Analytical Dissections of the Critically Malnourished

This week's review: Shitting Your Pants in the Chuck E. Cheeze's Ball Crawl as a Child

I was 3 years old when my parents chose to move to a desolate, uninteresting town. I made friends with the daughter of the owner of some daycare that I was deposited at daily. After a couple of years, I was invited to her birthday party. I'm pretty sure it was her 5th. Which would make me 5, as well. Everything was going pretty smoothly, for a while. I can't remember if I had stomach problems before the greasy pizza or not. The pizza was okay but not great. I remember the birthday girl picked off all the toppings, which I still think is weird, cos it's like, "WTF, why even order toppings, bitch?" It was her birthday, she could have probably just ordered a cheese pizza. Fuck. Whatever. Anyway, so we ate all this greasy pizza and went to the ball crawl. This fucking pit full of hollow, plastic, colorful balls. I recall it like a nightmare where you can't see passed your immediate surroundings. Like the world just faded into darkness outside of the thousands of bacteria coated orbs. So, this girl's older brother was there, he was in something like 6th grade when we were all still just barely more than infantile, and he made a fun game out of picking us up and throwing us in the fucking balls. Violently disrupted digestive systems and involuntary flight are awkward partners, so I did my best to avoid this game. However, the moment came when he had already given all the other kids the toss, and apparently I was up. He came at me with the unmistakeable approach of "I will throw you" and as a form of protest, I dove head first into the balls. Evidently, being right-side-up was the only thing that kept my supple, young bowels under my control. I felt it run down (up?) my torso, warm and gravy-like. I oriented myself according to bipedal movement and it ran down my legs. I was wearing grey courderoys that day. It was a porous fiber that absorbed human feces pretty well, sealing in their color and scent for all to enjoy. I did my best to clean up, but that wasn't very good. One thing about living in a small town is that you're a long way from everywhere. Two hours away from Chuck E. Cheeze's, which feels like more than two hours when you're sat in a car between girls and you're covered in your own shit. BUT. The moral here is this: 18 years later, it doesn't matter that I exposed my first friend to the wretched contents of my grease and dairy fueled large intestine, so this proves that you can shit yourself in pretty much any situation you want, and two decades later, it will have no noticeable repercussions. Unless it was in front of the first girl you ever interacted with, in which case it might lead to a very scarred sense of confidence.

Shitting Your Pants in the Chuck E. Cheeze's Ball Crawl as a Child Final Grade: D+

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