17:52pm. Home toilet

After this ghastly and momentous dump I felt as if the rulebook had been re-written. It’s fatty grease had eased it out with such grace and aplomb that it kissed my sphincter on the way out. Such weight did it lift from my tired bowels that I felt as if floating above the seat as I defecated the exorbitantly stinky stool.

The turd had filled the bowl and must surely have also prematurely entered the u-bend. So immense was it that it towered skyward, scraping the upper reaches of the toilet bowl as if it was to re-enter my anus. It’s giant appendage reached up to me in desperation like Joe Pasquale’s hand reaches up from destitution for a pasty, or some spare change. I slapped the turd away as I would Pasquale and toppled the turd tower, splattering my hands and anus with excrement. I could throw down no more brown so I sat back to relax.

An aromatic haze filled the room and I tasted the acrid secretion on my lips, the fermented crispy duck billowing out clouds of thick funk. I was like a child in a sweet shop, not knowing whether to look between my legs and admire the beast in the bowl, or to just lean back, close my eyes and bask in the warm stench, perhaps take a little nap.

I opted for the latter and awoke with dried excrement clinging to my lower regions. As I peeled the tenacious little globules from my anus I reflected on what had indeed been a smashing shart. It lay there, so massive that the water was barely visible, leering up at me with smug pride, as if it’s hideous obesity was something to be held sacred. I had to give the turd it’s dues.