Ex-lax is bad news for fat kids.
I know this from experience.
As a kid, I was a fat shit.
I was not “chunky”.
I was not “big-boned”.
I was fat.
I was fat before it was fashionable (as is evidenced now by young super-fat kids wearing crap that they should NOT be wearing. Honey, if I can see your belly button THROUGH your shirt, you need to buy a bigger shirt).
I only got my jeans from the Sears’ “Husky” department (today, in an effort to stay hip, this section is now called “Phatty Phat Phat Gangstas Yo”).
When I got home from school, I had roast beef sandwiches for a snack.
Yes…my “snack” was beef and bread.
My friend once looked at me eating after school one day and said, “What the Hell are you eating?”
I said, nonchalantly, “My snack.”
He said, “An Oreo is a snack. That’s not a snack.”
He was right.
So I had an Oreo after I ate my sandwich.
It wasn’t bad being a fat kid back then, really. I just couldn’t really do any exercise (not necessarily a bad thing since exercise tends to make me tired-ish with a side of swamp ass).
The worst part was having the fat nicknames.
My name is Rodney. I had a small group of close friends – maybe 4 or 5 really GOOD friends.
They’d call me “Round-ney.”
These were my GOOD friends.
On a related note: I'm not a very good judge of character.
Anyway, one of my friends had a sister. Every day, she would go bike riding and one day she asked me to go with her. I was excited (hey! my loins feel funny!), as normally girls wouldn’t talk to me.
Nowadays they just take out restraining orders those stupid VINDICTIVE BITCHES!!
So I was getting ready to leave the house, and was in the bathroom when I opened the cabinet.
There, in the top drawer, was a small box of chocolates.
I had never heard of “Ex-lax” chocolates, but there they were sitting in front of me…in all their chocolaty goodness.
So I ate some.
* num num num
I ate, like, four of them.
* NUM NUM NUM NUM
Keep in mind, I’m 8 years old.
…and I’ve unwittingly ingested enough laxative to completely evacuate the lower intestines of every inhabitant of Somalia.
But, with chocolate in my belly and a song in my heart (Bay City Rollers ROCK DA HOUSE!), I gleefully jump on my bike, and off I go.
About two miles from my house, my friend’s sister stops to talk to a friend on the side of the road. I don’t know this friend, so I’m sitting off in the background…my thoughts to myself…
…it’s just then that I feel the bubble.
*BLURGLE BLURGLE ZIING*
“Wow,” I’m thinking. “This is going to be a big fart.”
So I back up a bit, and ease a cheek off my bike seat and try to squeeze out a silent toot.
…and I completely and utterly shit myself.
I shit like I was trying to put out a fire with it.
The poo wouldn’t stop.
The Ex-lax was hitting me like a gift that kept on giving.
Me: "…what the…?!"
I can only imagine my face…completely shocked and wide-eyed as this was NOT the fart I was expecting.…
…and now my face is also pale as all the blood has drained from it and is now concentrated around my ever-constricting bowels trying to STOP THIS POO...MOTHER OF GOD…FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY…MAKE IT STOP!!!
I managed to scream out, “I have to go home!” to my buddy’s sister.
She waved a “whatever” wave (she thankfully had NO idea I had just completely emptied the entire contents of my colon into my pants)…and off I went.
…two miles…on my bike…
...ass completely smeared in Husky-jean-trapped-poo…
…actually…I’m on a bike…and I’ve got TWO miles to go…so I’m sitting in it.
Damage is done.
No use standing to pedal – it will ruin my shoes.
So with every pedal comes a *squish, squish, squish*…
Completely humiliated, I arrive home probably smelling like an unshowered Rosie O'Donnell after yoga class.
I have no idea how my mother is going to take the news from her 8-year old boy that he has just shit his pants.
So I snuck into the bathroom, and chucked my shit stained pants down the laundry chute.
My underwear…completely destroyed and in poo-covered tatters…
…I threw those under my bed.
I have NO idea what I was thinking in doing this.
I think, early on, I pioneered the concept of biodegradation.
I assumed that the atmospheric pressure, environmental factors and my very own poo-bacteria would simply – and odorlessly – dissolve my Underoos.
I have no idea if it dissolved under there or not.
My mother NEVER said a thing to me about it.
I can’t imagine her sheer horror in discovering (a) not only my poopy pants in the laundry chute but then (b) realizing my underwear was not with them…and finding them later on…under my bed…
Ex-lax and fat kids.
Please, ladies and gentlemen, keep them separate.