My Thoughts on Constipation

The other day while I was on the toilet I saw Dane Cook speaking to me. Ok, it wasn’t him per say and no he did not appear as an apparition or a disembodied head—like most TV shows portray talking thoughts.

Cook was reciting his material from the Retaliation tour. I personally don’t think this guy tells jokes, he’s just a good storyteller, scratch that an engaging storyteller. This part of his stand-up he spoke about the plights of drunkenness. But in an interview I learned that he hadn’t drunk so much as a drop of alcohol. It’s been three years since that interview and has since won a pop idol girlfriend and made bank on a few crappy movies so the drinking thing may have changed.

Anyway, he spoke about being drunk. And what he does is he vividly describes events through his body language and cries. I must emphasize his comic material is embedded within the execution of physical humor. Most of his laughs are garnered from the contorted positions and meaningless shrieks. An important part is when he illustrates how finding the perfect body position would help the process of barfing. Oh, I should make note that he did preface this act by saying he was observing drunken people and that this story wasn’t about him. Even though that’s the case the audience finds it hilarious. He poked fun at how people act when inebriated and gains thunderous laughter. There is truth to his emotional escapade. But, Dane Cook’s humor can be applied to more than just intoxicated gestures.

Now I come to my point. Mind you, when Dane Cook visited me, I wasn’t drinking. I was far from that. Instead I was constipated. Too much carbs and dairy will torment your system and tormented I was. I found myself enacting the same steps as Dane Cook who seemed at the moment my Nostradamus. Sometimes you just have to drink and deal with the consequences. Sometimes you’re constipated.

I do my best to interpret the signals my body tells me, so when the gas came I listened. At first it seemed fleeting but it was coming and going so frequently that I took a chance and sat on the throne. I sat down and realized if did continue to crap I forgot one of the most integral actions of bathroom etiquette, turning on the fan. But it was no problem for the moment; it was quiet, no putrid sounds, no nothing. But as I moved just a little to begin my ascent from the bathroom I hear a plop. Tiny splash. Oh shit, Pandora’s box has been opened, no going back.

I imagine as all the demons emerged from the box, Pandora felt it would never end. So did I. An eternity came over me as the constipation battled my bowels. I twisted and configured my body to push my insides and force them to secrete. My brother once told me—I have no idea how this was brought up in conversation—that leaning forward eases the greases. I started taking several different positions, lifting a leg, lifting both legs, hugging my legs. I was on top of the toilet hoping that something would come out and not out of my mouth. And then here came the bargaining. People pray whenever something goes wrong and they need the help. They’ve done as much as they could and leave it up to the lord. Where someone would pray to God, I started to pray to Dane Cook.

If Dane Cook could get out of his smashed situation, I could survive my own. Even if his was fictional.