What The Hell Did I Cram In My Anus Last Night?

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What The Hell Did I Cram In My Anus Last Night?

Oooooh. Gahhh. I'm really paying for it this time.

I tell you, I've got to start being more careful. I'm not getting any younger.

I don't even remember: What exactly did I cram in my anus last night? It feels like I drove a Mack truck through there. Thank God for Bufferin.

I've never really thought of myself as a big-time anal crammer, or the kind of guy who can out-cram everyone else at a party. I'll usually stuff, you know, a couple of travel-size shampoos and maybe a harmonica in there, just to be social. And sure, on New Year's Eve or some special occasion, I might loosen up and put in a can of soup or some Beanie Babies. But I'm hardly a brass-colon daredevil like that guy in the Guinness book who crammed a washing machine.

Boy, I hope I can remember what I stuffed up there last night. I'm sure it'll make a great story on Monday. I'm pretty sure it was squarish in shape: There are eight distinct pain points that feel equidistant from each other. But what would cause that? A Rubik's Cube? A stack of 10 or so CDs? An alarm clock? I just don't know.

Obviously, heading into the evening, I didn't plan to cram anything terribly big up my ass. But who ever does? It's always the same, you know: You go to a party, they put out some cheese, a few fruit wedges–no problem. But then somebody hands you a broomstick, and you think, "Oh, what the hey!" Next thing you know, you're waking up the next morning wondering if you'll ever shit straight again.

Oh, sure, back in college, I could cram with the big boys. I was a fraternity man; how could I not? I remember this one mixer with the Tri-Delts. I crammed five bottles of Coors and won $80. The only reason I won, though, was that Big Rooney wasn't there that night. Whoa, that guy could cram things in his anus! I once saw him shove 16 pool balls in his ass and completely close his sphincter around them. He was a monster! Today, he's a broker for Schwab Insurance, the last thing any of us would have guessed, believe me.

Anyway, my point is, those days are far behind me. Nowadays, I'm lucky to get the collected works of T.S. Eliot up there–softbound!

I should note that I don't actually endorse this kind of behavior. I'm just telling you what goes on. I'm also trying not to be unrealistic. I realize that as long as there are anuses, there will be people cramming things up them. But I want to urge everyone reading this, especially young people, that if you're going to cram stuff up your anus, please do it responsibly.

Could it have been one of those Chinese tea tins? This is gonna drive me crazy. I hope I can figure it out without having to go around the house seeing what's missing.

I think last night will have to be my last great hurrah as an anal crammer. Next time someone offers me a Hickory Farms Deluxe Gift Basket, I'll just say no. Or if I do decide to do it, I'll be sure to slowly cram it one item at a time. After all, you can't help growing old, but you can do it gracefully, right? From now on, I'm setting some limits to my cramming, like a videocassette or two once a month and maybe a raccoon on my birthday. And, of course, the usual cup of spiced tea on Christmas morning with the rest of the family.

But definitely no more ironing boards. I'm pushing 35, for God's sake.