GagDragon

Posts Tagged ‘blue poo goo’

i need to get this off of my chest.
im hoping that there are others out there like me that follow the same process.
im aware that this all might sound like too much information, but im aware of the issue and im willing to change.
ive googled, ive looked in the phone book, ive used craigslist.

it all started when i was 7 years old.
it was 1986, i remember the news talking of chernobyl.
roger clemens was on the tv. he looked pretty toight.
i went with my uncle to a fair or carnival or something outdoors.
it was brisk. not warm. but not cold enough to wear anything but the hoody and jeans combo made accessible by the chicago weather 6 months out of the year.
i had a large corn dog. it had girth.
i had a lemon shake up.
its tartness caused a bungle in my jungle and i was quickly listening to the sounds of my stomach tell me that a movement of my bowels was emminent.

i heeded its call.

photo credit: r.j.wagner

up until this point i had done what i suppose everyone did. i never knew any better. so i continued on this way in the portapotty.

a few seconds after my 15 minute squat/hover BM was nearing completion, i went in to complete the seance. i did it how i always did it.

but ever since that day i havent been able to do it how i used to do it, i do it how i do it now.
the feeling of goo and mush and BLUE haunt my dreams.
i remember pulling my hand back and the cuff of my hoody was bright blue, my swatch watch face wasnt even visible through the layers of fecal matter and blue opaque paper. the smell? it wasnt that bad actually since everything on my wrist and cuff and sleeve were coated in blue liquid.
it wasnt until i went and attempted to rid my arm of the poop of rural america that the real aroma started to make its way to the front of the scent stage. i wasnt leaving this portapotty without a scar so disgusting, so vile, so VIVIDLY PUTRID that i would never tell anyone of what happened in there.
this was so traumatizing that in grade school, we read upton sinclair’s the jungle and the term PIG SHIT IN TURPENTINE was used to describe the slaughterhouse waste pits, well i knew exactly what pig shit in turpentine smelled like, except i remember vividly looking at my wrist like one would look to tell time and seeing a turd holding individual niblets of corn and full sauteed onions and the random string of a noodle – all dripping off of my swatch watch.

i didnt have much time, my uncle was waiting right outside the shitshack and he was a drinker! his patience was as thin as my chances of ever forgetting this day. i had to think, FAST.
i rolled nearly an entire roll of portapotty toilet paper around my right hand, ripped it from the dispenser and grabbed the human shit hanging from my watch. the first attempt only took off the outer core of human feces, so i freed the second roll of toilet paper from the dispenser and rather than wiping with my hand, i invented a technique i call the “swatch watch watch wipe (patent pending)” where i took the roll of toilet paper and wiped the watch face using the roll itself and unrolled it as i wiped more poo onto its paper.
i was a good 8 feet into this second roll when i decided to ditch the swatch watch into the blue poo water, it couldnt be salvaged through all of this poo.
i daintily undid the strap and tried to shake it free, but there was blue opaque poo paper stuck to the little plastic tab that fits into the strap, as i pulled the strap away from the watch the blue opaque poo paper was oozing through the tiny hole in the watch strap, causing blue poo water to drip onto the floor. i hurredly spread my feet like a kid in 2006 playing dance dance revolution and this sudden motion caused the blue opaque poop paper being threaded through the watch strap hole to SNAP! and a tiny firework of blue poo water splashed onto my face, hoody front and jeans, but at least i was able to easily ditch the swatch watch into the void of blue poo water.
it tumbled in slow motion from my brown and blue encrusted wrist and splashed out of the blue poo water chasm and just missed my brand new white imitation payless off brand reebok blacktops.
things were starting to look up, or so i thought.
WHAP WHAP WHAP JOEL! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN THERE? my uncle slaps the outside of the portapotty causing my balance to wane for a split second and my only proof of a clean appendage was clumsily thrust into the side car type grey plastic urinal to my right as i tried to steady myslf with whatever i could grab. the tops of my knuckles were touching the pink urinal cake and my hand pulled away sticky with a not just a sticky sensation, but a syrupy consistency in between each of my four non thumb fingers.
i was completely up shit creek, holding remnants of said creek on my left wrist and back of the hand, while my right hand was cupped like a hoof and the fingers stuck together with a combination of jizz, piss and pudding. i had tiny blue dots on my hoody. my jeans had the faint residual splashes suffered by my hoody as well. i could feel a droplet of blue poo goo on my cheek dripping, dripping, dripping down towards my chin. but my shoes were clean.

it’s time to act joel, make a fuckin move dude.

i quickly used my sticky hand to wrap my shitty and blue poo goo decorated left wrist in the sleeve of my hoody and i slowly and erotically began to wipe my wrist towards my finger tips with the hoody. this hoody was getting the axe. i had enough sweat and adrenaline pumping through my veins i could melt butter with my aura, screw the potential shiver.
i had successfully pulled my left hand from the hoody sleeve and was about to pull my head through the hole when i remembered the drip of blue poo goo on my cheek and not wanting to smear it, i dabbed at my face with the right sleeve that was still where a sleeve ought to sit.
after a successfull blue poo goo dab, i extracted my head through the hoody birth canal and took to the task of unstickying my right hand.
it was impossible to get it clean, but at least i could potentially stop the fingers from sticking to themselves long enough to get another lemon shake up and do the ice cube hand warsh.
i rubbed the right hand on the inside of the hoody and settled for a right hand with enough lint to allow my fingers to regain their independence from one another. it was a success! i had completely freed myself of the hoody and had shoveled off the poo from my left wrist and covered up the sticky icky on my right hand with hoody lint.

now what was i going to do about the fact that my wrist, from about 6 inches below onto my forearm and a few inches up onto the back of my hand was completely fucking stained blue from the blue poo goo?

i didnt have much time. i tossed the hoody at my feet.

i held my breath and dunked my right, albeit lint covered, wrist into the chasm of blue poo goo. as soon as my wrist came up over the toilet seat i lunged towards the piled up hoody at my feet and dabbed dabbed dabbed dabbed until i couldnt feel any temperature differential between wrists and i knew that i was dry.

i carefully picked up the hoody and gently tossed it into the chasm of blue poo goo and watched as it gurgled its last few gurgles of life as my hoody and went under.

i slid back the porta potty door lock and saw a line of about 15 people waiting to use the porta potty i just changed my life in.
my uncle was talking to a guy with a cut off shirt with an indian striking an oncoming buffalo on it and a rat tail. i could see my breath and the steam coming off of my neck and arms.

i knew i had grown up and died a little at the same time in that porta potty

i now stand and wipe.