Half of the posters here don't know the meaning of a bad shit
When I was a young lad of nearly 17, I noticed one day, with some small alarm, that I could not shit.

Could not. At all.

I had recently started a mind-bogglingly boring desk job as a programmer in an engineering firm, which meant I was essentially sitting on my arse from 9 to 5 without moving, eating only the rubbish from the company cafeteria.

The dual factors of an incredible lack of movement and the cardboard, fibre-less diet conspired to bestow the contents of my bowel with the consistency and flexibility of carbon steel.

For the next week I strained, guzzling laxatives, curries and herbal remedies left, right and center - to no effect.

My intestines were cemented solid, painfully reminding me of this fact by causing me agony every time I touched my tender midsection or moved in the wrong way.

It was so bad I could trace the concrete log from the beginning of my Sigmoid colon to the middle of my ascending colon with my fingers - I was decidedly unwell. I began to smell it on my breath, trying to hide it with mints did nothing. It began to hurt when I sat down.

Three weeks of sitting awkwardly in a chair designed for someone considerably smaller than my 6'5" frame and the resulting lack of bowel movement had given me the dreaded Roids. My walk, already reduced to a painful shuffle by the iron-hard turd occupying my large intestine, slowed further to a pitiful crawl.

I couldn't get away with it any longer, people noticed and started asking questions. Had I gotten appendicitis? Was I suffering from Curry-overdose? Was I pregnant and going into labour (I am a man, I believe the asker was taking the piss)?

Eventually I crawled into a doctor's clinic and gave him my sad tale of fecal calamity, a full 23 days since I had last passed anything through my agonized anus.

He took one look at my stomach - and I swear you could actually SEE a bulge outlining my large intestine - and immediately deduced that I needed a shit. All the other problems - the bad breath, the back pain, the headaches, the cramps, the insomnia, the nausea and piles were all due to my inability to unload.

It was at this point I was expecting some sort of violently effective industrial grade elephant-sized dose of laxative, or failing that, invasive surgery to remove the offending blockage. At that point I would have welcomed the latter if it got rid of the pain.

But instead he produced two tins. Of Fruit.

In syrup.

"Pineapple or Apricot?" he asked my convulsing form.

Apparently, eating a load of fruit in syrup - and then drinking the syrup - is one of the most effective (and best tasting) laxatives known to man. The extraordinary amount of sugar is passed into the gut, bringing the water with it, and this loosens the flow, so to speak.

On the way home, I ate the entire tin of Pineapple, drank the syrup and immediately felt the evil, solid mass inside me shift.

I believe at one point I was running so fast I actually exceeded the speed of light, as I arrived at house and got to the bog before I left the clinic.

I tore my jeans apart trying to get them off in time, ripping through the denim like a man possessed before I removed my boxers so fast I still have the friction burns on my thighs.

What followed next was 5 minutes of both mind-rending agony and near-orgiastic pleasure as I literally lost 20 pounds in weight.

Several witnesses attest to there being a violent shaking in the foundations of the building, along with a sound resemblant of an elephant giving birth. I actually lifted off the seat with the force of the expulsions.

And when I had finally finished, I hobbled onto my feet and turned to flush. I was staring the bastard thing in the face. It rose not only out of the water but was nearly above the seat, an evil shade of black with a texture like bitumen.

As a side note, never use drain-cleaning acid on poo. It works, very well, but the stench of sulphuric acid eating through three weeks worth of turd is something that no words can ever adequately explain.

And after this I had to deal with the Roids until they subsided a week later.

An entire month of agony because I got a desk job. Never again.

Apologies for length, but the fucking thing weighed 20lb. I didn't weigh that much when my mother shat me out.
(DarkLite swallowed my entire undercarriage, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 14:54, 3 replies)

Good grief, 23 days without having a poo?
I'm stunned (and 16 is a harsh age to get piles!)

Thanks for the tip/warning about tinned fruit.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 15:03, closed)

Have a sympathy *click*
two weeks on iron tablets + sluggish bowels due to pregnancy hormones = 1 nice set of Farmers just in time for the birth.

Wish I'd known about the tinned fruit in syrup - I always buy the kind in juice.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Mon 31 Mar 2008, 15:20, closed)

Thank you
Now I know why the feeling comes on real quick and I always HAVE TO GO RIGHT NOW.
I'm cured.
O nein is never going to drink the syrup from tinned fruit again.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 16:23, closed)