12:34 a.m. - 2004-06-09
Women's Lib 15
In the past, when presenting a Women's Lib entry, I always gave a brief description of each girl who wrote the entry. Usually I know a little something about the Women's Lib author.
I think I forgot to get the pertinent information this time.
I think I forgot to ask about the specifics of this particular girl.
But she did write a Women's Lib entry. And she did send me her picture. She qualifies. See:
I know she's a freshman in college.
I think she's a Republican.
She might like horses. Or butterflies.
Or heroin.
I don't fucking know.
So sue me.
She has her own diary at creepatron.diaryland.com.....Why don't YOU ask her for her biography if you care so much about her?!
Another possibility, of course, is that she told me all about herself, and I was too drunk at the time to remember.
Why are you so interested in her anyways? Why do you CARE so much about her?
Are you stalking her?
You're dying to know her name and age and occupation, aren't you? You can't live without knowing, huh?
You sicko.
I know what it is.
You like her. You have a crush on her...don't you?
Don't lie.
I bet you fantasize about putting popsicles in her vagina and tying her up with licorice. You disgust me.
I'm not going to tell you her name. For her safety.
Anyways....if you do have a crush on her, and if you ARE planning on hiring a private investigator to find out all sorts of secret information about her, then maybe her Women's Lib entry will change your mind. Maybe her Women's Lib entry will make you seek another girl to stalk.
Maybe you'll be too disgusted by her to care about her.
My Women's Lib entries, of course, are a "monthly" feature in which I get a cute, cuddly, adorable, innocent, sweet, young lady to write about the filthy, disgusting, repulsive topic of my choice. The purpose is to show the top-secret side of females. The side they rarely show to society. Volunteers are asked to e-mail a mandatory picture of themselves to me at [email protected] means every cute and cuddly girl reading this should volunteer. Particularly ones with experiences in lesbianism and/or sexually transmitted diseases.
You know who you are.
As for our mystery girl that you seem to be so obsessed with; the girl whose name you're dying to find out....I asked her to write about a topic which should put an end to your infatuation with her.
I asked her to write about something which neither me nor my girlfriend nor anybody I associate with knows anything about.
See:
Diarrhea has been, unlike many other uncomfortable illnesses and feelings, relatively kind to me. For the most part it tends to shy away from affecting me during social situations, and I have been able to keep it under control. However, during my first year of college, I found out what it was like to have to use a bathroom with 20 girls on a daily basis.
The important part is, no privacy, a bathroom door that doesn't shut completely, and 19 other girls who seemed to have made it the whole year being completely free of intestinal problems as far as I could tell. Pooping seemed to be something that I engaged in only, and no matter how many times I told myself that "everyone does it!" it continually felt like an activity relegated to me and me alone. My roommmate and I were hanging out, watching some sort of bad TV, when the feeling hit. I'm sure you know the feeling, when all the nerves from your hips to your knees go on red alert. The cold sweat, shaky feeling where you know you're about to do something terrible if you don't move post-haste and get to a bathroom. It could be just gas, but risking it is far too difficult. I hobbled out of the room and made it just inside the bathroom. The urge was too great to take the important precautions: not using the stall next to the door to the hall, turning on the shower to muffle the noise, etc.
From then on the next 15 minutes were a deluge of misery. Wave after wave of water and bits of poo evacuated themselves at breakneck speed. There was the unfortunate splashback. There was the doubling over intestinal cramps. There was that smell that's so thick it practically fills the back of your throat and chokes off your nose. But then, the worst part.
The voices of two people who were chatting outside the door, directly in the hallway. The diarrhea was followed by bouts of loud gas, then water hitting water, then gas again, which poised the question, "If I can hear them, can they hear me?" My ass flattened against the cold hard toilet seat for the next little while, until I finally felt totally cleansed and the voices subsided. I was very lucky there was no one greeting me once I had left, for the sheer embarrassment of uncomfortable bowel movements is worse when shared in the company of others.
I think it's funny that she thinks "everyone does it" when she refers to pooping....Feel free to e-mail her and tease her for being the only girl you've ever heard of who poops. Mention how your ass is not as digusting as hers.
Tell her she smells too.
It'll be fun.
Incidentally, I don't blame the two people who were chatting for evacuating the premises. I think it would be odd if anybody "greeted" her upon her exit from the bathroom. I certainly wouldn't.
"Good afternoon, ma'am, I couldn't help overhearing you spray liquid feces out of your rectum while you were in there. You did a good job of stinking up the bathroom, by the way. My name's Edgar. May I be the first person to shake your hand?"
They should have greeters who stand outside of bathrooms and greet people who are leaving. Like the greeters who greet people going into Wal-Mart.
Not that I shop there or anything....I've just heard about it...
I doubt anybody would want to be a bathroom exit greeter. Nobody would want that job.
Nobody wants to shake a shitty hand.
If you want somebody to shake your hand after you just wiped your ass with it, you need to keep that information on the down-low. You can't say, "Hi, I just wiped some watery, rotten, slime-shit off my ass. Nice to meet you," and then extend your hand for the handshake.
You will get denied.
Just be like me. Introduce yourself, shake their hand, and THEN tell them what disgusting things you've been doing with your hands all day.
"The name's Frog. Edgar Frog. How do you do? (Handshake)....I've been gutting small children with my bare hands all day and rubbing their intestinal blood on my scrotum. I'm sorry, I don't believe I caught your name...?"
Now that's a proper greeting...
