It began like any other lunch hour. Two of my work friends and I headed down to Chipotle, where I ordered a chicken Burrito Bol and we all laughed at the goobers behind us in line who were ordering barbacoa burritos but kept referring to it as “bar-boca.”

When we had devoured our lunches, my friends and I decided we would each need a bag of sunflower seeds and a Coke Slurpee to get us through the afternoon without strangling someone, so we stood up to leave.

As we bussed our table and walked toward the exit, my colon spoke to me. “Danny. It’s me: Colin. Colin The Colon. Colin The Colon is callin’. Listen: I’ve got one of my extra special brown torpedoes at the gate and ready to be deployed. Better get to a bathroom, stat.”

I paused momentarily to consider Colin’s admonition. I thought about doing as he suggested, but I was with friends and how would it look if I hollered out to Mike and Catherine, “Hey, guys! Hang on a sec, will ya? I gotta go back into Chipotle and deposit a little bar-boca of my own in the Little Buccaneers’ Room.” With that, I ignored Colin and assumed the valuable shotgun spot in Catherine’s Tahoe for the ride to 7-11.

Not five seconds after we pulled out of the Chipotle parking lot, Colin let me know in his own special way that he didn’t take kindly to being ignored. Daggers of pain shot across my lower abdomen and the urge to evacuate Colin’s entire neighborhood was so difficult to contain that my toes curled up inside my shoes, my eyes watered profusely and my brow furrowed with strain. We hit three red lights on the way from Chipotle to 7-11, and at each one I had to fight the will to throw open the door, run across traffic to the nearest vacant lot or car rental storefront or vacuum cleaner repair shop and plead with them to guide me to their bathroom before I am forced to show them “what brown can do for you.”

Finally, we pull into the 7-11 parking lot. I pinch my butt cheeks together as tightly as I can and saunter into the store. I walk up to the cashier, lean over the racks of TV Guide and king-sized Mr. Goodbars and whisper, “Where is your restroom?” As I wait for her answer, I convince myself that if she tells me they don’t have one I’m going to have to beat her down with a bag of ranch-flavored corn nuts and a teriyaki Slim Jim.

Fortunately, she shows mercy upon my soul, pointing her finger to a door that says, “Employees Only (Unless You Have To Shit Real Bad).”

I lean forward (so as not to put any weight whatsoever on my sphincter) and shuffle off to Colin’s version of Camelot: a small bathroom decorated with 7-11 branded posters about washing your hands after you tinkle and not standing on wobbly chairs to reach things up high, like dead bugs and video cameras that might see you stealing the porno mags behind the register.

I sit down and begin to appease Colin, and reality hits me: I am taking a shit in a 7-11 bathroom. On my list of Really Nasty Things I Have Done On My Lunch Hour, this ranks just ahead of the time I accidentally swallowed a worm at Taco Bell and just behind the unforgettable incident when a homeless women approached me for a handout at a food court in downtown L.A. and mistakenly drooled something brown and chunky into my sweet and sour chicken.

So anyway, I crapped. And Colin was finally happy. And like I always say, a happy colon is a healthy colon.

(By the way, Colin says hi.)

(Actually, it wasn’t really “hi.” It was more like “frrfpt.”)

Comments

You did NOT swallow a worm at Taco Hell. Please tell me you're employing the art of embellishment. Please?

I've had a horrible migraine for three days straight now, but all I have to do is come here and read your blog and I'm laughing in spite of the pain. I really do think your blog is one of the best that's out there. I mean, today I'm about as foul and disgusted and pain-ridden a beast as you'd ever see in the Hogwarts forest, but after a few seconds on your page, I'm giggling like a sixth grader. No, make that hee-hawing like a donkey. No, make that. . . . .Well, you get the picture. Thank you for being you.

DMG, you make me feel like a 20 year-old beer guzzling frat boy again. It's a nice break from being a late twenty-something mommy.

Brown delivers to my dorm room bathroom (gross) two hours after I consume food at the cafeteria here at school. But alas, the semester is over and I am heading home. Where real food and a cleaner bathroom awaits.

Sadly, those two things are among what excites me the most about moving back home from college.

I'm not that cool.

But I did drift through Chicago traffic for two hours today before parking at Cub Foods in Logan Square. I successfully evaded the roving security guards in little Toyotas, then snuck I between Microcenter and Cub. I ambled behind a giant green electrical transformer and urinated all over it. It was a foot taller than me. Enourmous.

Then I went into Cub Foods and bought some beer. Budweiser Select. I like it.

Got locked in a Taco Bell mens room once. And I'm a girl. Smelled like burritos, but I was never really sure if it was actual burrito smell or just a bunch of old fart smell from the local taco eating populace.

Goddamn I miss Chipotle. Pittsburgh, why do you have to suck so much?

Tell Colin I said 'frrfpt', too.

I have an uncle who once who called me from a KFC bathroom. He said he needed me to come pick him up ASAP for some reason. I got down to KFC and waited in the parking lot for him to come out. It only took a couple seconds. He ran out of the joint and into the car. "GO! GO! GO!!!!!!" He couldn't stand the embarrassement. He had just flooded the men's room and needed a quick get away... and because of that, I had to name my only son after him.

Oh, DGM, how do you pronounce "Chipotle?" We just got one in Tampa FL and no one seems to know how to say it!

Ooh! We were just having dinner at Chipotle the other day and one of their friendly cups had the pronounciation story on it!

It's Chi-POAT-lay. I've been saying it wrong all these...months.

I was so worried that your story was going to end like this one: http://shtick.org/Misc/ryans.htm

(Read it Danny. You'll like.)

Is there a blog out there that doesn't talk about poop at some point or other? Dooce does. DGM does. Laurenbove does. I've got at least a couple of posts in mine about poop (including a great diaper pic). What is it about poop that makes us want to share about it in our blogs?

Ahhh! Danny's back!

I know there would be a memorable colonic experience in your life that would prompt a brilliant post.

And good question Andrea ... Poop's a popular subject. I don't think I've ever blogged about it but Danny's inspiring me.

And speaking of poo ... did I miss a Monday Enema?

-Blue

Now I remember why I have NEVER eaten at Taco Bell before. My first flat mate in college was bulemic, and her favourite food to re-visit? Taco Bell. Looks the same coming back up, btw. My question is, how would you have even noticed a worm in all that goo they call food?

I can laugh with you about it now, but I've been on too many of those butt-cheek pinching, short-stepping walks.

I can not stop laughing! You are a total kill! I can relate to your situation. Colons just don't like to wait until it's convenient. BUT "Thank Heavens for 7-11"

You are funny as shit. No pun intended.

I loved your story.

Colin is obviously the brains behind this blog. You're just his straight man. I think Colin deserves some Grape Nuts with whole milk for his fine work.

Ugh... this entry was crap...

Colin, you rock! Danny, I have never before had such an intimate relationship with a stranger's asshole as I do with yours ... it is so funny that I am compelled to say, "bring on more of this shit!"