had one more small vomit just before lying down for a nap.


Considering this was the first time in twenty years, I have to admit it wasn't terribly uncomfortable and hopefully I'll be able to go another twenty years before having to use a toilet for something other than waste products.




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