Baby Blowout Story: #1

Get ready for a week-long dedication to baby blow out stories here on He Shat, She Shat!  As parents, we recognize how much fecal matter becomes a part of your life.  We will share with you our stories and hope you will share yours in the comments section:

It was a lovely trip to the zoo with my 9 month old.  I love this age because they are old enough to really get the excitement of things and are no longer floppy and boring.  Given this recent musculature development in my child I was able to do things I could never do before like carry him in one arm while he was upright, extend him over the younger elementary school children so he could see the Polar Bears, and of course, to ride him on my shoulders.

The ironic thing is that when it happened I was actually ducking for cover as a flock of geese had let loose a bombardment of excrement my way.  As it was a warm summers day and my propensity to sweat were both in full force I didn’t think anything of it for a few moments.  You would have thought that the smell would have triggered my brain but as many of you may know breastfed babies poo really does not smell at all.

It wasn’t until I felt it running down my collarbone and belly that I realized something was wrong.  The blowout was occuring upon my neck and, being a concerned father, I had baby squished right against me as to prevent any possible falling.  The waterfall of yellow seed blowout diarrhea poo was upon me, covering my entire torso and neck.

Aside from the misery of the lengthy trip home, wiping myself off with diaper wipes in a public place, and the knowledge that I was a terrible replacement for a diaper at least I can take solace in the fact that I wasn’t the only thing that was shat upon that trip.  Wifey got a hairful of goose!

Why Do I Get Diarrhea When I Give a Presentation?

It’s been a while, but back in my previous employment I had to give a lot of presentations in front of a lot of people.  Not just people.  Important people.  People who with the flick of a finger could have me beheaded in the form of having me canned.  People who had done it before and would do it again if anything displeased them or if their temperament was off.  In addition to the few people who could destroy my career, there were usually an additional 20-100 people present to up the notch on the fear-o-meter.

When faced with this type of presentation, my routine was as such:

sleep like crap
Wake up ridiculously early in order to stop the fretting pointlessly in the dark
Avoid breakfast, and possibly vomit acid all morning
Have diarrhea
Get to presentation
Urinate and diarrhea again
10 minutes later, urinate and diarrhea again
Diarrhea
Give presentation
Urinate and possibly one more episode of diarrhea

What is the deal with my body ejecting every form of liquid and waste from any orifice it can find when I am stressed?  I haven’t even pointed out the sweat.  Where does my body find all this liquid and why does it choose the most inconvenient moment possible to get rid of it?

My Flip Phone Can Beat the Crap Out of Your iPhone

Consider this personal story another gift to you for Christmas:

 

People give me a lot of crap because I have one of those old-school flip phones.  I recognize that I am living in the mid-2000s and I should have a man phone like an iPhone or Droid or something.  Shouldn’t I be asking for one for Christmas?  The answer is an emphatic no.  You see, my flip phone could beat up your iPhone any day of the freakin’ week.  Check this example.

 

A few months ago I had just come back from a fun weekend vacation with the family.  We had an amazing time soaking up the sun and had enjoyed many delicious foods.  One of those foods had done a number on my stomach, so I was feeling a little bit loose that morning.  You know the feeling.  Everything is a bit squishy inside you and when you approach a fart there is a slight burn and solid feeling that tickles your anus.  I was feeling trepidations about farting, but I was also tired from traveling and just didn’t feel like getting out of bed just to safely sit on the toilet and fart.  So I did a small test.  I slowly leaned to the right and opened up my anus just enough to let a slight bubble out. 

 

Phew.  All clear.  No diarrhea.  With that I cocked the hammer and braced myself for a bed rattling fart.  Upon doing so, I instantly felt the spray up my back and down my crack.  I had literally squeezed out a cup full of crap.  I immediately flipped on my stomach and checked the bed.  Fortunately there had been no soak through yet and the sheets were safe.  I hurried and stripped down and soaked my shorts and underwear in the tub and then threw it in the washing machine.

 

Later, while drying the pants, I noticed that the dryer was making a crazy rattling noise.  So I stopped it and took out my shorts, only to discover that I had my flip phone in there.  I hurried and took the battery out and put everything in a bowl of rice, but I figured there was no hope.  The phone had gone through a whole wash and dry cycle and water was everywhere in the screen.

 

Well, I was wrong.  The phone worked and for quite a while after that.  If an iPhone even gets near moisture it breaks.  And that is why I’ll stick to my flip phone. 

Adventures in Baby Sh*tting!

Having a baby is no joke, no joke at all. It literally is the ultimate game changer in the course of human life. College, employment, puberty…nothing will alter the course of your life and daily activities like having children. This is not said in any negative tone, rather it is merely factual. One of the greatest examples of how it changes you is the level of which you are willing to smell, clean, and touch fecal matter.

It is no secret that babies poop, and poop a lot. They poop with such frequency and vigor that it truly can blow your mind. It always amazes me the quantity of crap something so small can produce with such minimal intake. But they DO! Babies are miracle workers! But with that miracle comes one of the greatest game changers of them all…the Blow Out (Brown Out).

Scenario A: we were visiting a high-end fashion store – just for kicks and giggles. No real intent to purchase, just a natural curiosity as we trolled the mall one afternoon. As my wife examined some jewelry that was way out of our price range, my parenting bell went off in my head. Something wasn’t right. I looked down to examine our son, only to observe SH*T dripping down my arm, leg and all over the designer carpet in the store. Not only that, but I found clumps of it in different areas of the store as apparently the act had occurred near the bracelets.

Like any white trash parent, we charged towards the bathroom and I stripped down to nudity and washed my and my sons clothes in the sink. My wife and I stayed in there as long as we could…trying to determine how to save any dignity we had left. We decided to screw it and run for it. We ran out the bathroom, son in diaper and me soaking wet and screamed our apologies as we charged out the store. We had just enough time to observe the manager on hands and knees scrubbing crap out of the fibers beneath him.

So if you are going to have kids, I recommend you prepare to get your hands dirty!

Poop Acid vs Acidic Poo – the Obvious Distinction

If I was professor of Poopology 101 at Shat University this forthcoming post would be a core lecture topic.  You see I find the distinction between pooping acid and an acidic poop to be rather obvious but through discussions with friends and family I have realized there is a lack of knowledge in society surrounding this important topic.  You think they are the same thing?  Oh how naive of you!  Allow me to share the cliff notes.

Pooping Acid:  You have polished off a nice and tasty Thai dish and overestimated your tolerance for hot a bit.  Nonetheless you are confidence that your insides can handle everything nicely.  However, after a couple of hours your insides are Dancing Like the Stars.  You feel the poo log that had previously existed in your bowels being liquified by the your churning intestines.  Soon the big moment comes and you explode liquid poo acid out of your anus.  The burn is intense but you are able to explode the liquid volume from you in an efficient and quick manner.  A quick extinguishing wipe knocks down the fire and soon you have recovered.

Acid Poop:  You’ve just eaten a spicy Mexican dish full of raging peppers and you nearly had to quench the mouth fire with ketchup and mustard ala Dumb and Dumber.  You are pleased with your dinner but are concerned about the after effects.  You see, the pepper and seeds are not just a spice but actually have some substance to them.  You shudder at the thought of solid pepper chunks and seeds being directly incorporated into a compacted poo log.  The big moment comes.  Fear envelopes your entire body as you realize the truth.  As you push, the solid acid poo smolders through your anus like a bubbling molten lava flow.  As your anus is stretched to give birth to this acidic log from hell, the poo squashes into every crack and crevice, chewing away the top layer of tissue with ease.  You wipe and wipe but the burning does not go away.  It is not until your body can actually re-grow the burnt nerve endings that your pain is finally over.

And you thought there was no difference?!  Enjoy this knowledge and share with a friend!

Like a Sausage or Snake, Smooth and Soft

Medicine is an inexact science. So inexact, in fact, that doctors have sort of a complex about it. We look at those mathematicians and physicists, with their equations, and their real solutions to things, and we get jealous. So we have to assign numbers to every disease. It happens in every specialty, from gastrointestinology (5 types of bile duct cysts!) to rheumatology to pediatric cardiology. It’s probably the worst in orthopedics though. Seriously, they have to number every freaking type of fracture every which way. Sometimes it makes sense, most the time it’s some dude who wants his name on a research paper. Pretty much every disease, there either is a numerical scale/categorization system or someone is thinking one up, right now.

It should thus come as no surprise to you that there is a numbering system for poo.

I’m sure you can identify with the mindset required (and if not, why are you here?) to sit on a toilet and, pondering the diversity of your dooks, wonder about where they fall in the natural order of the universe. Isn’t there some cosmic scale that can quantify what has only hitherto been qualified?

Yes. Yes there is.

I'll give you a moment to fully take this in.

.It’s called the Bristol Stool Form Scale, and it was created at the Bristol Royal Infirmary in England. Jokes about oral/dental hygiene aside, the British certainly are ahead of us at the other end. According to some sources, types 3-4 are normal, though some sites claim 4-5 are the most desirable types. I guess it depends on how much you enjoy wiping. Yeah, 5 may get through you easier (indicating better colonic motility), but they do require some messy maintenance if you are pushing these out every day.

No one can argue with the awesomeness of type 4 though. There is no greater feeling than, answering the call of your distended rectum, you sit down and feel this sausage-snake slither out. Your anus barely bothers to yawn and you’re done. A single quick wipe with minimal residual and—what are you now going to do with all this extra time? Get work done, spend time with loved ones, play Angry Birds… all great options.

What was previously difficult to categorize and describe in your quest to attain mutual understanding with your friends and family is now as simple as assigning a number. Explaining your scat to doctors was the original purpose of the scale, as this guy tells us:

.Of course, Konstantin may just not realize that people don’t want to talk about their poo with him. But, I’m getting ahead of myself. It’s important that once you now understand the gift you have been given, you use it. Facebook status, Twitter updates, your own personal blog—the world is now open to you. If you think people care about the fact you found a sweet baguette on sale at your local market, they are going to love the fact that you averaged a 3.5 today. How could they not?

The beginning of another great thread.

.Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a magnificent 4 that’s been waiting patiently to come out while I’ve been writing this.

A Smooth Poo Is a Gift From Above – HALLEPOOJA!

Your body can be your greatest friend.  In many ways it is the conduit towards some of the greatest pleasure a human can feel in this existence, whether that be through sexual intimacy, an amazing meal, or the best dump of your life.  It is only fitting, I guess, that the human body is the portal through which you experience the very depths of hell in the form of pain and anguish, whether that be through broken bones, scorching fevers, or the worst dumps of your life.  The other night a friend of mine and I were discussing the worst pain we have ever felt and it caused me to remember the worst two weeks of my life:

I was 17 years old and enjoying my last summer at home.  Our family had just returned from a vacation to visit our relatives and I was planning all the crazy things I would do with Papa Squat before we returned to my school as glorious seniors.  It seemed as if I was immortal – everything was before me:  senior year, college, travel, scholarships, friends, girls.  Nothing would ever keep me from my dreams.  I truly felt that my future was so bright, and I had my Oakley shades just to prove it.

It’s in those moments of immortality that your body will often decide to humble you.  My humility started with some simple diarrhea and some abdominal pain.  For the first 12 hours it seemed all routine – a little stomach flu or possibly mild food poisoning.  This suspicion was further strengthened by sister and cousin getting sick, and later reports of other members of my extended family.  But that night my stomach, anus and bowels unleashed on me the wrath and fury of the dark one – the Butt Satan.  He began raking my intestines with his fiery fingernails, causing me to bleed internally and rip open bowel scabs every time I had movement.  Nausea reared its ugly head and I began vomiting while shatting simultaneously.  I spent the next five nights sleeping on the bathroom floor, alternating between vomiting acid or dumping blood, crying in agony every time I had a BM.  It turned out to be salmonella food poisoning, and I had a terrible case of it that eventually sent me into the ER, near death.

It took me a long time to get over what had happened  – I became jaded, filled with a sense of mortality that no 17-year-old should have.  How could something that had once brought me so much pleasure turn on me in such a violent way?  What had I done?  What would have happened if I had died, lying on the floor in my own stool?  It wasn’t until later that I learned that all things exhibit opposition and that we need to respect and give thanks for the good.  Now when I take a calm, soothing, happy dump I nearly scream HALLELUJAH from the toilet seat.  Each poo is a gift from above.  Be thankful my He Shat, She Shat fans, and never take it for granted.

The Ultimate Taboo – Adult Urination of the Bed

Crapping-your-pants stories are a dime a dozen.  Nearly everyone had shatted their pants at least once as an adult, whether that came from a fart gone bad to diarrhea in a time when the toilet was not accessible.  Sometimes you just don’t make it to the toilet in time and you crap your pants.  The stories are always hilarious and they are rarely kept a secret from others.  This is not the case with wetting your bed.

I can understand the reason for the shame.  Think about the difference.  It’s not like you get diarrhea of the bladder and suddenly start pissing everywhere without control.  Additionally, if you can’t find a bathroom you can just drop a squat or whip it out and urinate behind a bush or something.  No harm done, no messy clean up.  So if an adult wets the bed, well, that is something to hide.  I know…from experience.  Several years ago I was staying at a friend’s house with my brother.  My friend only had one bedroom and one bed, so my brother and I had to draw straws for the couch.  He won, so I was left with the choice of sleeping on the floor or on the bed with my friend and his spouse.  I chose the bed.  I’m a horrible sleeper and new the weekend would be hell without a mattress to sleep on.

As I was sleeping, I began having a dream that I was standing in the middle of a crowded street.  In the center of an intersection was a manhole with no cover.  In the dream I had to pee, so I asked a passerby where I could find a bathroom.  He suggested I try to arc my urine as far as I could into the intersection and through the manhole.  Taking him up on that challenge, I unzipped, aimed and began urinating warm piss in a gigantic arc towards the manhole.

Wait…warm?  You don’t feel temperature in dreams.

I immediately snapped out of the dream, only to find myself pissing directly up onto my stomach.  I immediately kinked the flow (very painful) and rolled off the bed onto the floor.  I paused for a minute to see if my friend or wife stirred, but they continued to breathe quietly.  I slowly reached up my hand and felt the bed for wetness.  A Miracle!  No piss on the bed!  My shirt and shorts had soaked it up and I had retreated quickly enough to save their mattress.  I proceeded to army crawl into their bathroom, get naked and throw all my clothes in the trash, army crawl into the living room by my sleeping brother to get new clothes, and army crawl back into bed.  The perfect crime.

I was ashamed.  How had my mental switch been triggered to allow urine flow without waking me up?  I didn’t know, but I wasn’t telling anyone about it.  After a year or two I finally decided that time had passed, and what did I have to be ashamed of?  I told my whole family during Christmas, expecting a warm reception of love and understanding and laughter.

You know what I learned?  Keep your pee-your-pants stories to yourself.

New Poo Learnings – Shigellia in da House! (er, Pool)

I live in one of those poshtastic luxury apartment condominiums that is teaming with young, rich and purposeless 20-somethings.  Every day when I come home for lunch I find a minimum of 25 of them laying out, surfing their smart phones and showing off their recent surgery.  You’d think that it would be quite the classy environment – one where you wouldn’t have to worry about contracting some poo-born disease.  But the signage around the pool indicates otherwise:

Do not enter pool with diarrhea?  Well, I think that should be obvious.  But it’s not (obviously) – especially in Northern Kentucky! Check out this recent story from the KY Post! I had no idea that there was a poo-born disease that when squeeged out into a pool could cause serious vomiting, nausea and diarrhea in return.  This fun disease is called Shigellia, and apparently its coming to a pool near you this summer.

But it makes sense.  Let’s say you have diarrhea, right?  Come on…play along with me here.  So you have diarrhea, but you are feeling well enough and some friends want to get in the pool.  As the warm chlorinated water swirls around your anus and rectum, you suddenly get that gooey sensation.  Is  it a fart?  Is it just excess water that has found its way inside you?  So you let it slide – literally.  Unknowingly, you have dumped a bit of poo in pool.  Your friend opens his mouth in the pool and sucks a bit of it down his throat.  Now he’s sick.  And you know what?  You’re the jerk for getting in the pool sick.

I think they need to make a more effective sign:  Welcome To Our —L, Notice There is No Poo In It – Please Keep It That Way.

M. Night Got It Wrong…

Our 5 senses are pretty sweet. I don’t know which one I enjoy the most. Seeing and hearing are probably my top two followed closely by taste. I think most of us take our senses for granted, but today I’d like to discuss the forgotten 6th sense. I’m not talking about seeing dead people. I’m talking about a sense that is actually legit, but highly underrated. It’s our ability to sense whether what’s coming out of our butt is of a solid or of a gaseous state. I’m not sure what you call it but it’s amazing and I am eternally grateful for this 6th sense.

Think about it for a second. As poop or fart gas reaches the end of its long digestional journey and is knocking on the door, your colon is able to determine if it’s safe to push it out in your current location or if you need to run to the nearest water closet. Sometimes it’s a little delayed and you don’t sense gas or solid until you’re touching cloth, but it usually kicks in just in time to pucker up and save yourself from having to do the walk of shame to the nearest stall to wipe down you underwear.

The only defect in this 6th sense occurs when the object being expelled is neither solid nor gas, but rather liquid. Apparently there was a slight breakdown in the evolution of this sense, because the colon seems to confuse liquid with gas on occasion. And usually at very awkward occasions. But i guess 99% of the time is a pretty good success rate.

So the next time you raise a cheek off your chair to squeeze out an SBD and you colon starts screaming “Solid! Solid! Solid!” take a second on your way to the john to give thanks for this often forgotten, always under appreciated, magical 6th sense.