In three days, I said goodbye to everyone I'd come to know and love, bathed in a stranger's shower with a 24" black dildo suction-cupped to the wall, and shit my pants in a pair of $40 underwear. Relax. The last two aren't related.

I about-faced quick as hell and willed my anus to remain shut for the 30 seconds it would take to reach the toilet. It took just 5 steps before my body betrayed me and dropped a shit grenade in my merino wool boxer-briefs.

Let's rewind a little. My schedule before moving to Oregon was insane. For some dumb reason, I thought it would be brilliantly efficient to move immediately after 3 huge back-to-back adventures. Each one was at least 4 days long and I had only 4 days between each trip to pack while preparing for the next. My friends threw me a surprise party somewhere between that and I still managed to be ready a few days early.

I filled every cubic foot of my SUV, had brunch with some friends, hit the road, and posted on Facebook to see if I had connections with a couch in a northern California. Paul was the first of four who responded so I updated my destination and zoned out to an audiobook. At some point during the drive, he warned me about "Lil' Dicky" hiding somewhere in the house. I assumed (incorrectly) that it was just a weird reclusive cat. Lil' Dicky is, apparently, a giant sex toy left inconspicuously around the house as a practical joke. I was lucky enough to find him in the shower. I thought about taking it down, but he seemed to enjoy the view so I left him hanging there.

I reached my new home the next afternoon. My roomies, Jackie and Chris, invited me to join them and a few friends for drinks that night. I had a blast and got to meet a charming woman named Charity that became an amazing friend! Anyway, let's fast forward to the part where I shit my pants. I was headed to the coast with Jackie and Chris on my second day in Oregon. An hour into the drive, I carefully released a rather hot and aggressive fart. I was a little worried, but didn't dwell on it. I'm a 27-year-old-grown-ass man, after all. I can control my bladders, right? Nope. No, I can't. We made it to the beach/trailhead and I was really feeling the pressure, but didn't want to keep them waiting. I walked maybe 50 feet before realizing that was a critical error. 

I about-faced quick as hell and willed my anus to remain shut for the 30 seconds it would take to reach the toilet. It took just 5 steps before my body betrayed me and dropped a shit grenade in my merino wool boxer-briefs. There wasn't even that much, which kind of annoyed me. I've taken way bigger shits, but I guess this one was just too dangerous to keep inside until I could reach a convenient place to properly relieve myself. I cleaned up and walked out of the bathroom cool as a fucking cucumber - until I realized that Jackie and Chris had spent 30 minutes looking for me.

The rest of the day was rather nice. We hiked around the beach and they bought me hand-made ice cream on the way back. 

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