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Today I took out the wheelie bins. I took pleasure from wheeling the vile stench away from my abode. Gentle flies buzzed sweetly around me, like melodious bees singing their serenade to the rotting household waste. Strange to think that for a fleeting second they all shared the same goal: the foul, stinky rubbish stewing in its own juices. For a moment, homo sapien and bug were united. Then the moment passed, and I was left desolate and alone. The flies abandonded me and my pile of putrid filth in favour of a fresh, steaming doggie poo in the garden.
Today I got a wedgie. Endless folds of material permeating areas in which they were not welcome: the valley inbetween the fleshy, hilly mountains that are my buttocks, swaying with the steady rhythm of my steps. I falter. I feel the wedgie represents myself, stuck between two places and always too close to the bottom. I reach back and my hands clasp round the material. I tug, hoping against hope that the burning friction will end. If only it were so easy to release myself from the void in which I am trapped. My underwear feels sticky with pooey residue.
Today I picked my nose. My nail clicked against the hard lump of dried snot as I tried desperately to free it from the dark tunnel of my nasal cavity. At last, success. I removed my finger and surveyed my prize: long and stringy, the delicate bogey lay curled round my finger, looking like a twisting dancer. Further examinations revealed that the bogey had a crisp outer shell, just waiting to be popped to release the succulent bogey juices within. My stomach rumbled and beads of saliva formed in my mouth. I wanted it. I raised it to my lips....
Today I popped a spot. The colossal white head stared back at me as I gazed into the mirror and saw my complexion dominated by the gargantuan abscess protruding from my chin. I squeezed the puss filled pimple as hard as I could and finally the gooey contents of my spot burst free and flew through the air. I imagined what each globule must feel like, finally free from their confinement. The puss splattered the mirror. Who knew that one pimple could hold so much? The puss will remain on the mirror forever, as a reminder of my admirable achievement.
Today I vomited. The soft convulsions shook my body as though it were a leaf tossed in a breeze. My head rolled forward and suddenly we were re-united - myself and last night's trifle. It burst from my mouth as though it were as eager to see me as I was to see it. It lay there before me, a red and cream pool filled with mystery - mystery chunks that could be berries, could be sponge - mystery additives stirred in to give it a new and exciting taste - mystery colours I'd never before seen on the spectrum. It was beautiful.
Today I cut my toenails. I squeezed tighter on the handle of the scissors as the delicate blades tried desperately to saw through eight years worth of hard, knarled, yellowing, rotting toenail. One final pinch of the cutters and cheesey gunge spewed out as the end of the toenail pinged across the room, never to be reunited with the toe it came from. I dropped to my knees, scrambled on the floor and psychotically located the offending toenails whereabouts. I finally found my winnings and picked it up to examine it. Beautiful, curling slice of body matter inbetween my fingers.
Today I had diarrhoea. The deep gurgle and hiss of fermenting poo in my bowels alerted me straight away, and I ran to the toilet. An undulating fountain of liquid faeces poured helter-skelter from my anus, tumbling over itself into the bowl. Luscious brown swirling and spiralling into the yellow water below. Another bubbling from my tummy; I bent over and groaned - once more, the foul concoction slipped out of my bumhole like unsavoury melted chocolate, accompanied by a cacophony of farts. Afterwards, sitting among my stench, I felt empty: a hollowed shell. I had nothing else to give.
Today I trod in a dog poo. There I was, happily walking, thinking the world was wonderful. In some ways, I was in my own little bubble. Then - stamp. I felt the squelch of canine excrement splurt over the toe of my shoe. My bubble popped. Could this be an omen? I stared down at the recycled winalot covering my welly boot. In the distance, I heard a dog bark, and cursed it - for it may have be the culprit of the stinky deed. I took off my shoe and held it close to my face for examination. Analysis: smelly.
Today I picked a scab. Gentle tappings of the crusty covering turned into frantic scrambling as my finger edged towards the flowing river of life source that is my blood. One final scratch and the crispy layer got caught under my nail. I looked down to the freshly opened wound and smiled to myself. Plasma, platelets and red and white blood cells all welled up together to create the beautiois sight of a scarlet streak against pale white skin. I wiped the smear of red away to let the damage heal. I look forward to picking the scab again tomorrow.
Today I wet myself. My bladder had been swelling gently for hours, but then the pressure just got too much; a sense of release from down below, and suddenly warm fluids gushed through my knickers and down my legs. I stood still, feeling totally at peace once more. Others were standing, staring - they just didn't understand me and my beautiful spurting liquid. I didn't care about their opinions. I was happy. My bladder continued to weep warm yellow tears down my thighs, crying with joy at being able to relax once more after spilling itself into my pants. I smiled.
Today I sneezed. For a split second before it happened, my whole face screwed itself up into an expectant and contorted facial expression. Then all hell broke loose. Speeding snot shot from my trumpeting nasal cavity faster than a bullet from a gun, zipping gracefully through the air in a perfect curvaceous parabola. My nose seemed transformed into the entire brass section of an orchestra, with syncopated toots, hoots and parps erupting haphazardly in a loud and brash manner. When I could open my eyes again, I saw that the perfectly-formed bogey-beads had landed beautifully on my homework.
Today I burped. A wavering, echoing note stretched loudly from my mouth as my throat ripped open uncontrollably. The noise continued for what seemed an eternity, getting louder and louder, until it finally died away into nothing more than a mumble. I felt a burning singe in my oesophagus that told me this otherwise perfect burp was tainted with the vaguest hint of sick. I went to fetch myself a refreshing drink of water to wash away the thin veil of vomit from my throat, with the sound of my proud and musical belch still ringing joyfully in my ears.
Today I farted in the bath. I was sitting in the tub of scorching H2O and my eyes were gently starting to close . . . then a sudden noise erupted from nowhere, bubbles rose from the deep, and my eyelids flew open. For a second I just sat there in shock, while the sound echoed round my bathroom and I felt huge bubbles of gas shoot out of my bumhole. Then all was quiet, peace restored. It was over almost as soon as it had begun, leaving me with just a heart beating from shock and a nose wrinkled in horror. Pooey.
Today I had a coughing fit. I felt a teasing tickle in my throat and I knew I had to dispose of it. I opened my mouth and guggles and chokes boomed. Spit flew and clung to the disgusted faces of the spectators, and splutters of sick crawled from my throat with the effort. My eyes were screwed up, and I felt my face turn beetroot. My head rolled forward repeatedly with every fresh choke and my mouth turned the shape of a huge vertical almond. At last, success. My onlookers rejected me, horrified, but I didn't care. Tickle gone.
Today I had constipation. My bumhole was a ring of fire as it clenched and strained in order to eject the stump of poo trying frantically to escape. I felt my lower abdomen would surely burst in a filthy explosion of dumpage. With a groan, I felt the blood vessels in my head pop as I poured all my effort and concentration in ridding myself of the solidified excretion. At last, relief. A shower of poo bullets caused an almighty splash as they fired into the toilet bowl. A tsunami of water coated my bum. Mmmmm . . . what a lovely fragrance.
Today I got a tummy upset. The constant gurgling from my guts could go either way, and I felt like I was standing at crossroads - I could either turn left, up the sick route, or right, down to the squits. I spent nearly all day on the toilet. Pale brown poo cascaded out of my bum hole; it was so slippy only the occasional lump of undigested food reassured me it was indeed poo and not widdle. From the alternate exit, acidic soup spouted in a destructive fountain, uncontrollabley coating everything within 10 meters of it. Everything around me ponged.
Today I defluffed my belly button. My finger burrowed deeper into the endless depth of my abdomen and twisted painfully. I rubbed against questionable grains of unknown solid. I manipulated it under my nail and extracted my finger from the flabby blubber surrounding my belly button. A silent struggle between arm and stomach as the latter tried to swallow my finger to stop me seeing what had been hidden for years. A squelchy, plunging sound and my finger reappeared. I examined my treasure carefully and discovered where the biscuit I had been eating last week had disappeared to. Hmmm.... Tasty....
Today I cleaned my ears. I inserted the cotton bud into my ear-spiral, and heard the satisfactory plunging, squishing sound of bud against wax. When I withdrew the bud for examination, I saw it was completely coated in goo. Upon the plain white canvas of the cotton bud, I had painted with beautiful oranges, browns and yellows to create my own unique, personal masterpiece. I stood still for a few seconds, awed into silence by the beauty of the moment. The exquisite artwork that can be created with waste body materials. It brought a tear to my wondering eyes.
Today I shaved my armpits. The smell had been unpleasant to begin with, but as I lifted my arm an unbearable stench quite unlike anything I'd caught a whiff of before overpowered me. Stale, solidified sweat coating and grasping the long, straggly hairs that sprouted curly-wurly from the deep of the pit. Clutching the razor in my fist, I attacked the stench-hole with a vengence, the blades snagging up the hairs and wrenching them from their glands. The razor revved up, and a tidlewave of sweat drips smashed into my face. It felt natural to have them there.
Today I wiped my bum. The sordid remains smeared the paper like bad literature smears over its page. The poo particles let off a ghastly, pongy stench, that drifted gently upwards towards my nostrils. A deep breath and - crreghhhhhhhrrehhraqqquuuuueercchhhhccsss!!! I choked. As I did so, more poo squirted from my bumhole, which I then had to mop up afresh. I pulled more paper from its roll and scrubbed vigorously at my bottom, causing a cascade to besmirch the small of my back and the tops of my thighs in one big pooey mess. I rubbed my legs together. Mmmm .... slimy.
Today I broke wind. The aggressive gurglings of my stomach told me that a devastating storm was brewing inside me. The beans I had eaten for lunch were working their magic and I could hardly wait to be greeted with the satisfying stench of my flatulence. An almighty rumble met my ears and I felt movement as my bowels shifted. The bubble of gas was working its way round the bends of my insides when finally my buttocks where blasted apart and a trumpeting wail erupted from my bum hole. I breathed deeply and the pong flew up my nostrils.
Today I bit my nails. Feeling in need of a nourishing snack, I raised my hand to my face and began to examine the peculiar hard thing sheathing my fingertip. It was completely black and crammed with juicy goodness. Although the filling of my body matter pie was mainly well churned, I could still make out a couple of bogies, crumbs of food, hardened dribble and chunks of dirt bursting from the nail. My pulse quickened. My breathing became shallow and fast with anticipation. Yummy.... Excitement brewed in me. Unable to wait any longer, I bared my teeth and bit.
Today I pooed my pants. I was sitting on a park bench and trying not to think of how badly I needed a toilet. My anal sphincter was straining and straining to keep my heavy load safely within my boundaries, and a single bead of sweat trickled down between my bum cheeks. How much longer could I keep holding it in? No longer. My bum-hole streched wide, pushed to bursting point by the eager poo behind it. And then a thick wave of faeces hurtled out, sticking to my bumcheeks, moulding to the shape of my sitting bottom.... Gooey.
Today I had to wee in a jar. I'd gone shopping, and felt the urge to urinate for some time, but was unfortunately not situated within easy distance of a station to diposit my piddle in. At last, feeling about ready to explode, I fumbled among the shelves in the shop I was in for a jar. Desperately, I unscrewed the lid and took aim. Spurts and splashes hit everywhere but the inside of the jar: my thighs, my hand clasping the glass container, the floor . . . it just wouldn't stop. Several fountains of putrid liquid tainting the environment. Slippy sloppy.
Today I choked on a cucumber slice. I was making a salad; as soon as I'd cut the fateful slice, I knew it would be troublesome. It was far too thin, a slimy and skinny specimen, but I chucked it in the bowl anyway. Big mistake. I shovelled a forkful of greens into my mouth, and swallowed. Something slid partially down my throat, then got stuck - I knew it had to be the cucumber. I coughed, but the slice barely moved an inch. I choked, my face ready to explode; then I retched. It slid back up my throat. Diiisgusting.
Today I revisited my bogey-patch, that hallowed place of my youth: the wall next to my bed where I used to deposited freshly-picked bogeys in the middle of the night. Many familiar specimens were there, still recognisable after the years that had passed. There was Old Crusty, older and crustier than ever. There was the red tinged one that had caused a nosebleed soon after. Time had given these old friends a grey beard of bogey mould, but they were essentially just the same. Millions of lumps of dried snot strewn across the wall. Tears filled my eyes.
Today I got pooed on by a bird. I was sitting in blissful tranquility in a field, when I heard a low swoop above my head and heard a caw. Suddenly - splat. Something warm and sloppy landed on the summit of my bonce. Alarmed, I reached up to inspect the damage and came away with a handful of birdie dump. It was smooth and creamy, like a mixture of marmite and philadelphia, but there was the occasionaly bump in the perfectly blended substance - a worm, or perhaps a seed? All I knew was I wanted to eat the pooey sauce.
Today I was vomited on by a baby. I was holding it up to see its smile when suddenly its face crumpled. I thought it was about to cry, but then its mouth opened to reveal a huge gummy hole. Out of the tunnel a tsunami of sick appeared, pouring in a white milky fountain from the throat of the small child onto my front. The heavy stream dribbled down my clothes. Then the thunderous flow was over, and I was left sodden, holding a wailing baby at arm's length. It hiccuped. I looked at it warily. We both stank.
Today I used a nit comb. The frail and fragile implement ran futilely through the tangle, pulling out gargantuan clumps of scalp and matted hairs. Thousands of miniscule bugs leapt and flew from my head, zipping crazily around the room. Their bulging white eggs still lay in the knots of my hair, about to burst to reveal more of the parasites. All I could feel was the tug of the comb shredding my head into little pieces, and the tickling, itching scrabbling headlice all over me. They would surely never leave now. I had been their home for ten years.
Today I fell in a cowpat. I was walking through a country lane, feeling at peace with my inner farmer, when my foot connected with a stone and away I flew. I turned somersaults in midair, as my arms were flung back between my legs, which were catapulted over my shoulders. I soared through space and time, swivelling into many graceful positions, when I landed with a THWAK SPLAT in . . . something brown and squidgy. I thanked God for it saving my fall, then inspected the object a little more closely. It was smelly. Oh dear . . . it was a steaming cowpat.
Today I experienced a toilet malfunction. I was minding my own business in another part of the house, when suddenly a BANG from the bathroom sent me scurrying to see what was wrong. I arrived to find a gushing spurt of dirty sewage exploding from a crack in the cistern. Watery poo flew in all directions around the room, flinging itself over me. The toilet had temporarily accepted my gift of faeces, but was now literally throwing it back in my face. The floor was turning into a lake of urine, unsafe to venture into, swirling up around my feet.
The Tip Jar