Now, whenever we have need to assess a patients bowel function, we often refer to this chart as a way of both working out how badly the pipes are blocked, but to also plan for how we might be able to treat the plumbing.
TRANSLATION: We actually only use this chart to embarrass the fuck out of the patient.
So, why may you ask am I discussing the Bristol Scale and poo here then?
Well, keeping in the tradition of examining bodily functions for laughs, I thought I might open my account here in order to relate to you my Shit of the Week - which I have to say, very nearly put me in Intensive Care.
Early Wednesday morning, around 4AM I awoke with the familiar sensation of needing to arise for a constitutional with the porcelain throne and I duly arrived at the Water Closet. However, I sensed early before I got there that I was bearing a load that was going to be out of the ordinary.
The moment I sat down and picked up the oft read copy of "Women's Weekly", it was fucking on.
As any gay...or anyone really who enjoys the odd foreign body up the Khyber, the muscle tissue of the anal sphincter is a delicate flower. So you can imagine my shock and burgeoning panic when a missile the size of a fucking Tomahawk air to ground missile duly entered the final corner of my bowel and proceeded to tear up the rectum like a cylinder with razor blades. In terms of the Bristol Scale it was around a Type 2 - except it felt the size of a new born baby. For any women to suggest that man can never know the agony of child birth, I firmly (pardon the pun) believe I have laid that theorem to rest...on it's arse as it were. I left the toilet some forty five minutes later, feeling as though I had been raped by Andre The Giant.
So there - I have laid my arse bare. I challenge you bastardoes to share your own experiences. And hell, if you do, I may be able to offer you some expert solutions if you're finding that your bowels are in a shit load of trouble.
Game On.
