Shit Story

I recently ate a bag of SUGAR FREE Salt Water Taffy. “Sugar Free” is actually just another way of saying “This will make your ass bleed.” At the time I didn’t have a thesaurus with me.

I was at an airport and they were selling it right next to the regular Taffy. We immediately fell in love. I was like, “Holy Shit! I can just eat you like you’re vegetables. Screw, you, regular Taffy. What am I gonna feel all guilty and shit? I don’t think so.”

I ate that non-sugary goodness like a fat kid whose abusive parents were upstairs sleeping. Strawberry. Mint Chocolate Chip. Buttered Popcorn. White ones. They were all fun and chewy. By the time I got down to my gate, all I had left was a pocket full of wax paper and the normal emptiness that even real candy won’t fill. I thought about licking the wrappers but I knew that people would judge me.

Instead, I sat down and checked out some of the girls on my flight. All busted and in their sixties. And then out of nowhere, I had to rip one. But there were two people sitting on both sides of me. I did the lean — like I’m looking at the monitor to check out the departure time, but really — I’m stretching my butt cheeks open to fart without making a sound. Pfffffff. Got it out. And then I just sat there and waited for the smell to envelope me and my neighbors. Once it did, I reacted like, ‘Uch. Who’s the fucking pig?’ scrunching up my face in disgust and slightly shaking my head. They knew it was me. I’m just glad they didn’t vote.

Almost immediately there was another one lined up. My stomach kept directing traffic toward the exit. But every time a fart would head down my tunnel, I’d turn it around and send it back up to the rotary. “Couple more times around, boys.” After about ten minutes, there was a pile up. I got up and walked around.

My stomach felt like it was filled with boiling hot shit soup. There was so much pressure — my anus felt like the nozzle of a Super Soaker that was pumped a million times. The second I pull that trigger…I might launch off the airport floor and smash through the ceiling. And then people would think I was a terrorist. And no one would ever be allowed to bring diarrhea through airport security again.

Fuck You, Taffy, you fucking taffy. I ran to the bathroom. I hate public bathrooms. It’s gross. Fucking animals (like me) piss all over the seats and people don’t flush their shit. They just leave their shit there. “Bye, shit. Have a good one. Do me a favor and gross out the next guy that walks in here for me.”

I built the nest. Settled in. And got ready to lay some eggs.

I leaned over my knees and looked under the stalls to see if I was alone. I wasn’t. There was a guy taking a piss at the urinal in front of me. Dammit. I held it in with muscles I didn’t know I had waited for him to finish. I wasn’t about to do this in front of anybody.

He finishes. Walks out. And another guy walks in obviously. And at this point I just say fuck it. I can’t hold it any longer. I’ll just let a little bit of it it out slowly.

Yeah, right. The second I make the decision, the LOUDEST most EMBARRASSING EXPLOSION launches right out of my ass. And I just let it. The noises were so gross and not-even-real that the guy pissing at the urinal starts cracking up. A grown man — who I don’t know — was standing there — holding his penis — and just having the best time of his life at my expense.

And after I finished and he stopped laughing, I had nothing to say. All my life I’ve had a comeback for everything. Never been speechless. But this time, I just sat there – me and my broken ass. I was ashamed. Disgusted. I thought about killing that guy. I didn’t want him to take this story out of the stall. But I didn’t. I did nothing. I just waited there for an extra 20 minutes, hoping the man got on his flight and the paparazzi I imagined were waiting outside the bathroom to snap my picture had all gotten bored and moved on to another shitty story.

I cleaned up and walked back to the terminal. I walked over to this little café near my gate to buy some rice to patch up my walls. I was on the phone with a friend of mine, telling the above story, and as I’m paying for the rice, I hear somebody behind me making farting noises with their mouth. I froze.

“I think the guy behind me at this café is taunting me.”

I quickly turned around and saw this grey-haired man in his sixties, giggling next to his wife. They were both looking at me. I glanced down at my shoes. I was wearing a pair of Air Max ‘90s — pink and recognizable. I thought if that old man is fun of me, I’m gonna have to fight him and his wife.

But I came to my senses and made a face at him like I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I paid for my rice and flew back home and never felt like a human again. Shit.


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