My head came flying upward from my bed. I was suddenly and violently awoken from my slumber. I thought a wolverine was tearing away at my stomach. The pain was so excruciating. I wiped the sweat off of my brow, attempted to collect my thoughts, and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

I looked down at my contorted, pulsating stomach: no wolverines. “Thank god,” I thought. He’s definitely my favorite X-Men character, and I was thankful I wouldn’t have to change that. I mean seriously, who else would I pick? Professor X? The dude can’t even walk.

Anyway, I came to the conclusion that this ridiculous pain was coming from inside of my body. I didn’t know what could have been causing it because I didn’t remember eating anything out of the ordinary that day. Maybe… maybe a mother wolverine had her babies in my stomach, and they were having a fucking wolverine-style rampage. Regardless of what was causing this, I knew that I had to shit it out immediately.


When your life is THIS shitty, you might as well go with the flow.

I attempted to get out of bed but doubled over in pain and hit the ground. I was forced to crawl on my hands and knees ten feet to the bathroom. I finally managed to rip my pants off and pull myself on top of the toilet. I was expecting a Harry-from-Dumb and Dumber-type dump, but when I tried to push, nothing came out. I pushed harder this time. Nothing. I could feel the turd in my ass, but this sucker was as thick as a coke can. My asshole just wasn’t big enough to accommodate this behemoth-sized piece of shit.

I sat there and tried to wait this thing out. I’ve had some tough shits in my day, but I have conquered them all. I flipped through magazines and twiddled my thumbs for a good 20 minutes, in horrible pain the entire time. What the fuck was this thing? When I ate all those Pringles last night, did I swallow the entire can?

40 minutes passed, and I was about to collapse from the exhaustion of trying so hard to push this thing out of me. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I fell off of the toilet, pulled my pants up, and crawled my way into the kitchen. I managed to get to my feet and rummaged through the medicine cabinet. I dug around for any sort of stool softener, Ex-Lax, anything. Nothing. It was way too late to drive anywhere, and I was in way too much pain to search much longer.

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Then, I saw it.

The “Fleet” adult enema, latex-free. No fucking way. There is no way I would let myself stick something up my ass. I had a doctor’s billy-club sized fingers in there before, but I didn’t really have a say in that matter. I collapsed onto the cold tile floor and tried to wait it out. An hour went by. The pain grew even worse than before. The wolverines were starting in on my lower intestines. Fuck Wolverine, I hate the X-Men. I can’t take this shit any longer. Literally.

I had had enough. I was officially at my breaking point and was willing to do anything, as long as the pain would stop. I pulled myself back up the counter and got the enema out of the medicine cabinet. I had now reached the point of no return.

I gave the directions on the back of the box a once over and ripped that sucker open. This thing was evil looking. It was a solid four inches of plastic applicator, with about 10 ounces of oil under that, which you are supposed to unload into your ass so it can break the poop up. Sounds simple enough. I was in too much pain to crawl all the way back to my bathroom, so I just dropped trow right there in the kitchen and got in the fetal position. I decided to man up and take that 4-inch applicator in my ass like the man I was.

Here goes nothing.

I delicately slid the enema up my anus hole and emptied the oil. Delicately. There is no other way to describe how this felt, other than the word “creepy.” I mean, you’re not supposed to unload 10 ounces of anything into your asshole, let alone warm, viscous oil. As I held my butt cheeks shut, I examined the directions on the back of the package. The good people at Fleet recommended holding the oil in for at least 45 minutes, and avoiding flatulence if possible.

I laid there on the kitchen floor for what felt like two hours, but was probably no more than 10 minutes. Then I felt something give way a little bit in my stomach. This got me excited, and naturally, when I feel sudden shifts in my stomach, I tend to pass wind. So, without even thinking, I farted—it seemed like the logical thing to do. Only, there was no sound to this fart… there was no wind to this fart… there was only a warm oily feeling that began to creep down my legs.

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OH NO.

I laid there on the kitchen floor in the fetal position with my pants around my ankles, unsure of what to do next. I didn’t want to look back because I knew what I would see. Gradually, I picked my head up and turned it around. The cabinets closest to the ground were splattered in greasy, oily, smelly black shit.

I was so exhausted from this whole ordeal that I laid my head back on the ground. I stewed there in my own juices for another 5 or 10 minutes, then decided it would probably be a good idea to clean up my stool. As soon as I rose to my feet, I felt the same shift in my stomach and had to fart again. Not this time you oily fucking wolverine.

I sprinted into my bathroom and spray painted the toilet. I literally peed shit out of my ass—not one solid piece of crap come out, just a big runny mess. It felt especially good when it splashed back upward, saturating my crack.

As I sat there on the toilet, a completely disgusting, greasy, shitty mess, I began to reflect on my current predicament. My clothes had this vile black doodoo all over them, and I couldn’t breathe from all that had taken place. My parents would be getting up for work pretty soon, so I knew that I had to go clean the kitchen. But I was so tired, I honestly thought about letting them find my little surprise and then blaming it on the dog. “That’s right mom and dad, Fluffy gave herself a Fleet adult enema. Yup, that sure is amazing.”

As my liquid dump swirled down the toilet and all of these thoughts spun through my head, I thought about the pain in my stomach. It had completely disappeared! I was so happy about this that I jumped off the toilet and ran to go clean the kitchen.

Enemas rock!

Then, as I gleefully turned the corner into the kitchen, my foot hit the oily pile of black shit. Wolverine was back for one last surprise. I slipped and fell on my ass, landing backwards in the doodoo, completely covering my upper torso.

I fucking hate enemas.

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