My parents, from whom I have inherited the incessantly blogworthy biological freakdom of webbed toes and lactose intolerance, frequently and boisterously sing the praises of Lactaid. For the uninitiated, Lactaid is a tablet the size of a Rolaids with the consistency of chalk and a taste that closely resembles that of a spoiled vanilla milkshake. According to my parents’ strenuous allegations, if a lactose intolerant person consumes two or more of these Lactaid tablets just prior to eating dairy products, one could very well drink six quarts of buttermilk without experiencing so much as an abdominal cramp, let alone the volcanic, underwear-destroying supershits and pants-splitting, eyeglass-fogging deathfarts that generally follow the consumption of even a single teaspoon of yogurt.

I have long avoided experimenting with Lactaid because a) it’s expensive, b) underwear is also expensive, and c) it was recommended to me by my parents, whose track record for recommendations includes borscht, Yentl, and agreeing to have a man dressed as Miss Piggy show up and embarrass me at my Bar Mitzvah in front of God and my goyim friends from school and Laura Wasserman, who was just growing her boobies back then and was totally going to let me touch them until she saw me standing up there in my handsome light blue corduroy suit and brown plaid tie BEING SERENDADED BY A FUCKING PIG! Thanks for THAT, mom and dad.

But I was strolling through the frozen food section at the supermarket this weekend when I saw that Stater Brothers was selling an eight-pack of Drumstick ice cream cones (the VARIETY PACK, for fuck’s sake!) for $1.99. I may be lactose intolerant, but I’m no dummy – that’s what you call a Bargain with a capital B, folks. So I tossed that sumbitch into the cart, made a b-line over to the pharmacy aisle and scored a 24-pack of Lactaid (which has been priced at something like $64 because the makers of Lactaid know that only the Jews are dumb enough to be lactose intolerant and that we’ll pay any amount of money to be able to eat Drumsticks because we get the shpilkiss when we don’t). Then I raced home to enjoy my booty with the kids and Hot Wife.

As instructed, I ate two Lactaids with my first bite of ice cream. And then I gobbled that cone down so fast that I nearly ate my own hand along with it.

Two days passed and nothing happened in my gut. Not a gurgle. Not a cramp. Not even the slightest hint of a shart. “I’m cured!” I thought. “Dairy can kiss my ass! I fear no lasagna!”

But then this morning came. As I sat here wondering why no one ever sends questions for The Monday Enema to themondayenema@dadgonemad.com anymore, I felt this tiny little rumble in my belly. And soon that tiny little rumble became two tiny little rumbles. Then three. And then the tiny little rumbles morphed into the voice of the devil shouting at me from behind my abs. He was really pissed. He was saying, “Better get your ass to the shitter, huckleberry! I’m about to go all apeshit on your bunghole.”

So I listened to the devil behind my abs (because look, who am I to argue with people yelling at me from inside my body?). I sprinted past the cubicles, through the humming glow of the fluorescent lights, past the VP of operations (“Hi, Frank. I’d love to stay and chat but the devil behind my abs says he’s about to unleash all hell through my cornhole…”). I get to the men’s room and a decision must be made: do I take the cramped little loser stall or take my chances in the luxurious handicapped stall where I can stretch out and hope against hope that the one wheelchaired guy in this company doesn’t have a devil talking to him from behind his own abs in the next 15 minutes or so. “Ah, fuckit,” I say to no one in particular, and I dash into the gimp stall.

No sooner do my boxer briefs (Easy, ladies. Easy now. I’m married.) hit the tops of my shoes then my own private intestinal Satan flips the switch and sends a torrent of brownness spraying out from between my cheeks. The porcelain in the bowl moans under pressure. The sound of the outgoing jet is peppered with little mini-farts – the kind you get when you’ve been taking antibiotics for a week and your body wants to shit so bad that the bottom third of your eyeballs is brown.

In a moment, it’s over. Satan has purged my body of the Drumstick, peanuts and all.

I announce to myself shortly thereafter that Lactaid can kiss my ass (and given the current condition of my ass, that seems like a rather unpleasant scenario).

When I get back to my desk, sore and chapped, there is a note on my chair:

“Frank would like to see you in his office.”

Comments

That's never good. Do we need to pass the hat?

Drumsticks... if that doesn't say 'summer,' I don't know what does!

That was...umm...very descriptive, Dannyboy. So, um, yeah...thanks for that.

OK so lets re-visit the dancing serenading pig at your BARMITZVAH - surprised the rabbi didn't crucify you on the spot - holy cow. Definitely need to know more about that episode.... Sheesh your parents were really trying to make sure that your therapist knew that they fully intended to fuck you up. It was not just a page they missed in Dr. Sears, full criminal intent chap, think this may be grounds for a law suit of sorts - Bacon Bites Back or something along those lines.....

Yeah, Lactaid is just about as affective as the rhythm method.

Just be happy you don't have IBS. Then Satan could talk to you at anytime. Wouldn't that be interesting....

Holy Crap! That was funny!!!

Not that I mean to be anal because, who could even attempt to compete with you - but maybe this torture is your karma because you call folks like me who use the handciapped bog because they are handicapped, gimps! Just kidding - how DO you put so much romance into all this crap!?!?!? Something else you might want to know about gimps ... we get great deals on tickets at rock concerts - email me next time your favorite group is in town. I'm not shitting you!

I must remember to not read DGM in a public library! Librarians tend to not understand a sudden outburst of laughing and coffee snorted all over the computer screen!

I'm such a sucker for a good shit story. Thanks.

I see all of the names in the comments and see that most are women. I, a man, found that story very funny. I definitely laughed out loud at my desk reading it. I am however surprised that most of the women find it just as funny.

Maybe I was wrong about hiding my farts around women.

Honey, I love you but come one now. That was vomitous (definition - that which causes one to vomit)!

Yea! Do we get to hear that cute little vomit noise now?

No more drum sticks for me. Thanks for the visual...Although i must say you have a great way of writing that makes me laugh, and makes all my co-workers wonder what could be so funny!

And this is what we missed out on during the Vegas trip.

Pure, unadulterated shit. Sure is good to have you back, man.

You had me at "sumbitch"!! Danny we need to hook up! Hi Sharon. Hi Deb!

You had me at "sumbitch"!! Danny we need to hook up! Hi Sharon. Hi Deb!

BWAHAHAHAHA!!!

Whoa, whoa, whoa Don...

Just because we ladies like to read about farts doesn’t mean we like to smell them.

Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, Tiger

I'm just gonna get in my time machine, dial it back five or so minutes and hope that the time travel erases my memory of this.

I have SUCH a vivid imagination...I just saw your whole bathroom experience before my eyes.

I need something with which to sterilize them.

Ahh the handicapped stall. I always wish when I get there that I had remembered to bring the proper equipment for a game of racquetball.

Mousekiller.
Mousekiller.

Hi!
Hi!

Forever? Howtheheck are ya?

Danny. You really ARE a disgusting sacko'shit! That was SOOOOOO nasty. I think it wins the prize for supreme nastiness. I don't think you've had a grosser, more disgusting poop post, ever. hleh. hleh. Doesn't even sound like good portrait material.

I do not aspire to your blogging genius! No mere mortal can ever hope to even touch your webbed toes with their outstretched fingertips while standing on tippytoes on the tallest building in the world. You are the shitmaster, cremaster.

Mousekiller! No names, please. Especially after this post, I would prefer to remain semi-anonymous. But hi.

Geez, that was...graphic. I can tell you are soooo not Asian.

But that lactose intolerance thing is common in Asians too. (I'm only half Japanese, so I managed to escape this little problem for the most part) I know taking acidophilus supplements with breakfast is a standard of Japanese culture, which seems to help a lot of people with the whole lactose intolerance thing. But, yours seems like an EXTREME case. My deepest sympathies.

Addicted to your blog, by the way.

I can't believe someone can make shit sound so funny!

I agree with April. I'm half Japanese, too. My mother can't touch dairy products without knowing a bathroom is nearby. And I end up with IBS and have to take medication everyday! It's all her fault.

Until now, Drumstick ice cream cones always reminded me of summers at my grandparents house. From here on out, they'll bring an image of the devil behind your abs, and the mayhem that follows.

Look. My job just isn't that funny, okay? So when I read your stuff and get a hella mad case of the Church Giggles in my cube (high pitched wheezing and Hee-hee-hee-hee-ing, with useless attempts to muffle with clamped hand), it's hard to explain to my staff. ("This OSHA manual is freaking hilarious!") God you are one funny man. Tell THAT to your therapist! Keep writing, but can you set it up so I can only read you from my HOME IP address? Surely someone around here can...

Please don't tell me that Frank is the guy in the wheel-chair.

I am lactose intolerant as well. I am not Asian or Jewish, but I could pretend to be if the need arises. In my life I have never heard of anyone making lactose intolerance as funny as you just made it!! That was great.

And I am woman, and if my husband suppressed his farts I would think there was something terribly wrong with him.

Take Frank a Drumstick- whatever it is will probably be forgiven.

As a colitis sufferer for the last 3 years, I feel your pain, indeed I do.

I am half-hispanic and suffer from lactose intolerance as well. Its so hard to stay away from dairy!!!! I mean did you know that those little white powered donuts have dariy in them too!!!! In fact at the moment I am suffering because I was weak...

have you tried the lactaid ultra, really works, Kathie uses them at all times and she's never had problems. they also sell them at Costco in bulk for cheaper too.. but I think you should give it one more chance!

I'm totally lactose tolerant. In fact, I had this insane, creamy cheese for lunch. And it's so freakin' sunny and hot in San Francisco - like 70 F (our yearly heatwave) that I'm treating myself to a rootbear float with microbrewed rootbear and breyer's french vanilla. Yum.... Screw the drumsticks! Screw cholesterol! Screw that woman I flew past on my bike yesterday! (Finally! I passed someone on my bike.) Screw 100 degrees F in So. CA! Screw waiting for another post from my brother!

OMG, I have been reading you for about a week now, DGM, and you are so frickin' hilarious- I almost pooped my pants!

Call me, bro. I can help.

i can relate to your mad dashes to the bathrooms. try finding protein shakes that don't rip the shit out of your stomach. nothing like having a bunch of muscle bound monkeys laughing and smirking when they have to sell you soya protein. when the label clearly states "For Women"! soya just doesn't taste the same and not enough restaurants cook with soya milk or cheese. plus i heard it screws up mens testosteron levels. i hope that's just someone bullshitting me!? so when you're out on a date and the only thing on the menu that doesn't contain cheese is a nice hearty glass of pepsi. you feel pressured, so you order that bird smothered in gargonzola or some fancy stinky feet cheese. next thing you know an all out world war starts in your guts, it honestly sounds like bombs being dropped in the distance. my grandpa one afternoon thought it was the germans, and ran to his basement. it all starts with the high pitched whines followed by small explosions, now the explosions happen because your squeezing your ass so tight all the gas is being forced back up your intestines, which can't be good!? you could make a daimond from coal if shoved between your cheaks, you're squeezing so tight. i have taken stocks out in bathroom sprays, lacatid, lacteeze and lactase enzymes and nothing works. and it is quite embarassing when you all you hear from the bathroom is one big exloding fart echoed by the toilet bowl. so loud that the bathtub, sink and a flushed toilet running doesn't even muffle the sound. now your ass is wet because the magnitude of the spray fart has splashed the water swirling in the toilet all over the bottom of your ass and back of your balls. this is becoming very annoying, having to take showers everytime i need to take a shit after eating some sort of cheese or drinking some baileys, or having a cappuccino. after a night out with the girl we would come back watch a movie, she would rest her head on my stomach and she could swear that i have swallowed a pod of humpback whales. i should start donating my recorded stomach noises to the whale research out east. i could be rich! just a little rant for the night! Good night and good luck with your methane generating plant!

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