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Tired of Reality
Series? There's nothing more real than this...
 We've all heard about Trading Spaces and Trading Spouses. We've watched popularity contests like Survivor and Big Brother. We've enjoyed Queer guys lending eyes to the straight. And we've shared the pain and joy of Bachelors, Joes, and Bachelorettes. But are you ready for REAL drama? Ready to handle the pain, the torture, the SMELL? Are you ready for... TRADING FECES? |
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We took ordinary people like you and me, took their dung, and replaced it with fecal matter of a different nature. Cursed with dysentery? We might give you chunks! Constipated? Get ready for a river of ruddy brown! You get the point. And if not, we'll do our best to convey the STENCH! Our first victim is an unfortunate soul stricken with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. This poor sap doesn't know whether he's going to be shooting liquid poo or industrial brick hunks from drop to drop. Sutekh's idea? Let him shoot BLANKS! Let's get his reaction! ****** I headed for the can, snagged a stall, and dropped trou. Just in time! I could hear the sound of my lower bowel being evacuated as the remains of the day left my body. Taking a sniff, I finally figured out the last ingredient in the restaurant's salsa -- CUMIN! Sweet. Anyway, I finished up and lifted my fat ass off the seat. Just then, I heard a 'whooosh!' and felt a mental veil pass over my eyes. I get that sensation a lot (I ain't too bright), so I shrugged it off and grabbed at the toilet paper. It was then I noticed something was wrong. I peered into the crapper and saw nothing but crystal clear water. Even more strange, my first wipe yielded nothing but quilted, white Charmin. My excrement was gone! What the Hell?! I pulled up my pants and flushed, even though there wasn't any reason to. Even the odor was gone! Sutekh could have kept the gag going for a lot longer, but God bless him, he couldn't keep a straight face when he walked in. I was at the sink when he strolled up next to me. When I looked at my hands and realized I didn't even have to wash them, he busted a gut and told me he had removed all traces of my sloppy dump from this refactored time-space dimension -- whatever THAT means! A cameraman told me later that Sutekh had basically made it look like I had never even crapped! It's an honor being the first "victim" of Trading Feces! I asked Sutekh if he could make all my shit disappear, but he just laughed and told me I was lucky he didn't shred my urethra into a million fibers. Whatever THAT means! Thanks, Sutekh! -- Chad, from Portland The next victims got a true TRADE! Not only did Sutekh get to mess with each woman's Number Two, we got to see their reactions when they realized their feces had been swapped! ****** "Totally," said Tiffany's friend Amber. "And the Immodium wasn't doing jack shit for my runs!" The girls looked at each other and giggled as they realized Amber had just said "shit." "I mean, when I went to the bathroom, I knew it was going to be another chunk-o-rama," Tiffany said. "When I do finally get it out, it's a real struggle. I pushed and pushed, and finally it came out with a PLOP! I was way embarrassed, because Amber was in the next stall, and I knew she could, like, totally hear me ripping brown." "And I could!" Amber exclaimed. "But I was too busy with my own shit [editor's note: more giggling] to really take notice. I had just blown ass in the worst way, and I knew it wasn't pretty." The girls were in for a big surprise. "When I got up and looked in the toilet," said Tiffany, "it was all brown and runny. My usual giant floaters were nowhere to be found!" The visibly-shaken Tiffany reached for her soda at that point, the true horror of her story finally sinking in. "Christ, where did my usual shit go?" she asked. "I'll tell you where," said Amber. "Into MY bowl. I was freaking out at the same time, because when I took a look, all I saw was a single floating log the size of a soda can. For God's sake, who could even pass that out of their body? And where was my gooey movement?" Tiffany and Amber glanced at each other uncomfortably. It's never easy when the feces get traded. "Let's just say we both flushed as quickly as possible," said Amber as she threw a furtive glance in Tiffany's direction. "Yeah," Tiffany agreed. Amber reached out a hand to her hurting friend. "You want to talk about it?" she asked. "JESUS! No!" Tiffany shouted. "What, you think this is a fucking Massengill commercial? Christ, this is Trading Feces we're dealing with here!" The girls sat in uneasy silence. -- Tiffany & Amber, Scottsdale, AZ [Sutekh's note: Sutekh apologizes for this oversight. Tiffany and Amber were SUPPOSED to be a part of the "Can You Live With Your Heart Outside Your Body?" feature coming in 2005. Instead, Heather screwed up the scheduling and Sutekh ended up trading their feces. WWSD would like to extend a sincere apology for this mistake. Heather will continue to carry the visage of Phyllis Diller indefinitely.] This guy is a complete control-freak...one simple series of fecal trades, and this anal-retentive dweeb is practically reaching for the sleeping pills! Let's get his take on it... ****** So, you can imagine my dismay when someone thought it was "funny" to manipulate my dung. I had just attended a company picnic. I work in IT, so no one really even knows I exist except when their hard drive crashes or they need someone to blame for losing data. The picnic was awkward, and yes, when I get nervous...I eat. Food at the gathering was plentiful and varied. Burgers, chips, salad, corn on the cob -- good stuff. I left my food journal at home, because I wanted to test my mettle out in the "real world"...see if I could handle a day of dietary freedom. I started with some burgers. They weren't bad for what they were. I was able to gag down four or five of the half-charred beef patties, and while it wasn't fillet mignon, it was a satisfying appetizer. That appetizer was quickly followed by an ample supply of chips, several portions of corn, and some potato salad. This picnic was turning out to be OK! I washed it all down with some soda and, finally, an acceptable grocery store brownie. I was feeling so satisfied that I actually joined in a couple games of horseshoes and the annual Cake Walk (there was a scrumptious chocolate cake with pink frosting that had my name all over it!). I took off and headed for the video store to rent Lord of the Rings again. Can't seem to get enough of that Eowyn -- Mee-OWW! I grabbed the DVD and took off for home. When I got to my apartment, I have to admit I felt guilty, so I wrote down some stuff in my food journal about the burgers. And the brownie. And the chips. And the rotisserie chicken I picked up on the way home (did I mention that?). It felt good to get that load off my chest. The next morning it was time to get a load out of my colon. My trek to the bathroom was satisfying enough. However, watching the remnants flush down the toilet, I started getting a nagging worry in my head -- couldn't put my finger on it though. Anyway, the fingers were too busy scarfing down donuts for breakfast. God Bless you, Dolly Madison! I frittered (literally...apple ones are my favorite!) the Sunday away, and it was my second shit-trip that afternoon that made the problem sink in. As I flushed and watched my turds swirl into oblivion, there was something missing. Corn. The American Indians call it "maize". Good by itself, great in salsa, and fantastic as syrup, sugar, or meal. And it was especially wonderful when eaten off the cob. I had eaten at least six ears of corn at the picnic, and yet not a single ounce of my waste bore the tell-tale dots of washed-out yellow. I had to get to the bottom of this. Just to make sure, I ate a lot of corn for the next several hours. Creamed, canned, cobbed, it all went down. I'm not really a vegetable fan, so I had plenty of bacon on hand to help cram it down. For good measure, I ate plenty of pasta, too. As well as pizza. And rice. And ham. Plus some ice cream. Remind me to buy a new notebook for my food journal. When it comes to the pursuit of science, I'm not going to mince words or actions -- or food. Some mince meat pie would certainly have been in order, though (however, I was fresh out). I also changed some things in the bathroom to make sure all was in order. I enhanced the lighting so I could peer at my poop in a fully satisfactory fashion. I changed the flush valve in the toilet so that the bowl would fill higher, allowing me to more closely inspect its contents before sending the disposables to the river. I even considered the idea of using a net to...er...help with my study, but that idea was dismissed for obvious reasons. By that evening, I was ready for the conclusive dump. I sat upon the throne, my Linux Journal in hand to help pass the time. Everything came out OK, but there was an eerie silence as I stood up to wipe. A strange breeze blew through the room, and I could swear I heard a splash in the water. With much apprehension, I gazed into the bowl. No corn. A complete absence of yellow. What the Hell was going on here? I rushed downstairs to the phone to make a call, but I had no idea who would listen to (or believe) me. My corn was gone! My shit was not my own! Would the X-Files even handle something like this? I imagined David Duchovny smiling wryly and saying, "No. Sorry, fatty." Damn you, Duchovny. Damn you! If I couldn't trust my own feces, what could I trust? I was going to end up as one of those paranoid militia guys, my only friends being my M-16 and a Claymore grenade. I paused a bit, realizing that would be two more friends than I have now, but quickly dismissed that negative thinking. No... I wasn't going to let the deceptive turds win. I'd end myself before I let this shit continue. Then the doorbell rang. It was the crew from WWSD coming to announce I was a victim of Trading Feces. I laughed. Hard. But it was all fake. I was super-pissed off. Even when they handed me the box full of all my AWOL dung, it didn't make the hurt go away. Sure, I smiled politely and gave them the oh-you-got-me-good face, but I was still feeling the pain all the way down to my bowels. I might never be able to face my feces again. Yeah, thanks WWSD. Fuckers. -- Mr. Fatty "Fats" McFat, Mayor of Fatville (hey, wait, that's not my real name! FUCKERS!) For our final installment, we turn the tables a bit and do a trade on Sutekh himself! Joe, head of the WWSD staff, has the call... ****** Sutekh's bowels are like clockwork. I guess when you have been alive for more than 6000 years, the internals start to get a bit predictable. So, I have a really good idea of when the Big Man is going to have to go "talk to a man about a horse". That was going to come in handy, too. For the main segments of Trading Feces, Sutekh does the trades. He uses his powers to manipulate the waste and make sure victims don't know what happened. Sadly, I lack that sort of ability, so I was going to have to use a more old-fashioned style of trickery. Since I knew exactly when Sutekh was heading for the can, I was going to hide behind the shower curtain while he dumped. I was also going to make sure the toilet paper was close to being out, so Sute would have to toddle over to the sink and grab a new roll out from under it. That was the moment I would make my "trade". Hee hee! I went and hid in the shower around 8:55 AM. I had my box in tow, contents at the ready. Right on schedule, Sutekh came in around 9:00. He had his copy of The Osiran Times (no, I have no idea where he gets it) and started doing his thing. Whoa, MAN! Sutekh had made chili the night before, and while he usually prefers eating Toddler Wings or some succulent Brains of the Elderly, he sure makes a mean chili. He shits a mean chili too, believe you me! My eyes were watering so much I could barely make out Sutekh's body through the translucent shower curtain. But I persevered. Finally, his barely-visible form stood up and I heard the toilet paper rolling. I knew I was in business when Sutekh cursed and called the now-empty paper tube a "groveling, worthless mass of reprocessed wood pulp, probably recycled." I saw him meander over to the sink, just as I had anticipated, and I made my move! I reached around the curtain and dumped the contents of my box into the toilet bowl. I guess I can tell you what was in the box now...it was Dave! Dave had been biding his time ever since Sutekh replaced him with Folger's Crystals a couple months ago. This would be his sweet, caffeinated VENGEANCE! Sutekh noticed the odor, first. He abruptly turned from the sink with his fresh roll of TP, wondering why he was smelling coffee. He gingerly peered into the bowl, almost scared at what he might find. As he was puzzling over what had happened to his standard morning shit, Dave let slip the dogs of fecal war! "The best part of waking up is Folgers in your dump! BITCH!" Dave spoke from the toilet in a bubbly voice. We hadn't thought much beyond that victorious moment, but it didn't take long for Sutekh to come up with his retort. With a bit of a sniff, Sutekh reached for the toilet handle and pressed. "Who is the 'bitch' now, my granulated friend?" Sutekh asked in a quiet voice. So, I am heading down to the sewage plant, hoping I can find enough of Dave's essence to keep him around and on staff. Sutekh never discovered me, even though I could barely keep from laughing behind the shower curtain. Sutekh is a pretty good sport, so maybe I should let him in on the joke? Wait, who am I kidding...if he finds out about this, I'll be lucky to end up as powdered milk. -- Joe, WWSD Staff Thanks for tuning in! And remember, the next time you think of reality TV, think FECES! |
