Life Lesson From an Unholy Turd

There I was, engulfed in stagnant fart clouds like the permanent fog of hell, trying to find a doorknob through teary eyes and blurred vision. My nostrils stung with the odorous bite of a thousand ass-blasted chili dogs and whisky. Where was I, and how did I get here? The air, saturated with stench, felt short of oxygen. Like a mountaineer ascending the peak of Mt. Everest, my consciousness and cognition were dulled in this harsh and uninhabitable environment. In this unredeeming place, the awe and beauty of a great mountain were substituted with an equal magnitude of atrocious gasified shittiness. I thought for a moment that if I were not alone in this void, others who were not so lucky may have already died like frozen backpackers in the mountains, tragically unprepared for the unforgiving harshness and immortalized in suspended animation.

Desperately, and near blindly, feeling my way along the wall, I prayed to find a doorknob before I would inevitably be overwhelmed by asphyxiation and sucked into the abyss. I hoped not to accidentally grasp a turd, or whatever was the source of the unholy stench.

Alas! I felt the cold, round metal shape of a doorknob! Freedom! I squeezed it like the last rung of a helicopter's rope ladder whipping in the wind above a drowning swimmer in a turbulent sea. I twisted the knob, pulled hard, coughed, and took a deep breath. If this door didn't lead to safety, it could have been my last. If I had truly found an escape, it would be the sweetest breath of air I had ever tasted in my life. With that breath, I risked it all.

I regained full consciousness after several minutes of breathing adequately oxygenated air, and eventually recalled the events prior. Ten minutes earlier, I had hastily jumped into the shower and forgot to flush the immense monstrosity I had birthed into the toilet. I recalled telling my wife that it was going to be 'massive', and told her that she should 'write a will' if she loved our children.

Tangoing with the Grim Reaper in an airtight room with a noxious shit cloud was, like all near death experiences, life-changing. The lesson I learned: open a window or flush before it's too late. Of course, the monsters I flush could crawl back up to haunt me later, but it's up to me to keep flushing, no matter how big the turds are. And they are big!