OPINION: You're On A Five-Mile Company Run, But Your Anus Can't Go On

The following is an opinion article written by your anus.

FORT BRAGG — Listen, you know that I’ve been with you literally every step of the way. Together through thick and then, since you were a little kid. This is hard for me to say. I know we’re on a five-mile company run. I know if we fall out, our squad leader, platoon sergeant and first sergeant will each take turns smoking the dogshit out of us. I get it. But I can’t go on.

We’re a little over a mile and a half in. If we really concentrate, maybe we’ll make it. You can make a "Thunder Run" into a portashitter near Towle Stadium real quick and use one of your socks to wipe and then sprint to catch up.

Maybe both socks. Maybe both sides of each. It’s probably gonna be messy. Frankly, they'll probably be occupied. Or gone. Or tipped over.

I think it started when you thought it’d be a good idea to go to Slap Daddies to take advantage of quarter wing night. I get it, you like to save money. But did you have to order two dozen? Did they have to be coated in “Chernobyl” sauce? The blue cheese you drowned them in isn't doing you any favors, either. Did you bother to eat any of the celery? At least you would have had some roughage to firm things up.

On top of that, it was $2 Guinness pints night, too. Ok, fine.

Something to consider, though: Is it wise to treat such reasonable prices as a challenge to spend what you would otherwise normally spend? Fuck dude, your tab was $42.33. You may have a problem.

The caramel malt ain’t working well with my upstairs neighbors, if you know what I mean. The colon just wants to get this stuff out. You know it’s bad. It’s probably the consistency of pancake batter. But hot. As in “butt hot.” A full 98.6, or warmer, since you've been running, ya know.

Ok, we’re just about to Longstreet, time to turn around. We got this.

Really, I think we can make this work, Don't even think about it. Which pain is worse? The pucker you’re forcing on me or the slow cramp in your hip flexors since your glutes are scrunched up and can’t get through their full range of motion otherwise I’ll release a brown torrent of raw feces? Don’t think about it. Just keep running.

Like that blue fish in the Nemo movie. Just keep running. Run like you’ve never run before. In an odd stutter step because you can’t really reach your full stride, lest I let go a raging deluge of half-chewed poultry and Irish beer.

Just run. Just run. Don’t think about how I’m just about to muscle failure. We’re almost there. Maybe we can run into the orderly room and use the bathroom there when we get back. Just remember that line from “The Longest Day.” “Hold until relieved. Hold until relieved.”

Ok, less than a quarter mile, things are settling down. It’ll be ok. We got this shit.

Wait, what? We’re turning back for the fall outs?