The distal end of my feces was hard and impacted. Remnants of a bowel movement past, it formed a hard edge to the reddish-brown softer s*** below; not unlike how rock gives way to muskeg in the Canadian north. The stench was putrid, a melange of sulphuric a** and garlic. The burnt ochre hue of the the turd’s voluminous body evoked memories of the seminal John Tesh album “Live From Red Rocks.” I breathed in the foul stench deeply and began kneading my c***.
