I have come to realize that if I take a yogurt at night and have a bowl of cheerios in the morning, a deuce will inevitably follow within 5-10 minutes of finishing the bowl of cereal. Without the cheerios, I can store the very sludge that wants so desperately to come out for hours. Therefore, life is so much better when I have the time and inclination to eat a bowl of cheerios in the morning.
This particular morning, the cheerios induced deuce allowed me to flawlessly relinquish 1.4 pounds of excrement. At the sight of it, I thought I had dropped off two pounds. It must have not been a dense dump, becuase it created a mound that pierced the sky. In fact, I was in danger of leaving such an architectural wonder that had I released any more building blocks the deuce tower would have approached my cement factory.
---Deuces Wild
How to Enjoy the Deuce Diaries
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Friday, January 2, 2009
Sad Truth
The holidays came and went and the deuce diaries failed to earn me any christmas cash. In an ominous reverse game of chicken or the egg, it is unclear which died first the ad revenue or the deuce writing. While the holiday overeating led first to some constipation and then to some soft semi-sloppy craps, nothing worthy of print occurred. I believe I broke the record for the Deuces Wild's largest deuce in history, but I failed to the proper measurements before and after the big show. It started off with a firm log that felt as if it could end the performance. But after a brief squeeze, the rest of the load was dropped into the hatch prepared for launch. That seems to be a familiar story these days.
I digress. Allow me to get to the point. There is only so much time I can devote to blogging about my dumps without some sort of financial benefit. There are great links on the side bars for such products as the self-wipe toilet aid. In case it is absent, you can check it out here: Self Wiper I don't know why but there is something about this product and the picture that makes me laugh. I probably won't be laughing when some sort of debilitation forces me to buy it. Until then, I'll get some joy out of the picture of the arm flexing and holding an anal wiping apparatus.
Let me get to the point. I have a few more hilarious stories that need to be shared. But you must do your part. Show me the money! And give me some feedback in the comments while you are at it. In the meantime, I am going to go lay down. I ate too much Indian food and am suffering through a minor case of the mud butt. I had a few thick squirts of dirty, curry-fried butt cream and am hopeful that a going horizontal may keep the remaining feces in place within the intestines until it has ample opportunity to solidify.
Until next time....
I digress. Allow me to get to the point. There is only so much time I can devote to blogging about my dumps without some sort of financial benefit. There are great links on the side bars for such products as the self-wipe toilet aid. In case it is absent, you can check it out here: Self Wiper I don't know why but there is something about this product and the picture that makes me laugh. I probably won't be laughing when some sort of debilitation forces me to buy it. Until then, I'll get some joy out of the picture of the arm flexing and holding an anal wiping apparatus.
Let me get to the point. I have a few more hilarious stories that need to be shared. But you must do your part. Show me the money! And give me some feedback in the comments while you are at it. In the meantime, I am going to go lay down. I ate too much Indian food and am suffering through a minor case of the mud butt. I had a few thick squirts of dirty, curry-fried butt cream and am hopeful that a going horizontal may keep the remaining feces in place within the intestines until it has ample opportunity to solidify.
Until next time....
Monday, December 8, 2008
The Missing Days
I should say that for the past month and a half I have stayed exclusively with the dannon activia yogurt. The days of switching back and forth between yogurt, nothing, and align gi caused so many troubles it wasn't worth it. While there are few food more vile after a night of heavy drinking, there are few activities more vile than uncontrollable diarrhea. While this past month and a half have been mainly uneventful, there were some concerning incidents. Unfortunately, I do not have the details to pin down the exact root of the problem.
But there was a binge week that created its own nightmares. There were three straight days of three-deuce extravaganzas. Having been there, done that at this point, I wasn't too excited or concerned. But following these festivals of deuce, was a long weekend of alcohol and greasy food. The Friday night began with a mix of dark beers and a half-pint of Pabst blue ribbon. The following morning began my first all-day drinking fiesta in years. College football started at noon, and so did the drinking. College football continued until midnight, and so did the drinking. Pro football started Sunday at 10 am and so did the massive headache and wet pudding craps. In between this time was fried food, cheesy food, and general greasiness. Oh, and I can't forget the college football pause for Indian food. Lots and lots of spicy Indian food was inhaled in a drunken rage.
Now that I had started indulging, I was on a roll. The next few days continued with french fries, hamburgers, nachos, cake, pie and other fatty foods. Then came the return of the Bluddeanous. It started with just a touch of red within the mounds of brown. Nothing to be concerned about as this has occurred before. Soon enough, however, came rivers of blood. Not just a drop or two, it appeared as if the toilet was in the ER. This occurred for a few days and got to the point where I would crap more blood than...well.... crap. Not good. Not good at all. But having just written the post about my anal suppository experience, I was well-refreshed in what would happen if I went to the doctor with my bloody secret. So I kept it to myself (and the toilet bowl of course) and prayed that I would heal on my own. I should mention that I also saw an ER episode where a woman died bleeding out of her butt. There are some embarrassing ways to say goodbye to the physical world, but I can think of few worse than being done in by a leaky hemorrhoid. So I monitored the situation and thankfully my deuces returned to normal (at least normal for me) after a few healthy meals and added fiber to the diet.
But there was a binge week that created its own nightmares. There were three straight days of three-deuce extravaganzas. Having been there, done that at this point, I wasn't too excited or concerned. But following these festivals of deuce, was a long weekend of alcohol and greasy food. The Friday night began with a mix of dark beers and a half-pint of Pabst blue ribbon. The following morning began my first all-day drinking fiesta in years. College football started at noon, and so did the drinking. College football continued until midnight, and so did the drinking. Pro football started Sunday at 10 am and so did the massive headache and wet pudding craps. In between this time was fried food, cheesy food, and general greasiness. Oh, and I can't forget the college football pause for Indian food. Lots and lots of spicy Indian food was inhaled in a drunken rage.
Now that I had started indulging, I was on a roll. The next few days continued with french fries, hamburgers, nachos, cake, pie and other fatty foods. Then came the return of the Bluddeanous. It started with just a touch of red within the mounds of brown. Nothing to be concerned about as this has occurred before. Soon enough, however, came rivers of blood. Not just a drop or two, it appeared as if the toilet was in the ER. This occurred for a few days and got to the point where I would crap more blood than...well.... crap. Not good. Not good at all. But having just written the post about my anal suppository experience, I was well-refreshed in what would happen if I went to the doctor with my bloody secret. So I kept it to myself (and the toilet bowl of course) and prayed that I would heal on my own. I should mention that I also saw an ER episode where a woman died bleeding out of her butt. There are some embarrassing ways to say goodbye to the physical world, but I can think of few worse than being done in by a leaky hemorrhoid. So I monitored the situation and thankfully my deuces returned to normal (at least normal for me) after a few healthy meals and added fiber to the diet.
Friday, December 5, 2008
12-5-08
After my morning bowl of cereal, and before my morning wee, I released 2.1 pounds of excrement. Some of that had to be the urination that was stored through the night, but I was still impressed. The first half pound (that's a guess, no intermediate measurement was taken) was expelled with ease. Then I hit the deucer's equivalent of the runner's wall. I knew I had more left deep in me, but I was stuck at a stopping point. I did something the doctors have told me countless times not to do. I gave it a little squeeze or two. After I squeezed off a few rounds, the river of dump started flowing. The last pound came out effortlessly and I am now ready to start my day.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Bluddeanous: The aftermath
As I have mentioned before, there are some stories that I should learn to keep private. Especially since there are individuals out there who know the real identity of Deuces Wild. Would Clark Kent parade around in nut-hugging red speedos over blue tights if people knew he was superman? Probably not. So it is with great hesitation that I share this next story. But as they say in show business, the deuce must go on.
After being diagnosed with hemorrhoids, the doctor wanted to make sure I didn't get an infection. It makes sense, the last thing I would want is green puss excreting from an infected inner anus. If I were my own doctor, I would have recommended that I take antibiotics.
Instead, I was required to take the equivalent of anal neosporin. Probably the grossest prescription known to man: the anal suppository. These bullet shaped hole pluggers needed to be rinsed to moisten the exterior. Then all 2 or 3 inches of it needed to be inserted into my rectum. This was certainly far from enjoyable in its own right. But the results were almost as bad.
The first result of being rammed in the anus was that my fingers would smell like the nastiest place on earth (the Deuces Wild's deucer). Given the raw stench that comes out of my ass, there is no reason to put things at the source. The second result was even worse. As the days would go on, the warmth of my lower intestines would melt the suppositories into a creamy goo. The creamy goo would turn into a creamy brownish white substance that would leak into my underwear. And as being such a deucer, you may have guessed that I tend to expel some noxious gasses more often than most individuals. What you can also probably deduce, farts with a melted gooey suppository are a bad combination. The more explosive the roars from below, the greater the fall out damage was. Each blast required the awkward duckwalk as the goo crawled its way around my lower region in an uncomfortable manner. On lucky days during the suppository times, my boxers would have a gentle creamy stain, creating mild discomfort before they were thankfully removed. On the worst of days, they would be a warzone with caustic debris spattered all over them. Of course there were a few casualties of boxers that needed to be discarded and pants that needed to be triple cleaned before being used again. But while the dirty river of poo-infused, melted neosporin-like cream found its way to deep corners of my skin, there was no green infected puss.
So while I stood humiliated yet again, I at least lived to crap another day. Many days in fact. And with the conclusion of the Bluddeanous Period, it would be several more years into the deuce era before I realized that my bomb-dropping habits were far from normal.
Stay tuned..
After being diagnosed with hemorrhoids, the doctor wanted to make sure I didn't get an infection. It makes sense, the last thing I would want is green puss excreting from an infected inner anus. If I were my own doctor, I would have recommended that I take antibiotics.
Instead, I was required to take the equivalent of anal neosporin. Probably the grossest prescription known to man: the anal suppository. These bullet shaped hole pluggers needed to be rinsed to moisten the exterior. Then all 2 or 3 inches of it needed to be inserted into my rectum. This was certainly far from enjoyable in its own right. But the results were almost as bad.
The first result of being rammed in the anus was that my fingers would smell like the nastiest place on earth (the Deuces Wild's deucer). Given the raw stench that comes out of my ass, there is no reason to put things at the source. The second result was even worse. As the days would go on, the warmth of my lower intestines would melt the suppositories into a creamy goo. The creamy goo would turn into a creamy brownish white substance that would leak into my underwear. And as being such a deucer, you may have guessed that I tend to expel some noxious gasses more often than most individuals. What you can also probably deduce, farts with a melted gooey suppository are a bad combination. The more explosive the roars from below, the greater the fall out damage was. Each blast required the awkward duckwalk as the goo crawled its way around my lower region in an uncomfortable manner. On lucky days during the suppository times, my boxers would have a gentle creamy stain, creating mild discomfort before they were thankfully removed. On the worst of days, they would be a warzone with caustic debris spattered all over them. Of course there were a few casualties of boxers that needed to be discarded and pants that needed to be triple cleaned before being used again. But while the dirty river of poo-infused, melted neosporin-like cream found its way to deep corners of my skin, there was no green infected puss.
So while I stood humiliated yet again, I at least lived to crap another day. Many days in fact. And with the conclusion of the Bluddeanous Period, it would be several more years into the deuce era before I realized that my bomb-dropping habits were far from normal.
Stay tuned..
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Bluddeanous Period: the conclusion
To recap, the bluddeanous period of my life was a not-so-fresh moment. The discovery of red globs in my dump had put me on edge. The doctors put me on more edge when they made me scrape out dingleberries and poop smears to share with them and when a dirty old man put his finger up my butt. At this point, they decided to scare me with all the terrible things a little rectal bleeding could mean. Cancer, colon polyps, celiac disease, and a host of other things that inevitably lead to death or a lifetime of suffering. So then came the next step....The anal probe.
The anal probe is not a pleasant step in the Bluddeanous Period. It wasn't just the probing of my anus that concerned me, it was also what preceded the ass exploration. And all of this is conducted under a shroud of fear that this may be the last time I count on growing old and possibly accomplishing something great (like blogging about my deucing).
I was scheduled for a colonoscopy several weeks in advance. So I had plenty of time to fear the preparation for the probe, the probe itself, and the possible results of the probe. The rules for a colonoscopy are simple: Get everything out of the system because the doctor doesn't want to be navigating the brown river as he explores the inner intestines. Nor does the doctor want to be dumped on when the probe in-deuces the deuce.
To prepare for the colonoscopy I had to stop eating and limit myself to water only for some time before the big event. I remember 18 hours, but looking online I've seen doctors request a full day. I don't quite remember how long it was, but that was not the difficult part. There was one thing that I was allowed to have...actually one thing that I was required to have in the hours preceding the exploration of my anus. I had to take a very strong laxative. At first I felt a few rumbles. Then I had a very smooth and easy dump. It was almost like drunk people "breaking the seal" by urinating. Once I took this first crap, the floodgates were open. I was enjoying a nice episode of the Golden Girls at the time. Rose was in the process of saying something stupid when my stomach spoke to me forcefully. The gurgles begged me to escape this miserable show and head to the bathroom. Hell hath no fury like a second bowel movement after a pre-colonoscopy laxative. I felt like Harry in Dumb and Dumber. I wished I had a handle by the toilet to brace myself when chunky brown liquid explosively shot from colon. It was wet and it was sloppy. And it was seemingly never-ending. But it did end. And I got back to the tv just in time to see Blanche give me weird feelings as she was acting slutty before I had to return to the bathroom to expel some goo (brown goo, not white goo you perverts, Blanche isn't that sexy).
The night involved being within five feet of the bathroom, which unfortunately was inside the smell-zone radius. I felt urges to fart, but wisely headed to the toilet before attempting to release some gas. Eight out of ten fart urges would have stained my pants had I not taken the precaution. As the night wore on, the deuces evolved from chunky brown liquid, to smooth brown liquid, to yellow liquid with brown sea anemones swimming within, to yellow liquid, to light yellow liquid and finally to near clear liquid. By the end of it, my ass was wiped raw and my boxers needed to be thrown out.
After my colon had fully been cleansed, it was doctor time. The procedure was in the hospital and I had to put on the gown. I never understood why they have the back open for your butt to hang out. If it was reversed, the patient could at least hold the gown closed when the doctor wasn't examining unchartered crevices. Instead, people like me are left demeaned holding the butt of the garb together or exposing their rear end to all the nurses and hospital employees. We should really start a petition to get the gown gap reversed. But I digress.
The last thing I remember from the colonoscopy was being told that I would be awake during the procedure but wouldn't feel a thing or remember it. I was shown the screen would display my bowels to the seemingly full room of doctors, interns and others who wanted to see my anus. Since I thought I might die, I invited my parents. I don't remember if they were in the room when the gown was spread open to reveal my chocolate starfish, but I care not to ask. Some things are better not thought about. So with a room full of people, I was given drugs then the business.
The anal probe revealed that I simply had a case of hemmorhoids. A young recent college grad had the same anal disfunction as an old grandpa. But at least it wasn't anything serious. I thought I would get some preparation H and be on my way. Unfortunately, the doctor had a prescription that I wish I had enough drugs to forget the same way I forgot the anal probe. That my friends, is a story for another day.
The anal probe is not a pleasant step in the Bluddeanous Period. It wasn't just the probing of my anus that concerned me, it was also what preceded the ass exploration. And all of this is conducted under a shroud of fear that this may be the last time I count on growing old and possibly accomplishing something great (like blogging about my deucing).
I was scheduled for a colonoscopy several weeks in advance. So I had plenty of time to fear the preparation for the probe, the probe itself, and the possible results of the probe. The rules for a colonoscopy are simple: Get everything out of the system because the doctor doesn't want to be navigating the brown river as he explores the inner intestines. Nor does the doctor want to be dumped on when the probe in-deuces the deuce.
To prepare for the colonoscopy I had to stop eating and limit myself to water only for some time before the big event. I remember 18 hours, but looking online I've seen doctors request a full day. I don't quite remember how long it was, but that was not the difficult part. There was one thing that I was allowed to have...actually one thing that I was required to have in the hours preceding the exploration of my anus. I had to take a very strong laxative. At first I felt a few rumbles. Then I had a very smooth and easy dump. It was almost like drunk people "breaking the seal" by urinating. Once I took this first crap, the floodgates were open. I was enjoying a nice episode of the Golden Girls at the time. Rose was in the process of saying something stupid when my stomach spoke to me forcefully. The gurgles begged me to escape this miserable show and head to the bathroom. Hell hath no fury like a second bowel movement after a pre-colonoscopy laxative. I felt like Harry in Dumb and Dumber. I wished I had a handle by the toilet to brace myself when chunky brown liquid explosively shot from colon. It was wet and it was sloppy. And it was seemingly never-ending. But it did end. And I got back to the tv just in time to see Blanche give me weird feelings as she was acting slutty before I had to return to the bathroom to expel some goo (brown goo, not white goo you perverts, Blanche isn't that sexy).
The night involved being within five feet of the bathroom, which unfortunately was inside the smell-zone radius. I felt urges to fart, but wisely headed to the toilet before attempting to release some gas. Eight out of ten fart urges would have stained my pants had I not taken the precaution. As the night wore on, the deuces evolved from chunky brown liquid, to smooth brown liquid, to yellow liquid with brown sea anemones swimming within, to yellow liquid, to light yellow liquid and finally to near clear liquid. By the end of it, my ass was wiped raw and my boxers needed to be thrown out.
After my colon had fully been cleansed, it was doctor time. The procedure was in the hospital and I had to put on the gown. I never understood why they have the back open for your butt to hang out. If it was reversed, the patient could at least hold the gown closed when the doctor wasn't examining unchartered crevices. Instead, people like me are left demeaned holding the butt of the garb together or exposing their rear end to all the nurses and hospital employees. We should really start a petition to get the gown gap reversed. But I digress.
The last thing I remember from the colonoscopy was being told that I would be awake during the procedure but wouldn't feel a thing or remember it. I was shown the screen would display my bowels to the seemingly full room of doctors, interns and others who wanted to see my anus. Since I thought I might die, I invited my parents. I don't remember if they were in the room when the gown was spread open to reveal my chocolate starfish, but I care not to ask. Some things are better not thought about. So with a room full of people, I was given drugs then the business.
The anal probe revealed that I simply had a case of hemmorhoids. A young recent college grad had the same anal disfunction as an old grandpa. But at least it wasn't anything serious. I thought I would get some preparation H and be on my way. Unfortunately, the doctor had a prescription that I wish I had enough drugs to forget the same way I forgot the anal probe. That my friends, is a story for another day.
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