Ass I Lay Dying

ASS I LAY DYING -
--by Dan Buck

I am part Mexican, but mostly a good ole American cheeseburger-and-fries kind of guy. I never know from where I come, just that I am here with a simple path that I must follow. I usually wait all day in the dark and then upon my owner's consent I dive into a pool where I swim deep below to join my brothers.

But today, my friend, is different. Today I am stalwart. A rock. You see my owner made a very big mistake on that weekend trip to Vegas. He ate poorly, beginning with a beef brain taco he ate as a joke at a seedy Mexican restaurant and ending with a double bacon cheeseburger, fries and a thick chocolate milkshake. He consumed nothing else for twenty-four hours. Except alcohol. And no water makes for a tedious turd, or at least that’s what I’ve been told.

My owner realized something was wrong when he returned a few nights ago. I was an amazing brick. You should have seen the look on his face. I peeped out, caught a glimpse of his straining face in the reflection, and rammed my way back in as painfully as possible.

He was confused, since he hadn't created a constipated friend for over a decade, but resilient. Realizing what was going on he quickly bought some pills and popped them into that other hole. They did nothing, of course. As if you could kill a Mexican by firing a pistol from Newfoundland.

The next day he upped the dosage. Still nothing. By now my power had begun
to really knock him down. Chills, abdominal discomfort, and get this, the sensation of starving. I created a virtual time bomb. How many meals could he pack in before the explosion?

Even more beautiful was the psychological anguish that I was causing. Technically, he could break me up a little bit by natural movement. The fear that I'd splinter his bowels, however, kept him off the pool gate.

I will have to admit that my owner is as much a fighter as I. We are a good match. He has had no qualms about experimenting to get me out. He has tried shaking, humming, and even standing. I tapped into his brain during these moments of standing. "Wow, this is really working." I'd tease him. "Wait a minute, I've never shit standing up in my life. I've never heard of anyone shitting standing up. Is it possible? I feel like a goat." And then he'd sit down again and I'd nudge back inside. "Fuck it I'll stand up. But wait, where will it fall? Not on my pants and on my feet. I'll aim over the toilet. God the toilet is cold on my calves. This is strange. Fuck it I'll sit down." This went on and on.

Apparently, this last episode frustrated him so much he decided to resort to barbaric tactics. Yes, my owner wet his hand from the nearby bathtub faucet and lodged his finger inside to try to break me up. He succeeded a little, but not without hurting the both of us. Again, I listened to his thoughts. "O.k., the angle is very important. I've got to push parallel to the water's surface and to not push it back in. No, not in!" Ha ha. Moments and moments went by. "Jesus it's getting in the bathtub.. . . .It's drying all over my hands." A long, pained pause. "This is the darkest moment in my life." He fought very valiantly, but the pain I inflicted was too much to keep these tactics up.

Now I'm not crazy. I know that this can last only so long. Shit, I don't want to stay any longer than I have to anyway. But I'm going to make the most of my remaining time. He can jam up his fist or twenty candles (wax things that actually soften me a bit) for all I care. I'm going to make him suffer. I am the boss. The brown boss. And my only enemy is the enema.

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