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The Bowel Movement That Profoundly Changed the Lives of Three Men

3 Most Embarrassing Moments of My Life (Pt. 1 of 3)

By Ray BohnPublished 5 years ago 17 min read

I’ll make one agreement with you in tell this disgusting tale of woe. I promise to tell the truth. Every word of it is true. Whether or not I could confirm it lays in the memories of people who didn’t know the whole story. Embarrassing as it may be, the events of that day have stayed with me for almost twenty years now.

I was sixteen, enrolled in Catholic school, a punk rocker with a 14-inch mohawk, and utterly addicted to heroin. Of course, that last detail was something that had at that point, not yet become common knowledge.

The plan was simple, my brother Tony and I were heading to Madison, Wisconsin for the weekend to party and do cocaine with his friend Millie.

Now some things you may not know but are important to understand for the sake of the story. First, vacations are not something junkies tend to go on. Being away from your dealer is something you don’t risk lightly. However, I had procured enough Oxycontin to last me clear through the weekend trip. Secondly, opiates constipate you. The worse your habit is, the worst the backlog inside you. At this point in my life, it was not uncommon for me to go three weeks without taking a dump. My digestive system has always been slow that way. Even off drugs I only go maybe three times a week.

As we left on this trip, I probably hadn’t gone in close to a month. Something that amazingly wasn’t on my mind. Third, cocaine reverses the effects of heroin. As an addict, it’s your goal to keep a steady flow of opiates in your system to keep off withdrawals. Doing cocaine will counteract that. Sure you’ll be high on coke but when that wears off. You’ll be going into withdrawal. Fourth, cocaine is often cut with baby laxatives. It is not uncommon for people who are well acquainted with the yayo to feel the need to take a shit upon the mere thought of cocaine. Now back to the story.

Friday, after school, my brother and I hopped into his truck and hit the road. The trip would take around four hours and I immediately began taking my pills in secret, snorting them at gas stations bathrooms. At the time my brother was not aware of my problem. He is seven years my elder, and also part of the punk rock scene. At the time he was my hero and I jumped at the chance to hang with his friends who had all been punks long enough to have awesome apartments and record collections. They could legally by beer and smokes, and by hanging with someone as young as me. It made me feel more authentic a punk in the eyes of my peers. We drove, catching up and sharing music. Shooting the shit and getting excited for the drugs to come. I couldn’t exactly tell him if he wanted coke I could get it back home. The trip was about more than the drugs though. Friends, a new city, a bonding trip, was also a big part of it all.

When we arrived in town we immediately went to an abandoned strip mall. I made jokes about the building's appearance.

Telling him, “You couldn’t find a building to murder me in back home?”

Yet, when we pulled on the outside doors they opened.

Inside was what looked like a mall's food court. Only without the mall. All but one food establishment had been closed. The only one remaining was your standard pizza by the slice shop. As we approached the counter, Millie’s familiar face came to the register along with a friend and co-worker. After all these years I can’t say I remember his friends name accurately but I think it was William, so in this story. It will be William.

They gave us free food, approximately fifty mozzarella sticks and joked about their shitty jobs and soon we headed back to Millies Madison punk house for a night of drug abuse punkery. At the time I was a veteran drug user but I learned something I hadn’t known until that night. While abusing cocaine you can consume a staggering amount of alcohol and not feel its effects until the blow wears off. So the night had ended abruptly when the twelve beers I couldn’t believe I was holding down so well hit me all at once. To this day I’ve never seen the ending of The Unusual Suspects. I fell asleep sitting upright in a folding chair and woke up to the others' laughter when I finally fell off it.

The next morning my brother and I awoke alone. Millie and William had gone back to work. We gathered our things and got ready for our trip home.

Once I had fully woken up, I did not feel well at all. My stomach was making horrible noises and shooting pains would cause me to double over in pain. My gut swirling with cheap beer, cocaine, and more than thirty days of waste. My head pounded and a layer of sick sweat covered my entire body. Feverish and red-faced I knew it was coming but hoped to make it home. At 5’10 and 150 lbs, I had enough narcotics in me to kill someone twice my size.

I immediately started taking Oxycontin to counteract the previous night's damage. It was starting to work extremely well by the time we got in the car. Still, my gurgling stomach persisted and by the time we arrived back at the pizza shop I was high as a kite. Too high. Unreasonably high for what I had taken. The room was spinning and I knew by the overflow of saliva in my mouth that soon I would vomit.

My number one goal was to not allow my older companions to see it, however. Because one, I would look like I couldn’t hang with them and two, I didn’t want to raise suspicion about my own secret drug abuse. Tony and Millie were talking. Rapid fire conversation that never seemed to have a break.

I looked for a bathroom but could not see one. The moment I would explode with puke was rapidly approaching. I looked for a garbage can. Nothing. I choked down the mounting pressure in my throat waiting for a chance to ask where the bathroom was without interrupting and seeming desperate.

Soon my chance came, a very brief pause wherein I asked where the nearest john was. He pointed me to an unmarked door across the room. I walked quickly but not too quickly to the door and just as my hand touched the door I knew it was happening. With the door, a quarter open, my projectile vomit sprayed all over my extended arm, the door, and the floor. I continued in, quickly closing the door behind me. Forced to walk through my own sick I charged forward into the nearest stall where I sprayed acidic smooth everywhere but inside the toilet.

The smell was horrible, acrid but terribly simultaneously rotten. Like a human digestive system dissolved in acid then left to spoil in the sun. As I heaved so hard my heart seemed to skip beats in painful stabs I realized soon my other end would be expelling something too. Today is the day my body objected. Today we empty this bag of shit.

I dropped my pants, quickly and effectively wiped my puke off the seat and sat down in time for some unholy monster the size of an adults forearm to rip its way out of my now bleeding asshole and fall to the porcelain like a pound of thick clay. Followed by what I assume was several pounds of soft serve diarrhea that burned my nostrils on the way out. Although I remember the vomit smelled worst, causing me to gag as I sat on the toilet. Even puking between my own legs once more during the madness. I strained and gagged, and nearly burst blood vessels. Or more than likely did.

I tried to flush away the foul beast that destroyed my teenage virgin rectum but it simply tilted skyward like a ten-pound roast covered in slim and fur? With a slimy tail that resembled a fish eaten whole. The shit sat there, unflinching and angry, stinking, green and unmovable streaked with blood it had spilled by force.

Soon I felt a mountain of relief and went about cleaning myself but completely without a way to clean the room. I knew it was awful yet, I simply left the bathroom like a shit monster massacre had but cut short by an atomic vomit bomb. I slipped out, back to the conversation between my brother and Millie. Ready to exclaim the state of their bathroom was like that before I entered.

My forehead started to cool, feeling the feverish heat of my staining begin to subside. The Oxycontin was hitting me hard but in a pleasant way. I was beginning to think I’d sleep the whole way home.

About fifteen minutes had passed and we were in the middle of our goodbyes when William waved us goodbye and started walking towards the bathroom from across the abandoned food courts marble floor.

My pulse quickened. He was about to find the unbelievable mess I’d left behind. The urge to burst out laughing was uncontrollable. I strained again. This time stuffing down the laughter that was turning my face red. If I laughed now, they’d know I’d done it. The conversation continued unaware as I watched with dreaded anticipation William getting closer. Knowing the horror we was about to stumble upon made it all the harder to contain. I’d sooner find a dead body than the poison I expelled in that tiny bathroom. I looked to my brother and Millie with an unexplainable energy behind my eyes.

William hit the door and walked into the bathroom quickly as the door fell shut behind him. One second passed, two seconds passed, I was about to burst trying to contain myself, imagining the shock he was feeling and seeing it through his eyes...then it came.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” screamed William from inside the restroom like a man who found out the world is not as it seems.

Both my brother, and Millie turned their heads towards the shouting. I let out the breath I was holding in a gasp more than a laugh still trying to keep my cover. They turned their heads back to me at the sound of my breathy exhale. Before I had to explain myself William burst out the door.


Gary? A new wave of hilarity hit me. I struggled still to hold it in as William's revulsion to what was inside me grew and aimed at an innocent. One's bowel movements or gas are never funnier than when someone is disgusted by them is much is a fact.

Moi and Tony began to walk towards the bathroom with me in tow, concentrating on my breathing as my guts shook uncontrollably.

“Jesus Christ, it smells like someone died. Fucking Gary. He puked all over the fucking bathroom. Fucking homeless wino puke. He is out. No more.” William continued to exclaim at the wretched state I’d left things.

As the three of us got closer to the bathroom, William cracked the door and the smell of it wafted out to all of us. It smelled like infection and decay. With just a hint of last night's alcohol poured over freezer burnt motz sticks.

“Oh my god!" My brother and Millie expelled at once as their disgust sent me over the edge and I let out my laughter.

“Wow, that’s foul!” I spat in between my breathless laughter. Apparently, they’d all forgotten I’d even been in the bathroom. Now it was appropriate to laugh without revealing that I was the source of all Earth's evil.

“I’m not fucking cleaning that,” William screamed in anger, “I'm gonna make fucking Gary clean it.”

“We can’t leave it like that,” Millie added as he examined the scene of my crime. He tipped open the stall door and let another, “Jesus Christ! How in the fuck?! Did a grizzly bear come through here?”

I saw the massive turd that ripped me in half never looking so big or proud, standing majestic up and out of the toilet. I couldn’t help it and bent over laughing at the shock of what came out of me.

“How did he walk away from that? He shit a fucking football! It’s bigger than your head!” Millie shouted at me who was the most amused by it all. Now everyone was either laughing or screaming in disgust.

My brother looked in the room and began to gag fighting the urge to vomit himself that set off a chain reaction in Millie. Soon we all stood on the other side of the room as we discussed their revulsion. Each face they made setting off a new fit of laughter.

It was then I learned that my patsy was a homeless man named Gary who they let use the restroom and gave leftover pizza to at the end of the night. Apparently, he had made a mess of the bathroom before although never like this. I felt bad letting him take the fall. Especially if it cost him somewhere warm in the frigid Wisconsin winter. I let him take the blame all the same. What I hadn’t expected was what happened next.

“I quit man, I’m done,” William said taking off his apron and throwing it on the empty pizza places counter.

Millie raised some objection to it but William's mind was made up and I’m guessing this was just the final straw. He would not be the one to clean up the nightmare world that existed beyond the restroom door.

It was at that moment my brother elbowed me and nodded towards the door. I followed his lead and we took it as our cue to leave and begin the long drive home.

I was never accused of having made the mess. Gary took the fall, and William quit his job. It’s been nearly twenty years since that day and I wonder about Gary, and William at least once a week. Gary who I never met, and William who I knew for twelve hours at best.

Sometimes I imagine that quitting that job sent William on a delirious downward spiral. Unable to hold a job because of his inability to open a door. Frozen in terror at what could be within. Rambling about the horrors that could await beyond on any given day. Nightmares about bleeding rectums and turkey-sized shits. Slowly leading him to become a recluse who can only shit in jars. I imagine him accusing Gary. Then when Gary obviously denies it, becoming obsessed with figuring out who. I picture him at a cork board with our pictures on it, Alongside aliens and former presidents. With yarn running from pin to pin, all around a scientific break down of how the human digestive system could produce such a thing. For years he’s a haunted mess of a beautiful mind. I’ve considered tracking him down. Then once a year on the anniversary of the day I would shit outside his house and call him.

I would breathe heavy on the line until he screams “Dear god who are you?”

I would softly hiss, “It was meeeee!”

“Why are you doing this to me!” He screamed.

Other days I wonder about Gary, and if maybe that was the day he turned it all around. Perhaps someone did make him clean the foul mess that didn’t belong to him and it was simply more rock bottom than he could heal from. He devotes his life to clean living so no one else ever gives birth to a brown toddler again.

I did say that it changed three lives forever though and the third was mine. Not because this whole ordeal was embarrassing, disgusting, or hilarious. It changed my life because it almost killed me.

See when you abuse drugs that constipate you, your digestive system slows down. Imagine an assembly line, taking everything you eat and boxing it up to ship it out. Well, when you don’t go. Those boxes start stacking up and the pressure building up behind them grows and grows until it bursts.

Here’s the problem. All the pills and other drugs I’d snorted or swallowed weren’t being properly digested. They either just sat at the top of my stomach or became encased in a pocket of sorts made out of waste and hair. When I exploded in the food court bathroom my system kicked things into high gear. All the beer and cocaine poured on top of the half-digested drugs began to dissolve extremely fast.

By the time we arrived home, I felt much higher than I should have but I was fine all the same. I went to a girlfriend's house for the night and fell asleep pretty early. Little did I know that enough drugs to kill Elvis were now being unleashed into my bloodstream. I woke up late, and heavily sedated the next morning. I walked outside staggering and wavering as I struggled to even stand upright.

After the first hit of my cigarette, I began to vomit unlike I ever had before. Streams of stinking acidic projectile vomit shot out of me into the yard. My girlfriend was obviously worried but had also been with me the last half a day and assumed I was sick.

She got me home to my bed and after a few hours the vomiting stopped but the high I was feeling only grew and grew until there was nothing I could do but sleep.

And sleep I did. Over the next three days, I don’t remember much. Just a few times my girlfriend at the time would offer me, food, water, or even sex. I could hardly open my eyes let alone answer. Her first suspicions would have been drugs, but she hadn’t seen me take any in days and was standing watch over me. On the third day, I awoke extremely sedated but feeling somewhat better. I awoke long enough to use the toilet and wolf down some food and passed back out for another twelve hours.

When I did wake up the next time I should have been in withdrawals after not have used in days but I wasn’t… I felt…good. It took some time before I connected all the dots on what had happened. Before long, I was back to doing the same old shit, but this time with a newfound attention to my bowel movements.

One man quit his job, another man went down for a crime he didn’t commit, and lost a safe place in a cold world. Finally, I almost died, I should have died. Most people would have. Taking that massive shit in Madison launched a series of events that left me unconscious in a coma for the better part of a week. This story may not be Shakespeare, or even Twilight fan fiction, but if nothing else, I’m sure you’ve learned something. Now ask yourself have you ever changed a life with your bodily waste. I’m of the belief it happens more than we care to admit. This story is many things, but the most important of which is that it is 100 percent true.

Pray for Punks by Ray Bohn

Pray for Punksis available on Amazon.

Hank is an aging punk rocker in the midst of a downward spiral. Iggy is a demon from the bowels of hell. Together, they are best friends living out a life of rock n' roll debauchery and drug-fueled chaos. Lying, cheating, stealing. Fucking, fighting, and snorting. Just another skullduggerous free fall of a day in the life of two twisted punks who have nothing left to lose. Until one day their search for oblivion is derailed by a distressed damsel named River Mccall. After a series of unfortunate events Iggy is forced to handcraft a dead body or two, thus sending them on a blood-splattered path paved with good intentions and otherworldly horrors. Only posers die, and despite his best efforts, Hank has developed a death tolerance that would make Keith Richards jealous. However, Hank has a secret and The Devil has designs. The punk rock threesome is southbound as they flee from the law and search for answers. The police aren’t the only ones after them though as hooded men in black robes start to stalk the devious trio. Unknown forces are pulling the strings as they prepare to launch their devilish end game. Now it’s up to a human with a death wish, a knife-wielding rocker chick, and a demon with a drug problem to prevent all hell from breaking loose.


About the Creator

Ray Bohn

Aspiring writer and Octonaut.

Author of horror novels "Pray For Punks" and "Slaughtering Shadows and Other Things I Thought Were Shadows". Available now in paperback and kindle at

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