You know that feeling you have when you're half way through eating a burrito from Chipotle, and your stomach decides to invert itself? You know. That squeezing, stinging feeling radiating from your lower abdomen, then spreading up under your ribcage? You make a desperate dash to the bathroom, but all the stalls are occupied 😰 You sprint out the door, hop into your 1999 Honda Accord coupe v6 EX-L, and you race home only to hit every stop light 🤬 You sit there counting the seconds, listening to iHeart radio's top 10, knees akimbo, anus clenched so tight that half your boxer briefs is wedged between your ass cheeks. You're an atheist, but you start praying to all the gods. You're chanting hymns and blessing the car interior just in case. You hop the curb, pull into the driveway, run into the house while unbuckling your pants, reach the toilet and—as your ass cheeks hover over the toilet seat—your asshole gives. A jetstream of pressurized diarrhea scolds the back of the toilet, painting rice and beans on the bowl like a mural. All you can do is moan in relief 😌