Bowel movements are proof of everything unholy in this world. Nothing good ever comes from a story where there's a guy on the toilet and, more importantly, no one ever wants to hear about it. Especially if they're eating with their grandparents. Whatever, that wedding sucked anyway...
Seriously though; One minute you're snacking on a delicious slice of chocolate cake. Then, hours later, that cake will return with a vengeance. In that moment, you drop what you're doing and bolt down the hallway like your ass is on fire. Soon, you find yourself on the can, cussing and screaming out the name of every saint they taught you in church school. The sound of your backside exploding rips the paint off your bathroom walls and can be heard three miles away. And the smell. Goddamn. What the hell was in that cake?
I remember a particularly-vicious battle at "Porcelain Hill" where I punched a hole through my drywall. Then, pushing my lips through the hole, I began screaming at my Asian neighbor next-door, who was doing yard work at that moment. They weren't even words half the time: I just hollered at the highest octave I could produce. All he did was stand there for about a minute, and then he scurried back into the house. What a weirdo.
On this day, I had a case of bad-decision making and ordered Mexican food. Here's a fun fact: Mexican food looks twice as good going out as it does going in. No joke. After yelling out from the newly-formed hole in my wall for an hour or so, I realized that I still needed to pay the delivery guy, who remained standing on my front porch as I scarfed down the eighteen burritos and made a mad dash to the bathroom. I'm assuming he was still there during my shouting session with the neighbor, but I couldn't tell for sure. In an effort to leave, I hastily wiped what was left of my ass with an entire roll of toilet paper, which I didn't even take the time to unwind. I then tossed the mess into the bathtub. Upon spinning around to flush, I caught sight of a red nose.
There, in the toilet, was a large head attached to a long, skinny neck. It was so white that I thought it was a Styrofoam wig head. I soon realized that it was, in fact, flesh. Its big red nose looked disproportionate to the rest of the head, as if a caricature artist sculpted it. The more I stared at its nose, the more I noticed tiny black spots scattered around the bridge of its eyes. Black star-shaped make-up was visible over its eyelids, which looked as if the head's piercing yellow pupils sliced them in half. That smile. Good God. Its mouth was pulled into the shape of a gnarling grin, with tinted brown teeth that grew out in disproportionate directions. I could feel his breath escape between his stained gums; it smelled like the burning stench of pennies, with the hinted funk of something burning. I never glanced into the bowl to see if that neck went anywhere; I was locked in a staring contest with the gigantic head.
At first, there was a long silence. I did my best to keep all of its features in my peripheral vision. It gently bobbed up and down with every breath it took. Then it spoke to me in a voice that sounded like the gargled screeching of a drowning child:
"...THE EGGS...HAVE BEEN LAID..."
Then it slid back into the toilet. Its enormous head appeared to deflate as it slithered down the drain. I stood there with my pants down and my eyes fixed on the pool of rancid water at the bottom of the bowl.
After ten minutes of waiting for something to happen, I flushed.