It's a Shit Life

It's not easy you know...being bowels.

I mean...think about it. You work hard all day, striving to keep your boss happy, and it's not easy work either - you have to remove, push, churn, demolish and consume any poisons whilst keeping all the goodness and their relevant energies; you work 24 hours a day, seven days a week and what happens...?

Everything you produce is a slang word.

It's a bit of a thankless task I can tell you.

Take the body I'm in - Shamus.

I'm hidden away behind his skin, blood and muscles. Straight away I'm thought of as an embarrassment - pushed aside into a dark corner - however, unlike most, I endeavour to make sure my presence is always felt, never forgotten. Shamus, rather foolishly, tries his best to keep me happy, but like the mug he is, he'd rather believe something someone's got published in an unknown Journal than listen to me. He eats fruit, drinks Prune Juice and has roughage everyday. He practices Yoga, goes the gym and takes long walks. Why? Because he's been told to do so by someone who assumes that this is the best way for him to keep fit and healthy with the added bonus of maintaining happy bowels.

I'm the bowels in question, and let me tell you ... I'm not happy.

In fact, you could say I'm a first class case of Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Hi, I'm Kevin.

Let me explain...

For a start, we bowels like to work at our own pace. As explained it's not an easy job, and it's certainly not one everyone would want to have a go at so we like to take our time. We like to take things steady - for example, when we have to take the food and remove all the good stuff, sending it to wherever it belongs, whilst taking all the bad stuff and pushing it South, it's all done nice and slowly, ensuring there are no mistakes (and boy do you know it when we've made a mistake). The last thing we need when doing something complicated like this is a facilitator, something forcing the issue! Therefore please keep Prune Juice away from us! It's like sending us down a lightning bolt! It moves around here quicker than Road Runner, forces us to work ten times harder, has us running round like headless chickens and what's the end result? A toilet pan like a scene from 'Apocalypse Now' and stomach cramps.

No fun for anyone (except the Prune Juice).

If you want us to move a bit quicker (say... in preparation for an all day meeting) send down a curry with some cheap lager, ideally followed by a kebab (or a Chinese: when it comes to Take-Aways, we're not particular). That way, when you're in bed, dreaming of your sexy boss or the latest pop star, we'll be working to our new, inebriated pace, and doing it with a smile on our metaphorical faces! A curry and lager for the boss upstairs means a damn fine party for us down here. I can almost taste them now: a freshly chewed Chicken Madras (Tikka optional), mashed-up Pilau Rice, all finished off with Keema Naan and washed down with a gallon full of Skol. Beautiful. And failing that, may I recommend a Sainsbury's 'Good For Yourself' Tikka Curry with Chilli Garlic Bread along with Aldi's finest '£1.99 for four' lagers. A combination like that is potent! So ignore the Prune Juice - please! (Oh, and the same applies to figs - dirty disgusting things that come down here and try and run the show. I don't who they think they are, but the arrogant little buggers certainly aren't welcome!)

And as for Yoga!?

What on earth makes people think that being bent into every position possible is good for their bowels? It's bloody agony! Professors claim that if you're suffering from trapped wind (a symptom I'll talk about later) then you should try Yoga to shift it. People think it's wonderful when belches and farts break free. Let me tell you, the wind produced is far from an appreciative comment for the exercise; the truth is, we're trying to tell you to stop - you're killing us! That's why, when bottom burps are released, they smell so bad! Have you ever walked into a Yoga class? Shamus has, and the smell was bad enough it even made us wretch! He thought his stomach was hurting because of the strenuous workout he was being put through. Afraid not - it was us, feeling ill from the smell. A room full of lady farts (because be honest, the majority of people who attend Yoga classes are from the female end of the spectrum) is not the nicest environment to be in. It stinks! (And coming from a set of bowels, that's praise indeed!) Our advice?

Ignore the Yoga and embrace the Sofa!

Remember how good it feels when you sit in a comfy chair, with something good on the telly, a cool drink in hand and a first-class meal consumed, negotiating its way down to us. Bliss. Where does Yoga get involved in that scenario? Remember how painful it is when you force your head that far forward that you can suck your big toe, or when you twist yourself round that far that you pop a disc. Compare the two. We know which we prefer, so why don't you listen to us instead of some Professor type who writes streams of books from his little dark corner in his little dark room without having a clue as to what is really going on. Listen to the experts!

The same goes with exercise. Don't do it. Don't put yourself through the excruciating process that's enrolling; that sense of being made to feel six inches tall when you have your induction with Miss Fitness or Mr Muscles; don't suffer the agony of trying to make yourself fitter for someone close to you who's obviously out of your league (Shamus had his eye on a young lady with grey pants and a sweaty bum - the amount of times he fell off that treadmill...) but further more, don't do it to us! Shamus, fool that he is joined the local gym and put us through more agonies in 6 months than we'd suffered in the previous 16 years! Why? Hadn't we been good to him? We introduced him to tuneful farts and Silent But Deadlies; we embraced his first curry, his first kebab, his first pint, and what does he do to thank us? Try to kill us!

Our revenge was sweet.

During his time at the Gym, Shamus was a big fan of the weights - we weren't. So, after suffering one lift too many, we pulled something in his back. Even now, 5 months later, all the Physios and Doctors are bemused as to what happened - but we know. We managed to put him in so much agony, he wasn't able to move for a fortnight!

What a holiday that was. 14 days of horizontal action. 14 days of comfort food. 14 days which meant no work for him, and peace for us. Obviously the weight piled back on, but we didn't mind: if he wanted to try get back in the gym, we'd simply do the same again. If it worked once, it'll work twice...

So beware, fitness is definitely not good for you!

Oh, before I forget, going back to the trapped wind. You're no doubt wondering why that happens, why we're willing to trap enough air that you feel like you're going to explode - in fact, it feels as though an explosion is the only way you'll find some relief - well I'm not going to tell you. All I will say is, if you don't treat us with proper respect (and for a clue on how to do that, read above) then we'll treat you just the same, but in our own way - and our way hurts a lot more than yours!!

Anyway, I'm going now. I only stopped for a little chat, to give you a few pointers on what you should and shouldn't do when dealing with us. Remember, we do an important job, one that is greatly overlooked. We keep the rest of the body happy, and if it weren't for us, you'd never be able to appreciate the finer things in life, such as a nice wine or a nice meal! And think of the pleasure we bring... just cast your mind back to how good it feels when you've had a good toilet (or as Shamus puts it, a 'proper purge'): you feel weak; drained; drugged even. And why? Because you've treated us with respect so we've done our job properly. You're empty, ready to take on the world. If you're struggling to remember that sensation, then you're obviously doing things wrong.

I bet you suffer from constipation - and you're a health freak.

Good-bye.