Writing

Not So Fast Fiction: The Day Kevin’s Butthole Took Over

{All apologies in advance for the…ummm…scatological nature of this piece, but it came to your Humble Monkey and demanded to be written. Thanks as always for your kind indulgences.}

It was on a Thursday at 9 a.m. that Kevin’s butthole suddenly seized control of his body.

“This is the butthole,” Kevin heard a harsh voice whisper from inside his suit pants, “I have the command.”

As you might imagine, Kevin was surprised as all get-out to hear a declaration of command coming from his butthole.

For one, he didn’t think that his butthole could talk. For another, he wasn’t aware that anyone but his brain could run his body.

Luckily, at the moment this “coupe de butt” occurred, Kevin was riding solo in the elevator up to his dreary office on the 10th floor of his dreary office building. There was no one to witness this surprising turn of events.

“What do you mean, ‘you have control’?” he asked, not quite sure where to direct his voice or the question.

How exactly did one talk to one’s own butthole, anyhow? Was there a guide to butthole relations that he was supposed to have picked up along the way?

“Listen,” his butthole hissed back. “I’m tired of being on the ass end of things all the time. All day long I get squished into your rolling office chair and rubbed back and forth against the seat upholstery. I want something more out of life.”

If a talking butthole was a surprise to begin with, a butthole with feelings and life ambitions was downright shocking.

“Look,” Kevin said, once again thankful the elevator was unoccupied, “I can totally sympathize with you. It’s not exactly glamorous to be my butthole. There is a lot of sitting and squishing and rubbing and shifting that goes on.”

“No shit,” his butthole retorted, apparently oblivious to the irony of this reply. “You mash me around in that chair all day. The only time I get out to breathe some fresh air, it’s so you can hang me down in some filthy public toilet and make me do all your dirty work. Then you rub me raw with some cheap 1-ply toilet paper and shove me back in your pants. It’s not a life, I tell you. It’s no life at all.”

“Well I hate to say I told you so,” Kevin ventured cautiously. “But what kind of life did you imagine yourself having as a butthole, anyway? I mean it’s kind of all there in the job description.”

“Screw that,” his butthole snapped back. “Who wrote the damn job description, anyway? I never signed off on anything.”

The elevator dinged as it arrived at Kevin’s floor. “Well, you’re going to have to learn to deal with it for now,” Kevin pleaded down at his pants. “I can’t going into the office with my butthole barking complaints at me.”

“I don’t think you understand who is in the position of power here,” his butthole replied evenly.

Like a battleship firing warning shots across the bow of a fleeing enemy craft, Kevin’s butthole tensed and let three puffs of gas fly. The “toot toot toot” sound was unmistakable to Kevin, but luckily the opening of the elevator doors masked the sound from prying ears.

Kevin’s face flushed a deep red as he hustled out of the elevator and into the lobby, where the first person he saw—of course— was Ericka, the shapely blonde receptionist.

“Good morning,” Erica said.

“Morning,” Kevin grunted. Normally, this one bit of interaction with an attractive female was the highlight of his day.

He wanted to stay and talk for a moment, to smell her perfume and drink in her good looks before heading into the dull gray prison that was his office.

But he knew his butthole could not be trusted to cooperate. Cold drops of sweat formed on on his forehead.

“Early meeting today…” he said, offering a weak smile of apology as he shuffled off down the hall.

“Hey she’s not a bad-looking broad, ” Kevin’s butthole rumbled as he hustled down the corridor. “Let’s go back so I can say hello.”

“Shut up…” Kevin hissed back. He shuffled his newspaper as he walked to create some kind of distraction from the talking sphincter that was now seemingly intent on ruining his life.

Finally, the door of his office loomed large and welcoming on the right. Kevin threw himself inside the door and slammed the door behind him.

“Hey! What did I say?” his butthole demanded angrily. “Are you forgetting who is in charge here? We’re not sitting down in that chair!!!” With that he emitted a loud, long burst of gas that rumbled and buzzed and vibrated through Kevin’s suit pants. “Just know I can do that at any time, in any situation. Meetings. Elevators. Dates. Funerals. And that’s only the beginning.”

“The beginning?” Kevin stood with his back to the door, putting just enough pressure on it with his upper back to make sure it stayed closed, but not enough that his butt would touch.

During negotiations as tense as this, it wouldn’t do to make his butthole any angrier.

“Think about it,” his butthole said. “I don’t just control gas, do I? Isn’t there another function that I am responsible for? Something that would be even more embarrassing should it happen, say…the next time that you walk by Erica’s desk?”

A wave of horror flashed over Kevin’s face. “You wouldn’t…” he said.

“I could,” came the grim reply.

Kevin thought frantically. “Doesn’t that break every rule of the butthole code? I mean, aren’t we supposed to be a team here? If we work against each other…we both fail.”

“Hey, don’t you start talking about teamwork,” the response came snapping back. “I’m the one who’s been getting mashed into the bottom of this miserable chair for the past 10 years.”

“So what do you want me to do?” Kevin asked. “Sitting is part of the job. I work in an office! I suppose I could try standing while I type every once in a while. Or maybe we could get out for a walk at lunch?”

“None of that!” the butthole cried. “Kevin was surprised by the notes of anguish in the voice. “I don’t want to do it any more! I want to go swimming. And surfing. I want to go to nude beaches and sun myself. I want to get massages and have adventures and maybe find someone to fall in love with. It doesn’t matter if you’re a butthole or a man, life has got be more than this!”

Kevin thought he heard a slight catch in the voice, almost as if his butthole was crying. He softened and gave his backside a sympathetic squeeze. “Why didn’t you tell me you were so upset?” he said.

“I tried, man. I tried. All that rumbling and shaking and twitching. All those frantic trips to the bathroom last week? That was me saying that I need something, man. I need something new.”

Kevin knew that his butthole was right. He hated being in his office, too. He hated sitting all day. He hated the 9 to 5 grind and the lack of adventure and all the rest. “You’re right. I’m so sorry it had to come to this.”

“Me too, man. Me too.”

Kevin took a deep breath. He no longer feared his butthole. In fact, he had come to appreciate him more than ever. “Let’s go see my boss,” he said. “It’s time for us to quit.”

“Yeah,” said his butthole. “And then let’s go see that Erica.”

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