Once when I was little, around the age of five, my dad used this simile when talking about doing good deeds for people:
"Doing good things for people is kind of like peeing your pants in a dark suit. Sure it gives you a nice warm feeling, but at the end of the day nobody notices."
With that in mind, I've done some good things for people and he was spot-on in his assessment. Now, nearly twenty years later, that simile has come to fruition in the most horrific of ways.
About two weeks ago, I started taking my weight loss seriously. I've gotten back on the P90X train and have been doing yoga, and I even set up a makeshift gym in the basement where I cannot be mocked while trying to better myself.
In addition to working out, I decided that I'd take an additional step to ensure my weight loss. I started taking this weight loss pill called Alli.
The premise of this pill is that it inhibits your body from digesting saturated fats. Now, I know some of you are skeptical about this, but let me tell you the first time I went to the lav I was just as surprised as anybody to see what I saw. I won't get into too much detail, but let me just tell anybody who has ever blotted a piece of pizza with a napkin, that's what my wipe looked like.
Now, as I said, the idea behind this wonder drug is that you can't eat a meal with more than fifteen grams of fat or you will experience the most horrible stomach cramps, gas, and "spotting" anybody has ever experienced. So basically what I'm doing in order to lose weight is forcing myself to eat vegetables and low fat foods under the supposition that if I eat Wendy's and foods unhealthy for me, I will literally shit my pants.
Now, I am a person whose disposition is a dangerous combination of a total lack of concern for my well-being combined with the mindset that I know better than everybody on the planet in all matters. So naturally, after taking one of these pills, and while watching the Bruins beat the piss out of the lowly Montreal Canadians, I decided to take part in eating pizza, buffalo wings, and drinking Miller High Life with K-Rock and the Fridge.
In my head, I was thinking yeah, this will probably result in me getting up in the middle of the night, will probably be uncomfortable for a couple minutes, but fuck it, I'm R Von D and the squirty hurts have never slowed me down. Not once, not never.
So I ate, drank, took part in the general merriment, and went to bed. But I didn't wake up in the middle of the night. Instead, I got up in the morning, went into the loo, read some Sports Illustrated articles (if you know what I mean) and jaunted off to work.
Then it happened...
While I was sitting at my desk, studying for a Federal securities examination, I thought it would be okay for me to let out a little fart while the Indian guy (Dot not Feather) was on the phone. There was a low rumble, and a warm sensation that seemed to last way longer than it should have. Yes, I pretty much crapped my pants.
I stood up from my desk and had to waddle the hundred yards or so down the hallway to the bathroom. To my delight, the spillage was not solid, and had not yet leaked through my unders and onto my suit (which is black, thank God). So, I cleaned myself up, and having no other option, deposited my undergarments into the waste receptical therein.
So here I sit, at the very cubicle this all started with nothing seperating my boys from the outside world but a thin layer of suit pant.
But what have I gained from this? What good can come of a nearly 28 year-old man crapping his pants in a professional setting? Probably nothing other than to keep on doing what I'm doing, because it's the only way I'm going to lose any weight other than getting liposuction.
FML,
R Von D
PS - Down 7 pounds.
