On passing a huge turd
The most difficult dumps are the most rewarding, when you sit down and immediately discover the disconcerting incongruence between this giant fucking turd and your impossibly constricted sphincter. Nature has called you to challenge yourself–your pain tolerance, your endurance. The first half of the turd is a monster, but your sphincter expands and the turd is squeezed through in a compromise between your body and the morphological laws of matter. As you reach half-way it slides quicker, and finally the turd tapers off and the jumble of despair and hope and anticipation is washed away in a pseudo-orgasmic warmth.
A shit is a profound pleasure, both in meeting the physical need to void and in reconnecting you with your own digestion. Eating is more complicated, in that its base pleasure is often diluted by social graces and ethical concerns. I’m not going to pretend that pissing doesn’t feel good, but it’s more like a accommodating a need than an experience in itself. It’s the nicotine to shitting’s weed. Pissing feels kinda nice, and certainly relieves an uncomfortable pressure, but shitting is a positive joy.
Taking a dump is one of the only activities that’s both viscerally pleasurable and universally accepted. Not only is time spent on the toilet gratifying, it feels productive. If you have activities to attend, most people will excuse your absence if you really need to shit, a card you can’t play with sex or even eating. It’s telling that the most soul-crushing institutions–high schools, factories, barracks, prisons—all assume the right to tell you when to shit.