Body Story

Despite the fact the Matt Bathe and I had to be in Trexlertown at 8am we stayed up all night drinking, yelling and looking for shitty basement parties in New Brunswick. Even before passing out on the couch at Meat Town at 5 am I started feeling an aggressive pounding from within my skull.  I had set the alarm clock on my cell phone for 7 am. As usual, my brain was the first part of me to wake up. On this particular morning my brain was angry and in pain but as the most responsible and goal-oriented part of my body, it resisted the urge to fall back asleep.  My brain woke up my eyes who opened obediently. They weren't feeling too great either. They pulled my eyelids back over themselves as much as my brain would allow. They had fevers and waited, stewing and boiling in their own juices, as my brain went through its typical morning routine of waking everyone else up and explaining apologetically that it was only doing its job. My mouth and throat woke up together, both feeling dried out and dirty, both angry at my brain for making them smoke an entire pack of lucky strikes in a single night. Together, they coughed tiredly, trying to expel the tar-stained mucus paste that lined their walls. My brain continued on with its morning mission. When it woke my stomach up, my stomach made sure that my brain knew that it was pissed. “Fuck you, Brain! You have the nerve to wake me up after what you did to me last night? Seriously, dude, go fuck yourself.”
“I know, man! I'm sorry! I'm such a fuck-up. I feel terrible, really,” my brain apologized.
“You feel terrible?! You filled me up with that nasty, greasy all-you-can-eat-for-6.99 shit to three times my capacity, – ”
My mouth interrupted in my brain's defense: “Yo man, that shit was good. I don't know what you're complaining about.”
My stomach didn't pay any attention to my mouth and continued expressing its grievances to my brain,  “and then you poured two bottles of some weird-ass malt-liquor/orange juice concoction in me –”
My mouth chimed in again, this time to support my stomach, “Aw man, yea, that shit was nasty.”
“ –and you feel terrible?” my stomach asked indignantly.
“Alright, first, its called a brass monkey and second, I don't want to wake up early either but we have to get to Trexlertown, and there is physically no way that we can leave either of you here,” my brain explained calmly.
But my stomach was not having it. It began shouting incoherently at my brain, calling it an irresponsible drunk and accusing it of abuse and neglect. In all of the commotion my stomach accidentally woke up one part of my body that even my brain had planned to just leave sleeping: my rectum. My rectum was an asshole. If my rectum was upset, it made sure everyone knew, and everyone did whatever was necessary to accommodate it. This morning my rectum started screaming at everyone that it had to get to the bathroom. As troubling as the situation was for everyone, there was no way that anyone could go any faster. My brain tried to ignore the incessant and agonizing complaints coming from my stomach and rectum and went on to wake up my legs. My legs rarely complained about waking up and this morning they stretched and twisted peacefully as the more obnoxious parts of my body continued to voice their discomfort. My whole body sat upright, provoking further outrage from my stomach, and then turned ninety degrees, placing my feet gently on the floor. Exhausted from this minor movement, my whole body slumped forward. With my arms draped limply across my knees, my head fell into my chest.
My stomach raged on in its anger, threatening to release everything consumed the night before all over the rest of my body.
“Please don't do that,” my brained begged as it drifted in and out of partial sleep. My brain knew that it was ultimately powerless to control my stomach and that if it really wanted to puke everywhere it would. The same was true for my rectum which was growing increasingly boisterous and had even begun warn me of the wrath to come by letting out series of small but searing farts. My butt cheeks squeezed together to prevent a disaster, but even though they were larger and stronger than my rectum, they did not compare in aggressiveness and  my brain knew that it was only a matter of time before they too grew too tired to prevent the pending doom.  Every part of me struggled silently not to collapse backwards onto the still-warm sofa and fall back to sleep. Matt Bathe's body, who was obviously also suffering, walked into the room to collect some things he need for the the trip to Trexlertown. My brain began to reflect on the events of the previous night and all that it had subjected the rest of the body to. Partially out of shame and partially out of fear of what my rectum might do if its demands weren't met, my brain called my arms and legs to action.
“All right, let's get to the bathroom before everything gets covered in shit and puke,” it ordered with all of the authority of a true leader.
Everyone was in agreement and my stomach and rectum even started to relax in the knowledge that the healing process would soon begin. But then the most immature and senselessly irrational part of my body woke up. In the blink of an eye, my penis, who hadn't even flinched when my brain woke up the rest of my body, filled with blood and squeezed its way tenaciously into right leg of my tight black jeans.
“Goddammit,” my brain grumbled, “now we have to wait to go to the bathroom.”
All of the other body parts let out a cry of anger and frustration.
“Sorry, dudes,” my penis laughed smugly.
“Fuck it. Let's just go,” ordered my stomach and rectum together, “Who cares if Matt Bathe sees your boner?”
“I don't care about that,” my brain explained slowly, “But we can't really sit down on the toilet properly if Penis doesn't relax.”
“Fuck man, you always do what Penis wants,” my stomach screamed, “Remember when that girl told us to try her nasty-ass homemade peanut butter, and we all knew it was gonna taste like shit but you made us eat it anyway, just cause Penis thought she was hot.”
“Yeah man, that sucked,” my mouth agreed.
“He's right,” said my legs. “Remember that time you made us walk all the way to Swarthmore, so Penis could hang out with Ian's ex-girlfriend, even though we all knew that nothing was going to happen.”
My brain stopped and thought for a moment. My stomach was right. My penis and my brain had always had a suspiciously close relationship and my brain often made the rest of my body do what ever my penis wanted. Perhaps, my brain just admired the concentration of nerve endings in my penis or perhaps it thought that by pursuing my penis' goals, it could achieve some kind of emotional or intellectual gratification. Either way, the reign of the golden child was over. Why should my penis be allowed to make life miserable for everyone else. My whole body waited for my brain's reaction.
“Listen, Penis. Either you relax or I'm gonna make Left Hand and Right Hand punch you until you do relax,” my brain threatened.
“Can't you just have them masturbate me?” my penis joked mockingly.
“No!” said my brain with such force that the words actually came out of my mouth, and startled Matt Bathe whose eyes looked over at me with a confused expression.
“Fuck it,” said my brain, also out loud, “I'm just going to bend you until you fit in the toilet.”
Matt Bathe's face looked even more unsettled as my legs lifted my whole body along with my erect penis up from the couch and marched upstairs to the bathroom.
Everything after that cannot possibly be described in words.