Surely by now you are familiar with the Shart.  The Shart is what happens when your rectal indicators malfunction, telling you that you have a nasty rip to share with the wife or the boys, when, in all actuality, you are about to shit your pants.

Two days ago I laid around all day, barely conscious, in and out of fever chills, and with little to no appetite.  Yesterday, I felt a little better.  At least the fever didn't bother me as much.  Sometime early in the afternoon, however, I felt that sudden urge that could mean only one thing - I needed a toilet and I needed it now.

Forget pooping in private - once this one was released, nobody wanted to be around me.  The stomach bug had finally manifested itself into a runny, watery... well, you know.

So at this point, I should think, I'm not going to trust my spinchter today, right?  I'm going to carefully evaluate each rectal urge and make a bee-line for the bathroom, right?

Wrong.

Yes, my fellow Americans (and Canadians, and Dutch), I sharted.  I sharted to the point where I didn't trust myself to get it all cleaned up and took a butt shower.  I changed my boxers and went about my business.

But wait, there's more!

After realizing that my body was intentionlly liquifying anything that got past my stomach, and more importantly, realizing that my senses had failed me once already, you would think that all of my senses would be on red alert, watching and waiting, ever vigilant.

Wrong again.

You know that tickly feeling that you get when you feel like you are going to sneeze, and you really want to make it happen, so you do everything that you can to make it happen? Yeah, I did that.

I can only compare the effect to, say, the worst diaper you have ever changed.  You know, the kind where it shoots out the back of the diaper and ruins not only the pants but also the shirt, and possibly requires a shampoo?  Yeah, that kind.  I didn't even bother with the toilet this time.  Straight to the shower.  Hell, what good would the toilet do?  It was all gone!

I figured that I would be up every couple hours last night going to the bathroom.  Surprisingly I was not.  I even woke up with a couple of real nice trumpet calls.  (Sure, at night, when there's nothing left, the spinchter works right.)

So, sorry to cut this short, but, uh, gotta run!