THE JOHNNY BASTARD FILES : Eating Shit

When I was a young lad, I used to like to eat my own shit. I'm not exactly sure what it was I found so appealing about eating my own excrements. It wasn't a sexual thrill I received, I know that much, because I had for some reason stopped doing it before I became of age where I was actually old enough to get sexually turned on by anything. I don't think it was any kind of rebelling phase either, for I didn't become much of a hardcore rebel against much of anything until my teenage years. Besides, my parents never even knew until later that I ever so much as had let a nice, juicy turd touch my lips. Of course, they had shown such utter distaste when they finally caught me in the act. They nearly puked all over themselves, and my older sister actually had done just that and was sick for a whole fucking week afterwards. But before then, I never saw a damn thing wrong with eating my own shit or anybody else's for that matter. The idea that eating one's own fecal matter or that of someone else's as being a repugnant, disgusting, and shameful act had never once been imparted to me. I never stopped to question the prudence of my actions, never once considered the possibility that eating my own shit might be unhealthy, unsanitary, unwise, or just plain wrong. Sure, I was a bit ashamed of the fact that every morning I would awaken soaked in my own cooling piss. They never hesitated to yell at me about the fact that I could never go a single night without wetting the bed (this is something I never actually grew out of--for while weeks may go by and I would for every night, it might seem, wake up to find my bed completely dry, I would still even to this day occasionally have a little "accident", which seems to be occurring more and more frequently once more as I grow older). But there was absolutely nothing wrong with munching on a little fecal matter every now and again. Nothing!

I ate shit because I liked the way it tasted, the way it made a nice, convenient snack throughout the occasional sudden attack of the munchies, when there was absolutely no food in the house, or when I am at school or elsewhere where getting up to find something to eat wasn't always a readily available option for me. I can't quite remember how it tasted now; it was so long ago, but I remember the richness of the flavor, the wonderful texture as it caressed my tongue and swished down my throat as though it were being flushed down the toilet. I would even shit in my pants often (I have always had the weakest bladder anyone's ever seen, and still do to this very day), and aside from making a wonderful cushion within the seat of my pants when I sat down on a hard wooden surface, I would also sometimes scoop some of that shit out with my bare hands, and then begin to nibble at it, lick it, clean the whole surface of my skin with that of my tongue. And it was totally delicious; a hundred times better than any real food I had ever tasted. There was never any deep, complex reason why I started eating my shit. I had been a very young kid at the time I began, and a curious one at that, I began to wonder what my poop would taste like if I put it in my mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it. Once the question popped up in my mind, I just had to know, and so on my next bowel movement, I would find out. I decided upon swallowing, that I thoroughly enjoyed those little "snacks" I had after being done moving my bowels, and had simply been doing it ever since.

Getting caught in the act was a story onto itself. There I was, sitting on the john and taking a dump. Actually, I was almost finished. I had already wiped my ass (and then ingested the two-ply charmin toilet paper) and was just about to leave, when I saw those couple of small turds floating around idly over the surface of the water. Little did I know that I had forgotten to lock the bathroom door, as I put my hand in the bowl, reaching in deeply to pull the poop out, when in came Mommy, not even knocking on my fucking door, just barging in like she owned the place (which I suppose was technically true; she did half-own the house, along with dear old dad), and then shrieked in disgust and nearly fainted as she saw me chowing down on my own rancid bowel movements, gleaming from the fluorescent light on the mirror, and soaking in cool, tangy piss-water. She nearly fainted as Dad came rushing in along with Shirley, my teenage sister, who puked over her nice, brand new silk blouse once she glimpsed at what I was doing. As uncomfortable and afraid as I felt then, looking back and reflecting on it now, all these years later, I can't help but laugh my sorry little ass off at the whole situation. Man, the look of wretched disgust and revulsion on all of their faces as they saw what I was doing, what I was stuffing into my mouth, was utterly priceless! A definite Kodak moment in the making right there, folks!

Why did I stop eating shit if I enjoyed it, you might ask? The reasoning there, I am afraid, is not so simple. It wasn't the stupid faggot shrink that Mommy and Daddy insisted I go see every fucking day after school though, I'll tell ya that much! Boy, you get caught scarfing down a little fecal matter, and all of a sudden everyone makes such a big fucking deal about it and wondering if I was possessed by demons or was insane or whatever. I just liked eating shit. Was that so wrong? I received nothing but utter disdain from Shirley after that day I was caught--she couldn't even bear to so much as look at me from that day forward. But I never liked that prissy little cunt much anyway, so it wasn't like she hurt my feelings or anything! I guess I just eventually grew out of the whole shit-eating phase of life, the way kids often grow out of playing with certain toys or displaying certain obnoxious and childish behaviors. The desire eventually waned at around my ninth or tenth birthday, my little "snacks" became less and less frequent, and after a while, I eventually stopped altogether.

 

April 21, 2001

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