Nate’s Parties Give Me The BEST Shits!

I’ve known Nate for quite some time. He’s a jovial sort that enjoys nothing more than surrounding himself with friends for a few drinks and belly-laughs. When celebratory calendar dates approach, I will often suspend making RSVPs elsewhere in hopes that Nate will have an offering that I’ll be invited to. They are always top notch. He is never stingy with the quality of party accoutrements and fellow attendees are all varied incarnations of witty and glamorous. However, there is no reason more compelling to pre-populate my social agenda with Nate’s potential get-togethers than they really do seem to usher forth extremely satisfying bowel movements.

I’m not sure what factors culminate in his shindigs to eject waste matter from my body with such furious gusto. A likely agent of my unwitting colonics could be the edible fare his wife Sarah provides for the parties. Sarah, a strict vegetarian with gourmet flair, always assembles an enviable repast rich in fiber. Her sweet corn salad, a delightfully light and satisfying conglomeration of white corn, various legumes, and some sort of herbed vinegarette, would certainly facilitate the veritable missle launch issued by my anus. The beverage selection could likewise be a key component. The rich hoppiness of his routinely provided India Pale Ales could have a chemical signature that churns my alimentary canal in much the same way that actual Indian food does. Perhaps the source is more psychological than anything. There is a doubtless sense of relaxation accompanying interaction with the melange of pleasant personalities gathered in Nate’s home on such occasions. My suddenly placid psyche, in a stark contrast to its usual frenzy, could reasonably cause a cascade of physiological changes leading to my dump valve. Science may never know.

It is hard to discuss these things without being indelicate, but it is impossible to deny the visceral sense of satisfaction that arrives with knowing every nook and cranny of my large intestine is shining with a high-polished gleam. It’s like a spring cleaning of sorts. While I may tidy up my home/rectum from time to time when company is arriving it’s always superficial in comparison to those rare concerted efforts to do a solid roll-up-your-sleeves scrubbing. And Nate’s parties always deliver.

Whatever it is, let is never be said that I, and by extension my ass, don’t appreciate Nate’s hospitality. Thank you from both of us, Nate.