Bloody sundae

In the summer of 2004, I was seeing a girl named Katie. On one particularly gorgeous, sunny day, Katie and I decided to go for a run around Lake Calhoun. About halfway around the lake, I had to piss like a motherfucker. The permanent public restrooms were still quite a distance away, so I breathed a sigh of relief when we came upon a portable toilet along the pedestrian path. I hurried inside, and it was immediately clear that this toilet had not been emptied of its contents in a timely manner. The smell was overwhelming. It was everything I could do not to vomit. But the horrendous pressure on my bladder gave me the strength to take a deep breath through my mouth, hold it tight, and unleash my golden stream into the urinal. With the urgency of the situation dissipated, I made the mistake of glancing down again at the most turgid, rancid pile of human waste I have ever seen. The toilet was so full, that the feces was stacked above the rim. This means that at least one poor soul so desperately had to shit that they hovered above the toilet, likely with tears streaming down their face, and unclenched. And if you are that desperate to shit, you're not going to let go of some perfectly formed turd. No, my friend. If your level of defecation urgency is that high, you have a gurgling mass of piping hot mortality punching at your sphincter like a prize fighter hungry for the belt. The result was an oozing, glistening layer of dark fudge topping the fly-covered pile. And my guess is that this unlucky person was a woman because perched at the pinnacle of the pile of shit, not unlike a cherry on a sundae, was a blood-soaked tampon.