I tend to be a pretty regular guy. This morning, just before leaving for work, I had my bowel movement at the usual time, just before eight AM or so. My digestive waste logs were not too dark, but a sort of charming rustic brown and surprisingly compact to almost a model of the pre-Big Bang universal mass, and with a weight capable of sinking it to the deepest depths of the toilet bowl.
Later, in the evening just before dinner, I had an encore of sorts, with the second resulting product of the same color and consistency as the first, but notably smaller than the opening act.
Although I never get very concerned about the nuances of my daily excremental output, sometimes I get frightened at the size, and fret as to whether or not my drains will be clogged by a particularly large load. Fortunately, I have never had any such problems and unlike some folks, I tend to be very conservative with my bathroom tissue use, though not to the point of failing to maintain a clean and hygienically pleasing asshole.
In a serendipitous way, I am lucky to have such a cramped apartment to live in. I can keep an ample supply of toilet paper literally right next to me as I sit. In the the event that my supply at hand empties, I can simply reach over for a fresh new roll, thus avoiding an awkward walk to a location with my pants down, searching for a replacement.
(IMPORTANT NOTE OF GUIDANCE: This post is but one in a series called THE MUNDANE MONTH OF BLOGGING™. For those of you who are scratching your head right now and saying to yourselves, "What the fuck is he trying to prove?", Click Here, Pilgrim)
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