The Story of the Poo and the Road

A long, long time ago, in a country not that different from our own, a young man went on an adventure. The adventure would take him deep into the cultural heartland of the country, and would change him forever. It is a tale of trial and tribulation, of hardships and elation. First, however, I need to give you some background information.



There is this pub in the city, which sells cheap pizza and cold beer on a Wednesday night. Our hero, who we shall call Dowan Dyth, went to this pub and consumed a number of beers. He also consumed a Mexicana pizza. Any normal human would find the spiciness of a normal Mexicana completely sufficient for his or her needs but due to increased tolerance to hot foods (Nando's is good) he decided to load copious amounts of the homemade acha onto his pizza. Bad call number 1. A couple of beers later, Dowan made his way home feeling sorry for himself that he would have to wake up at 5AM to drive to Decunda - of all the smelly-farm-labourer's-armpit-like towns in South Africa. At 5 he awoke to the tune of Airwolf pumping through his 0.34 Watt speaker on his cell phone feeling surprisingly fresh. A shower and some breakie later he thought to himself, 'let me just go to the toilet now and save myself the hassle of finding a toilet en route". So he did his number two. Again, he was surprised. There was no burn and only a little bok-drol plopped into the clear cool bowl of water. He thought he had got away with it… He hadn't. Bad call number 2. Not 15 minutes into his journey he felt the first pangs of discomfort. Pangs of discomfort might be a slight understatement. It felt like he had a pack of rabid Wolverines eating his ass from the inside out. Not only where they eating, gnawing and scratching, they were also breeding. Multiplying faster and more often than Hobbo tells Jenfer he loves her. The pressure and ferocious activity increased. Dowan thought to himself 'no problem, I will pull over at one of those big, clean petrol stations and relieve the pressure.' Those of you who know the N17 will know that not only does it go Nowhere, it also goes through Nowhere along the way. For an hour and a half our poor hero struggled to keep the sweat out of his eyes and his cheeks sealed shut. Every now and then a particularly excited Wolverine would attempt to ram through the opening into the light. Some of them came way to close to making it for comfort.



'Oh thank God, a petrol station. It looks kid of dodgy, but who am I to keep a pack of ravenous Wolverines imprisoned?' Dowan pulled over and made haste to the men's Bathroom. 'No door? That's not a good sign. No TP either. What about the women's? Locked. No game. Moving on. FAST!' The next town was 30kms away. Now the wolverines are angry. They had smelt freedom, and they wanted out. Dowan drove faster, waving as the traffic cop wagged his finger at the speeding car. Dowan wondered if the cop had any TP. Not worth the effort. Faster! There on the corner was another Petrol station. Pulled in.



"Toilets please?"



"Round back."



'Occupied! No chance… wait… wait…wait… No TP? Again? This isn't happening.' The Wolverines were insatiable. Any give and they would take the whole… literally. 'Okay, the next town is only 10kms away. Let's go, all of us together. No stragglers please."



Dowan rummaged about in his mind for a titbit, anything to help through this ordeal. There it was, a shining ray of light. The solution to the inevitable fact that there was going to be no TP at any of the luxurious petrol station toilets in Mpumalanga. He had tissues in the boot. Next petrol station, pull in. Toilet. Door! Seat! Smell! Obviously other people knew about this deluxe closet in the recesses of South Africa's smelly armpit and had used it moments ago. It doesn't matter. The time has come to release these foul creatures of darkness into the earth where they shall bother no man again (give it an hour for the smell to clear).



Ahh, sweet relief. Nothing can stop me now. Hang on, what's this… this… burn? Where did this come from? Homemade Acha – no chance. This burn was forged in the fires of Asgard, designed to be punishment for doers of evil. Argh, the pure evil! Will there be no relief?



Hate Decunda.

(Too much info? It will broaden your mind)