Cherry Poops

I retract my previous victory statement. The cherries are still winning. Throughout the day I’ve had a sour stomach. I knew it was the gas from the cherries, but it was only a mild discomfort. Thirty minutes ago I just finished a three mile run. During the run I started feeling some diarrhea pains, and at the end of the run it was full blown run-as-fast-as-I-can-to-the-toilet-before-I-shit-myself pains. I made it to the bathroom in time to struggle with taking off my sweat-soaked shorts and dropped some cherry bombs in the toilet. Relief. Ten minutes later, I have another episode of explosive cherry squirts. This time, there are two women chatting in the bathroom. I have no time to spare to look for a vacant bathroom to poop in peace, so I make my way to the stall next to them and let the poop soup slide out my bunghole. Luckily, the ladies are deaf or they’re talking so loud that they don’t hear my splatters because they continue to loiter in the bathroom. Their noses also don’t work because the funk vapors coming from my butt don’t bother them at all, and they’re still chatting a few feet away from me. I emerge from my stall and walk towards them to the sink. Perhaps the smell trailed me because at that moment they decided to leave. I’m still feeling some diarrhea rumblings. Curses, cherries! I hate you! But you’re so delicious this will probably happen again.

I love you, Cherries. But you do my butt wrong.

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