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Thursday, February 13, 2014

WHITT'S END: 2.14.14

      Whether you're at the end of your coffee, your day, your week or even your rope, welcome to Whitt's End:

   *The one place I thought I'd never ever never see Dale Hansen ...

   *Is DFW tuning into the Winter Olympics? ...

   *From my heart to yours (sorta), a Valentines Day video ...


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6 comments:

  1. Every once in a while, my balloon knot will produce a bowel movement that is truly epic in proportions. A Herculean creation so big that all space and time seems to stop as you gaze lovingly upon it. With the Gastrointestinal Gods having smiled upon me, I was fortunate enough to have been astride the porcelain altar when one of these leviathans began to stir in my bilge.
    A few months back, my spiders creation was inspired by the Atkins diet. After two weeks of eating nothing more than cow, my asspipe became a cholesterol clogged ass-artery. I usually have a regular flow, but for about 2 days... nothing. Far be it for me to take a laxative, thereby performing anal-angioplasty. I continued my dietary regiment of copious amounts of red meat and cheese. Understanding the theory of doo-doo economics, I knew that something had to give soon: my supply curve was way up, but my demand to shit was way below equilibrium.

    Suddenly, I felt it. As I sat there on my sofa, something deep within me began to stir, like a massive monolith shifting within my rectal Stonehenge. Salvation! I knew that this would be my manna after spending many days wandering the desert of constipation. I rejoiced, took a celebratory stroll to the bathroom, and sat on the throne. As I began to push, I felt its awe-inspiring presence within my colon; falling, moving toward my sphincter, and then stopping mere centimeters short of the Promised Land.

    My bunghole was wide open and contracting, not unlike the mouth of a large catfish feeding on a lake bottom. The leading end of my log must have dried out significantly in the few days as it festered within me, because at that point it felt like I had a granola bar the size of a brick stuck inside my starfish. I was undoubtedly shitting out a wire brush, or maybe a carton of thumbtacks, a cinder block or a hoof rasp.

    Either way, as I continued to push, the foul beast inched closer and closer to daylight. By now I was dripping sweat and had a white-knuckle grip on the sink and counter next to me. Without warning, a good three inches of gigantic dirt snake poked out of my rim like a prairie dog peering out of its hole.

    It was unbelievably big. But as I continued to grunt and push, it only got bigger. I felt like my intestines were trying to push a watermelon out of my mud chute. My carbohydrate-starved innards were exacting their form of dietary vengeance on me. There was no amount of bread or milk that could ease this suffering. I began to utter a sorrowful, timeless sound -- a plaintive bellow of pure agony that came from the most primal labyrinths of my pain-wracked body. I wept and prayed for rectal rapture.

    Suddenly my fecal infant crowned, and the rest of this brown breech-baby slid effortlessly out of my manwomb, leaving a very battered, torn, and dilated rim in his wake. I wiped; there was very little afterbirth to clean off, and, surprisingly, no blood or chunks of intestine. I turned around to look at the fruit of my labor. It was truly a thing of beauty; it brought a tear to my already watering eyes. It was around eight inches long, but extremely girthy. The front part that had shredded me looked very dark and crispy, with little sharp bits of what appeared to be undigested peanut shells. In retrospect, I can only say that Dr. Atkins has allowed me to discover the forbidden knowledge of what it feels like for a man to give birth.


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  2. This could quite possibly be your best documented gastric adventure so far. You told your story so well.

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  3. Damn that shit is funny! Who could have guessed that reading about someones bowel movements would be more entertaining than this pathetic excuse for a blog. Richie shit the bed with the whole paywall decision.

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  4. I salute you sir, you are a poetic genius!

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  5. Now this stuff....I might pay $4.99 for!

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  6. I want to invite you into my heart as my lord and savior.

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