Necrotic Obsession

this is the tale of the dragon and the turtle head...

"ever had a turtle head poppin' out?


sure you have. we all have.absolutley everyone has. everyone from the filthy rich trophy facelifts, right down to us poor boys from miller street. last i heard, there was somewhere around seven billion people on earth, and i am positive that every single one of em knows what this is about. (or has had it happened and dont quite realize it. people with down syndrome, skitzos, hippies, or people with any other type of mental disease, dont count really.
not all of us always have time for a good healthy shit.
you know, like when you are playin cards in a big tournament and the blinds are huge and you're at the final table with like 8 guys left including you. you havent gotten a playable hand in like 3 hours and you're now short stacked and your praying......and god answers your prayers in the most slapstick of ways.....he made you to have to shit as a defense mechanism to adrenaline....supposedly, this will lighten you up a bit and make you run faster....well, since humans have no other natural enemies in nature now (this of course happens when you are the last species you left alive in the worst mass rape case in history, comitted on every other breathing thing on earth but yourself...so in the end, we run out of things to rape, so we've started raping our own asses. dont ask me how, its never worked for me.) the whole defense mechanism is only good for annoyance and a little comedy here and there. like when you jump out from behind a dumpster and scream, "FREEZE MOTHERFUCKERS! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" in your most earth shattering, boom voice, right when a couple of your buddies just lit a joint behind public building at night, and you know for a fact that both of them are carrying over an ounce each.....thats the only good part about it.
now lets say you decide to answer our mother nature. the sacred, oldest ritual on earth. almost as old a consumtion. but the two have been married longer than even my grandparents and have a more yin yang quality that rivals half moon cookies eatin by an interracial couple in spy vrs. spy costumes playin a game of othello for a whole day and a whole night. lets say you risk it. in public, you are forced to deal with that minefeild of hepetitis they call toilette seats, complete with the pressure that someone may walk in at any point and smell your rank foul shit. or even worse....they HEAR you take that foul rank shit......no way. this is a last resort for any thinking man of substance.
but lets assume that this is a last resort situation.
not many women can understand how toilettes work for men when we have to sit down...they always just bitch about us standin and all that, but they dont know what happens when we have to make a little doody time. they dont know that most toilettes seem to be built for little kids, so you have to suck in a sit at a 85 degree angle so your cock hangs just right to where its not rubbin up against the lip of the seat where you have no doubt, pissed before...they dont know that for some of us "lucky" well-hung types, there is a huge risk of just floppin our dick right in a the shitty water below....as a matter in fact, some engineers have tried to address this problem ive noticed in public facilities by extending the length of the lip with no seat cover there. the kind of oblong elongated thrones. but the problem with those is that the water is even higher, so even the six inchers have to pinch the top of their cocks and keep em just out of harms way.....women dont know this cuz no one ever told them. if they knew how dirty most guys dicks really were, no one would ever get head again....no one. ...ever. so what ever you do, dont tell em now.
so back to your epic shit....there you are four inches above the seat with tp all over the top neatly placed in case you slip, strainin so hard, you wouldn't be surpirsed if you gave birth to the fuckin predator.....or marlin brando in a boba fett costume, holding a new flat screen tv with mountain climbing spikes on.....
and then it happens.
it starts to come like a sleepy child whos been called down to the wondeful smell of a big breakfast. slow at first, but complete in purpose.
but lets not forget what a hurry your in.
and although you were lost in a brief moment of relief, your panic is back. THE CARD GAME! SOMEONE MIGHT COME IN!
and you squeeze. you squeeze so hard tat every vein in your neck tries to help you. you suddenly seem to have abs. and your arms are nothing short of sculpted from the finest marble. sweat droplets from on your brow, like a herd of fat lazy americans waiting in traffic on their day off to go see a ball game.
i recently read an article in maxim written by one of my favorite comedians of indeterminate sexual preference, dave atell. he was talking about how he got a hernia from this very same act. he said he was takin a shit when he heard the simpsons come on in the other room and tried to "dukes of hazzard" the shit out. the rest is history.
then towards the end, the impulse to clench is undeniable. im not sayin it should be done, but we all feel the urge, like when the hot chick at the party gets wasted and falls down on your lap with no one around and one of her tits flops out. you know you'll never be able to speak to this chick when she's sober, let alone handle her satin coconut without gettin killed by like 12 guys who all just bought her 8 drinks each.
so you make the biggest mistake in nature after the creation of humans. you clench. you pinch an otherwise perfect loaf of natural hippy bread seconds too early.....
and now you have a big problem.
you will feel like you have to shit all day when you know its only about half an inch worth of shit up there. try squeezin that baby out. good luck. there's nothing for the little hairs in your ass to grab onto so you can push till you pass out (and sometimes do) but nothins comin out. you can even do the "back and forths" or as i like to call it..."the ol' shuck and jive."
not to mention your gonna have to wipe till your ass is sore, just to make sure, and even then, youll prolly have to wipe a little bit more.....
the thing thats the worst is that right now i think i gotta turtle head poppin out. he mocks me like a whore in church. he disgraces my otherwise alpha-male strut with a more slippery omega glide. i hide in shadow. im reduced to solitude. i am not outgoing on this day. i have no one. i am utterly alone. the empires in my head begin to topple as i sense his pressence, like a sniper laughing from 500 yards away as he watches me look for him. my impotence to meet his onslaught takes shape of its own, and the rest of my insecurities and weaknesses follow suit. untill the army in my head, which has once obeyed only me, truns to mutiny.
i am now a hunted man.
i become the arnold schwartzenegger in predator 1. every question im asked is acusitory. every statement, an attack on my pride. every snicker is mocking me. i hate all these people.....
when i get home she's in a good mood...."of course she is" i think. "she must know about my turtle head"
and she does.
it's clear in the way she seems to sense that the grip i have on the title "boss" of the house has loosened somehow, and like the ever-opportunist woman, she attacks. annoying me form every angle. clawing. biting. throwing things. kicking me. i am beatin. i am in submission. i am her slave. i give up.
the world is my master now. i would rake leaves for erkle, comb the locks of john stamos, and light the cigar of james woods without complaint or rebellion.
this is what the turtle head turns me into.....a shell of a man.
and then, when all is lost, and the world rapes my women and pillages my hard won loot around the fires of my palace, i give one final attempt at expelling the ruthless turtal head. the peice of beef jerky stuck in the teeth of my id.
and it happens.
i feel it budge. slowly at first but then....yes! its happening! I'M FREEEEEEEEE!
he drops from me like an emotionally hurt boy after being shooed away by his mother.....he falls in slow motion. i sense his dissent. i hear him enter the water.....i hardly have to wipe at all.. i turn to face him.
he is less then the size of a zippo lighter, and yet, he has ruined my life in less than 10 hours....
he pleads with me. i enjoy his fear. i act like im considering freeing him. and then as soon as his hopes are high, i flush him into the namless oblivion and strip his identity away from him by forcing him into a mountainous pile of millions of himself, stripping away his size by making him exponentially larger.
and then he is gone.
i then set about the impossible task of winning back all that is mine. i storm downstairs and demand dinner. i bitch about the house being filthy even though i made the mess. i tell my boss that im not gonna work that extra shift he wanted me to. i lean out of the car and try to put my fist in the window of a guy who cut me off three blocks back. i clean my guns. i work out. i make plans for an even bigger tattoo. i crave steak. i punch the air. i think about my life and i get angry. i get it all back plus a bit more. i am twice the man now. i have lived through his regime and i have overthrew him.
nothing holds sway over me now. for the next day i am confident and proud. i look women in the eyes and they blush i look men in the eyes and they get nervous. i become bigger. louder even in silence. forceful. sexual. and i like it.....
so in closing, if you see someone who is weak and beatin, they are rude and annoying....give them another day before you judge.....they could just have a turtle head poppin' out."
-d