ICYMI Eddie jumped in the Shark Tank with his dream idea that I thought IBS America needed to hear:
Uber Shits aka the IBS ambulance. Eddie was catering more towards people who want to take a shit and not fucking need to with his pitch, so the element of time, or the lack thereof, wasn’t accounted for. Quick fix for that—the same way regular Uber has the X and XL options, Uber Shits has to have an IBS option. You type in your address and a race car with a LepreCan hitched to it comes flying around the corner within seconds. And if that’s not fast enough, there’s a hosing station available within the port-o-potty. We’ll negotiate my percentage later.
I went on Dog Walk last week to enter the Shark tank myself afterwards. Listen HERE then unsubscribe and subscribe again so it makes it look like I’m attracting a larger audience to his show.
Now today we have ourselves the second female victim of the syndrome to write in. As always we admire your balls for coming forward. The last chick who came with a diary ended up shitting in a bag and sleeping with it under her hotel bed for 8 hours, so let’s hope it can only go uphill now.
First, I’d like to take a moment to express my sincere gratitude for this sicko community you have fostered. I’ve been waiting for an outlet, like this, to express my on-going warfare with IBS.
Alright, now let’s get this shit started.
I’m a woman and I unapologetically suffer from IBS. While majority of IBSers value discretion, I shamefully enjoy sharing old horror stories with just about every poor soul I meet. You probably think I’m bullshitting you but I’ve truly found this to be a great icebreaker on first dates and even better for one night stands. I mean I’ll never see you again, and I’m totally going to need to take a shit in your apartment anyway. Idk why I’m single.
“I’m a girl and I takes shits, just wanted to get that out of the way” is not the worst opening line for a first date. Now you already have something in common you both can talk about. That may even double as a pickup line with the right person.
But of all my war stories, this one is a real crowd pleaser.
It was day 3, Spring break circa 2014 in Punta Cana. I was there with my entire sorority and we decided to mix it up and book a booze cruise. As you can imagine my stomach was reeling from copious amounts of mamajuana, borderline laxative infused jamon, and pure debauchery. I woke up that morning, hammered, and deemed breakfast to be optional. It’s not rare for me skip breakfast but when you only remember to eat once a day on spring break, this should’ve been viewed as more crucial.
We embarked on our voyage in the wee hours of the morning and I was off to a hot start. Within the first 10 mins I managed to win my second spring break contest of the trip. Not bragging, just sayin. Pro tip: regardless of the contest, all you need to do is rip your bathing suit top off and dump your tiddiez. Everyone can thank those shithead Student City tour guides for bringing out my aggressively competitive side. Attention is a hell of a drug, may I add. The day is clearly panning out to be fruitful as I am blissfully unaware of the shit storm on the horizon.
Was anyone else expecting to fall in love during this? Keep it professional, intern.
It’s midday now, I’m browning out (no pun intended). My spirits are high and my bowels are at bay. I gulp down my 7th(?) shot of mamajuana straight from the community jug and it dawns on me that I need to eat something RIGHT NOW. Like a ravenous wilder beast, I sniff out a half-eaten, half-petrified, jar of Tostitos queso. I abrasively plow through a gaggle of sisters and grab the jar with no utensils and start housing the queso by the fistful. Queso was a BAD IDEA, especially when it was the only “food” I’ve ingested all day.
Queso for breakfast has never done anyone a favor. You almost deserve to shit your pants if that’s your 1st meal of the day. Reminder that we don’t judge anyone here, as always we’re “Just sayin.”
Cue the IBS one gurgle and I am immediately thrusted into full damage control mode.
Potential witnesses: Spring Breakers. Bad crew to not have on your side. Snapchat central.
Pants situation: A bikini bottom. Very hard to hide an accident in. Easy cleanup though. Focus on the positives.
Current transit: We can assume Queen’s about to rip off her flip-flops and go barefoot for the boys. A slip on the deck right here could cause a mass explosion.
Nearest restroom: Boat bathroom and/or the Caribbean Sea.
Eyes wide and butthole clenched I start racing through the boat to locate the bathroom. To my dismay, the bathroom was already overflowed, flooded and the lock was broken. I debated whether or not I could just squat over the bowl but the water was way too high and my legs are way too short to hover over it. Fuck, time is passing and I start to really sweat my ass off. This inspires my next course of action. Get.in.the.fucking.water and pray to god. I exit the shit box of a bathroom and jump directly into the ocean. I find a semi private area away from innocent spring breakers. Just as I’m about to get this over with I am interrupted by a Dominican man screaming at me to get the fuck out. The boat is fucking leaving. Everyone is staring at me. There is no way I can get away with this inconspicuously, so I do as the man says.
A lesser person wouldn’t have been able to force the floodgates back closed like that. Takes severe talent to hold it in after already squatting. Queen’s survival mode begins as her grace period comes to an end. Having faith is her only option.
I’m back on the boat sprinting to the broken shit box. On the way, I tactfully grab one of my best friends, bless her soul, to guard the broken door.
Being a female IBSer comes in huge here. No male is getting their buddy to guard an unlocked stall for them under these circumstances without said buddy’s 450 Instagram followers ending up in the potential witnesses slot. If anyone ever manages to record you actively having an accident you break their phone.
I am now way past my 8 min grace period so there was no time to explain the situation to her. Thankfully, she was also my roommate and was able to piece it together based on past experiences. I can already sense her disappointment in me, but because she is a goddamn gem, she reluctantly complies with my demands. I slam the door shut, scan the room, and spot a plastic bucket in the corner. With absolutely zero time to hesitate I grab the bucket and full volume violently unload my demons.
I waltz out of that bathroom like a fucking champ to find my severely traumatized roommate on the verge of tears. She looks into the bathroom, sees the bucket, looks back at me dead in the eyes and says “I hate you”. To this day, she still can’t even about it.
– The IBS Queen
What a triumph to overcome. From an occupied bathroom to almost taking an aqua dump to having one of your men guard the door as you explode into a bucket. All hail the queen. The emails have been top-notch lately everyone and I’ll thank you like I do every week for sending them in. Keep em comin’ for our next meeting firstname.lastname@example.org. Thanks for coming out this week.