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Davis, California

Wednesday, May 22, 2024

Column: Exclamation point

If you read this column with any regularity, or if you know me in person, you’ll know that I’m pretty much an open book. This is the no-spin zone, if you will. But I dare say you’re going to have to bear with me this week because, I’m going to describe – in rather gross detail – some issues regarding my ability (or, in actuality, my inability) to poo-poo properly like any normal human being.

I have hemorrhoids. And it’s chronic. And I don’t mean the potent strain of Cannabis Indica that won third place at the 1994 High Times Cannabis Cup. I’m talking about the habanero chili pepper lodged between my gooch and my anus kind of chronic. I can’t even sit down on a seat anymore without looking like I’m sitting on tacks.

Let me set the scene. At my old house, my BFF and I decided to take off the bathroom door in our shared room because A) it was more feng shui, and B) we’re fairly comfortable with our sexuality. During house parties, it was common to hear this classic line uttered in textbook Valspeak, “OH MY GOD … THERE’S NO DOOR HERE … EW. JESSICA, IS THERE A BUSH IN THEIR BACKYARD?”

So just picture me (a big Russian bear) sitting on a tiny white porcelain teacup squeezing my butt-cheeks to high-heaven when my roommate is ushered in with a sitcom-approved holler and whooping:

[Reid enters stage left; queue Carl Winslow entrance music.]

Reid: Takin’ a shit?

[Dave grunts and moans while surfing the Internet on his iPhone.]

Dave: Abso-fucking-lutely. Guess what? I just saw a picture of a dude fucking a T-Rex on Reddit. I’m talking about hardcore status dude. This T-Rex is getting ploughed man. Rule 34 never ceases to amaze me.

Reid: You know it’s bad to strain when you’re taking a shit, right?

Dave: What? Are you shitting me? I need to strain dude. Either that, or I’m gonna have to stick those wax Bugles up my ass again that I got from Rite Aid so my anus won’t tear in half.

[Dave stands up to wipe his ass, peers into the toilet and then flushes.]

Reid: Yea dude. You begged me to escort you to Rite Aid. It was only a grand total of two blocks away.


Reid: That’s right! I don’t because I decided to eat more than one serving of vegetables this month.

[Dave delivers in deadpan.]

Dave: Fuck you.

[End scene.]

Hemorrhoids are not fun. Every time I sit down to take a shit, I feel like I’m bleeding out of my ass. And the interesting thing about that is … I am bleeding out of my ass – I have external hemorrhoids. A fresh wipe between my hairy cheeks yields what can only be described as menstrual blood. It’s bright red, and it comes from the hole in my anus. Just like a woman, right? Right.

But what I have cannot be encapsulated with the word “period” – I think “exclamation point” is more fitting. My exclamation point occurs with a random zest that puts the regular menstrual-cycle to shame. And I don’t get bloating or cravings for steak, either. Midol can’t help me out when I’m furiously tossing to and fro on a seat in Chem 194 as I’m reciting the 23rd Psalm in my head. All I have is Preparation H – and I would need a full team of attending surgeons to apply that shit correctly.

Here’s how it works: There’s a torpedo-like tube filled with goop that has a cover for the goop so the goop can fit through the holes of the cover in such a manner so that the goop can hit the hemorrhoids and cool them down once you’ve stuck the torpedo up your ass.

But the problem I always have is finding my anus. You know how hard it is to maneuver down there when you’re obese? There’s like a mile between my grundle and my anus – a “no man’s land” (more like “no man’s jungle”) that I hate to traverse. I’m convinced there’s enough lint down there to make a quilt, too.

All this poking around to find my anus has caused me more pain than the hemorrhoids. Unfortunately, that’s the only thing that stands between me and Satan ripping my colon apart, so I deal. But I should report that I’ve stumbled upon a new remedy after perusing the hemorrhoid aisle at Rite Aid: Preparation H medicated wipes. They’re patented to provide all the goodness of the Preparation H goop but without the goop. Ideally, you’re supposed to use it after every bowel movement to cool down the inflamed tissue.

I’m too lazy for that. I just stick it in between my ass cheeks, zip up my pants and call it a day. It’s my exclamation point tampon.

DAVE KARIMI had fun writing this column. Probably because he sharted himself in the process. If you want to send him an angry e-mail to say, “RABBLE RABBLE – PERIOD IS WAY WORSE THAN EXCLAMATION POINT – RABBLE RABBLE” because you have no sense of humor, his e-mail is dkarimi@ucdavis.edu.


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