Constipation

Constipation: (n) a condition in which there is difficulty in emptying the bowels

I want to ask those of you who are my friends to keep watch for the “thought police” and the politically correct lawyers as I try to discuss something very human without being critiqued for addressing a vulgar topic.

It is amazing to me what we are willing to talk about, which often is profane and nasty, as opposed to the things we are unwilling to talk funny wisdom on words that begin with a Cabout, which are human and common, but we have decided are uncouth.

There isn’t a person reading this who has not farted or had constipation, yet introducing the subject seems to make people uncomfortable. (The issue of human sexuality and masturbation are similar–things we like to do but don’t want to discuss.)

Everybody enjoys a good bowel movement. Matter of fact, I would guess that each and every one of you reading this article has turned a release of your innards into a religious experience by thanking God in some way during the evacuation.

If something so sacred as sitting on the pot is a taboo subject, then where is our race headed?

I have been constipated.

I have been unconstipated.

I can recommend the latter.

And if you don’t blush over your “Number 2,” then with me…you’re “Number 1.”

 

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Conceit

Conceit: (n) excessive pride in oneself

What is excessive?

It reminds me of the old saying about prunes: “Is two enough? Is six too many?”

Of course, the source of that little piece of whimsy is that if you eat too few, your bowels won’t flow, and if you eat too many, you end up funny wisdom on words that begin with a C
gushing.

I guess that’s the way it is with conceit.

If you don’t have enough self-awareness to believe in your abilities to get you through the tough times, then you’ll probably have a life that’s constipated–gripped in fear.

On the other hand, if you think the journey is all about proclaiming the power of your excellence, you will produce so much information that people will not want to be near you.

Here’s a simple way to handle it:  when someone asks what you do, tell them without adding any of your credentials and awards.

For instance, someone asked me the other day: “What do you do for a living?”

I responded, “I’m a writer.”

I stopped. I didn’t explain what I write, how much I write, or whether someone, somewhere decided to give me an award for my scrawlings.

As it turned out, they were completely comfortable with my answer and pursued no further.

Had I produced one more “prune of thought,” my questioner would have been turned off by my self-gushing.

 

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Clench

Clench: (n) a contraction or tightening of part of the body.

Most of the time, things work the way they’re supposed to. Just stop for a second and think about that.

Even though we might want to portray that life is bumpy, it’s really more like a pothole every hundred miles.

In our everyday existence, food goes into the mouth, is enjoyed, digested and gradually finds a normal exit. Yet every once in a while, the system is disrupted. A
little bit of chicken is left out too long. A jar of mayonnaise welcomes in unfriendly microbes.

For whatever reason, our stomachs suddenly become very upset. (Huh. I guess that’s why they call it an “upset stomach.”) At that point the human gut is single-minded: “Whatever is in me needs to get the hell out as quickly as possible.”

As you well know, there is a northern route for this process and a southern route. Sometimes it’s better to go north. Yes, regurgitation is very unnatural but very quick, and produces some immediate relief. If not, you will wait a little longer for the bowels to become completely possessed.

Now, as a typical person, I have found myself driving a car, sitting among friends or nowhere near a bathroom when one of these fits and contortions decides to invade.

At that point, I clench my buttocks.

In more merciful moments, the body sends a notice that “there is a flood coming to Johnstown, Pennsylvania,” but relents to the clenching, disappearing for a few minutes, hopefully providing enough time for me to get to an appropriate disposal.

But every once in a great while, the body has absolutely no willingness to be clenched. I guess it would be accurate to say that the bowels suddenly have a mind of their own. The brain sends an urgent message: “The dam is about to break–protect all women and children!”

If you are willing to heed the warning, you might make it to the toilet of your choice.

But if you don’t listen and you think one more clench should do it, you more than likely will find yourself religiously sitting in your own “pugh.”

 

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Biopsy

Biopsy: (n) an examination of tissue removed from a living body

Dictionary B

I got sick.

I mean, really sick.

There are so many times that we are convinced that we are ill or have contracted some mysterious disease, or contend that we are presently “under the weather” that we fail to recognize what it means to be in trouble.

The body is a great megaphone of its own condition.

In other words, when you’re ailing, every single part of your anatomy sends a memo, an email, and even tweets, “Danger.”

There’s little doubt.

I found myself in the hospital under the care of a lovely female doctor from China. She was beautiful in all ways. We immediately struck a chord of friendship, even though by cultural standards we had little in common. For some reason, she liked me, and I certainly appreciated and loved her for her soul and gifts.

She scheduled a series of tests. I could tell by her demeanor that she was worried that I had cancer and that we had caught it too late.

I will never forget lying on my hospital bed the night before my colonoscopy, alone in the dim lights with a few machines whirring and tweaking in the background.

It was just me…and me.

I thought about my own death.

I thought about dying soon.

I realized that to a barbarian fighting in Gaul in 32 B. C. that my death was insignificant, whether it happened next week or forty years from now. After all, what’s forty years to a Gaelic barbarian who’s been dead for over 2,000?

Of a certainty I was going to die. The question was, which ailment, disease, condition or speeding bus was going to perform the task?

Gradually, peace settled into my soul. It was a peace accompanied by an unexpected comedic, jovial sense of well-being.

For certainly, unless an angel of God was going to enter my bowels and produce a miracle overnight, what was in me was soon going to be made evident–and all I had left was the class and style that I could muster, to deal with the biopsy.

As it turned out, there was no problem and my young doctor came bouncing into the room with tears in her eyes, speaking half English and half Chinese, which I translated as “all is well.”

Yes, my friend, all is well until all isn’t well.

Between those two stations lies the possibility for some beautiful living.

 

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Belly

Belly: (n) the front part of the human trunk below the ribs, containing the stomach and bowels.

Dictionary B

I’ve always tried to stay optimistic because if I become downcast, I see my belly, which only adds to the depression.

I don’t know whether you’re supposed to see your belly when you look down. Some people might have a view of other anatomical parts.

But not me.

Since I was a lad of seven, my belly has preceded me into affairs. It pushes itself to the forefront, trying to establish dominance and certainly, advertise other potential character flaws.

I have tried to lose my belly–but apparently there is some sort of snitch in my brain which always informs this large protrusion of my intentions.

The belly protects itself.

If I try to starve it out, it prepares for the siege.

It actually seems to be proud of its acreage. I, on the other hand, keep trying to find pants to cover it up.

I am not alone in this situation. Occasionally, when I stop to look at other people, I see that they, too, have accumulated quite an impressive forerunner to their forthcoming.

In other words, they have big bellies.

I have read that in history, possessing such a large amount of flesh was once considered to be a symbol of prosperity. That was a time when starvation was common, and obesity was evidence that you could put food on your table.

As I write this today, I am not sure that my belly will ever leave.

It is a damn sentimental creature of habit.

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Basis

Basis: (n) the underlying support or foundation for an idea, argument, or process.Dictionary B

Brains, bowels and kidneys.

Even though the idea of losing weight is valuable, the concept of becoming thin is unlikely. But the possibility of relieving pressure on your brain, bowels and kidneys is increased greatly by just changing a few foods in your diet.

And since that trio controls most of our disposition and sense of well-being, the basis for good eating is not just weight loss, but rather, feeling better.

Let’s try another one:

Hope, faith and love

Three elements that are very difficult to subtract from your life unless you want to be miserable. Yet they do not appear simply because you request them. To achieve them is to posses a belief that contends that good things can happen, and that the universe is not opposed to such delightful conclusions.

That’s why most people believe in God. God gives them the possibility of being happy here, and much happier later.

How about politics?

Truth, honor and prosperity.

These three confirm that what we’re doing is worthwhile. So if a political candidate tries to convince you that he or she is” not as bad as the other contestant,” he or she may become a city councilman, but never a senator.

A senator must tell the truth in an honorable way, proving that we all will grow in prosperity. This is the goal of the campaign. If not, the candidate will be defeated by his own defeatism.

What is the basis of your life?

  • It certainly is not to work, unless you’re going to play.
  • It certainly is not to pray if you’re not going to be happy.
  • And it certainly is not to love, unless you’re going to be loved.

Find the basis for what makes you work–and then rejoice over discovering the key to your happiness. 

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Anus

dictionary with letter A

Anus: (n) the opening at the end of the alimentary canal through which waste matter leaves the body.

There are many standards used for friendship.

Actually, the word “friend” is used quite loosely in our daily lexicon to refer to anyone who is present in our midst and whom we don’t want to offend by calling an “acquaintance.”

But I have one major criterion for true friendship. I know that I am finally in the presence of someone who is my lasting comrade when we are able to discuss bowel movements with each other.

It’s not something you can force (pardon the expression).

But most relationships are somewhat constipated until you feel the freedom to, shall we say, “let it all hang out.” There is something liberating about being able to discuss one of the more tangible evidences of one’s daily life and progress with another human being without fear of ridicule or grossing them out.

I can honestly tell you that I’ve only been able to achieve this with less than a handful of people. I have attempted it with other folks, only to see our interaction quickly go from friendship to stranger.

Yes, they considered me very strange because I took one of the more important bodily functions which produces some of the greatest relief and attempted to make it a common topic.

I have an anus.

I have never used it for anything other than relieving my bowels. Well, I guess I do sit on it. But it is ridiculous for us to be nervous about discussing the dispelling of waste or the clogging up thereof.

Yes, an anal definition of friendship would be the ability to discuss the anus and its production level without fear of being incriminated or considered gauche.

And of course, you know you’re in deep levels of intimacy when color, texture, frequency and flow are free game for your profitable dialogue.

 

 

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