This is what I imagined menstrual cramps were like; that is, if menstrual cramps are like a dragon inside your stomach clawing, spitting, and biting its way out of you. God, I was hot. Like, there was a damn furnace inside of me, hot. I decided that I could take the heat if I just stood up out of the hatch, to take in some of the winter air. I immediately felt better. That feeling lasted for about a half an hour, even though the sweats, farts, cramps and bodily hums continued.
Then it all just stopped. The body humming. The cramping. The disgusting farting. The sweating. They all stopped. The emptiness left by their absence, was soon replaced with fear. There was a sensation in my lower abdomen that is equivalent to a fork lift driver dropping a pallet full of marble tile. There was a split second of confusion. I realized that I was in trouble. All at once the cramping, sweating, humming and farting returned, along with an immense pressure. I know I had less than a minute before I erupted like Krakatoa. I told the driver to pull security and begin to disrobe like I was covered in fire ants and spiders. Also wasps, lots of wasps.
I managed to get my body armor undone but it wouldn’t come off. My helmet was still on. I ditched the helmet on the roof and threw my body armor up there too. Luckily, my ACU top unzipped and I got that off as well. I undid my belt, dropped my pants and pulled down both layers of snivel bottoms. I got my pants down at my ankles and every little shimmy was causing a very wet feeling fart to slip out. I knew I had very little time but for some reason I felt as if I was just too hot. I decided to take off my poly-pro top. This turned out to be the best decision of the last 24 hrs.
As I got off the top, I flung it to the ground and started to shimmy to the door with my ass cheeks clamped together. “I wont make it,” I remember thinking; the distance was too far. I accepted the fact that I was going to shit my pants, and all the guys would know. Miraculously, like a beacon of light in the darkness, I saw that my poly-pro had somehow snagged on the Velcro of my ACUs. It had formed a hammock underneath my nether regions. I said a silent thank you to whoever runs the cosmos, exhaled, and relaxed my anus. The violence of the evacuation startled me, but the sense of relief was almost orgasmic.
Then the smell hit me. It was like hate, anger, divorce, the movie Train Spotting, the way a perm smells, a hippie’s deadlock, old salad, and a trucker’s apple bag came together to create the ultimate smell. I was gagging. Hard. Every time I heaved, the convulsion caused the filth to rocket out of me like buckshot out of a 12 gauge. I felt like my ass was turning inside out. I didn’t know it was possible for someone to shit that much. I felt like my whole self had poured out of my booty hole. I just wanted it to stop. It wouldn’t. It burned now. Like I was shitting Saracha.
I realized that my body had begun to evacuate all liquids, including my stomach bile. I experienced true panic as I began to hear the Velcro losing it’s grip on my shit hammock. I summoned all my intestinal fortitude and clinched it off one last time. I gently pulled up all 4 corners of my shit basket, and managed to tie it all off. I decided this pile of sin is too toxic for the vehicle and hurled it underneath. I was exhausted and couldn’t hold back the final wave any longer.
I reached up and grabbed the top of the vehicle’s door frame, leaned out backwards, and stuck out my ass like a quality stripper. I figured a good push should get it all out and over with. I let slip my o-ring and pushed like a mother in the 26th hour of labor. It sounded like a spray paint can going empty. I didn’t care because the end had arrived. I was an emotional wreck at that point. I took off my T-shirt and did my best to clean my ruined body.
About fifteen minutes passed and I returned to my former glory. With clothes, body armor, and helmet back on I returned to my post in the turret. I could see the Assault Force heading back. I smile and realized that I finished right in the nick of time. As they approached, the driver pulled up about 15 feet. There it was. My shit pile. Right in their path. While walking up, the really dude-ish FBI chick stepped in it. I couldn’t help but smile. She blurted out “Oh my f-ing god, is this camel shit? It’s huge!” As she was dry heaving, cursing like a veteran sailor, and scraping her foot across the sand the dog started whining and scratching at its nose. It wouldn’t get into the vehicle. The handler was cursing and trying to shove his Maligator into its kennel.
As we loaded up and drive away, I blamed Tom for all of this. But there was no way he could drink 7; that dollar was mine.
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