It was a nice evening in Boston’s Fanuel Hall until the inevitable happened and this is how it unfolded. My wife and I had just finished a great dinner in the North End and headed back towards Fanuel Hall for some shopping. Anyone that knows Boston knows that it is a little bit of a walk back to Fanuel Hall from Hanover St. So, as we are walking I feel this pressure in my lower bowels that tells me there is going to be an exit of the Italian seafood I had inhaled about an hour ago sometime within the next five to ten minutes. I let my wife know that we should pick up the pace or I will most likley embarass the hell out As it turns out increasing the pace of our walk only sped up the movement in my GI system. All of a sudden I was froced to come to a halt because I could have sworn I had just been shot in the stomach with a 45 auto mag handgun. Negative, just the shit pains in my bowels. I then crossed my legs, started to sweat like a whore in church before confession and squeezed my ass cheeks together like I was trying my damndest to turn coal to diamond. The sensation passed somewhat. Enough time to find a friggen bathroom…..I thought. Come to find that the Dunkin Donuts did not have a bathroom. That’s when things took a turn for the worse……..in the middle of Fanuel Hall.
That irreversible shit cramp that can be best desribed as a pair of hit men going to work on my insides with a pair of vice grips and a blowtorch and that no matter how hard you squeeze the train is going to make it through the gates. I look at my wife and state in a loud fashion, “I gotta go right now!!!” I RAN to the nearest door and opened it only to find a stair case leading upwards (no chance) and a five star resturaunt door. I chose the restraunt. As I dashed through the resturaunt I made horrific noises out of my balloon knot that were not only loud and offensive but equal to in stench pier 9 on a ninety degree August day. I made it to the bathroom and the liquid shit is running through my asshole like a broken 18 inch water main. I slam the door to the single person bathroom, whip my pants down and splatter the entire toilet and a circumference of about 3 feet with crap. This was done with a loud fart taht sounded like a volcanic eruption. My underwear looks looked it was splattered with a chunky dunkachino from Dunkin Donuts, the toilet and wall resemble the bathroom of a crack house in Camden NJ. Not exactly typical for a five star resturaunt. and the smell can be best described as a bag of garbage left out in the sun for two weeks and then opened in a small environment. My underwear went right into the rubbish, I washed the lower half of my body in the sink with paper towels and tossed them into the rubbish, washed my pants out and put them on wet. When I opened the door to leave the bar tender had the look of fear in his eyes either from laughing or crying (not sure) and as I turned around half of the resturaunt was looking at me in horror and probably wondering why I am not sporting them their meals. The bar tender opened the door for me which led into a back alley and locked the door. After an hour I found my way back to my wife and took the trip home with a little less pride.
Originally posted 2007-06-18 10:14:00.