My mouth twitched, and I tilted my head tightly to the side as my eyebrows knitted themselves together quizzically. I began to laugh. It was weak at first with holes in it like Swiss cheese, but after a moment I was doubling over snickering like some mean kid who just stole candy from a bunch of smaller children. It was too much. This guy was an idiot.
When I looked up, he was glaring at me again. “You are racist,” he said. “It’s not funny! Don’t think I’m glad to be excretorally challenged!”
This, of course, made me crack up even harder.
“So, you want to see what it’s like, huh? You want to know how hard and painful this is?” Before I could tell what was happening, the man had waddled over to me and stuck something in my mouth. I momentarily choked, my laugh stopping as I jerked away, stunned, indignant, and disgusted. It was too late. I had swallowed whatever small object he had put into my mouth. I backed up, staggering and slamming into the wall, falling down on my butt.
I looked up. The man tossed me something as he walked out. I caught it cupped in both hands. It was a familiar shape, but the color was off. In fact, I had only seen it printed on plastic slushee cups. Yet here it was. In my hands… and in my stomach.
It was a blue raspberry.
I frantically looked up, my eyes searching for the constipated man. He was gone, but his own laugh echoed throughout the hallway outside the restroom. Someone walked into the bathroom and saw me sitting sprawled out on the floor. His eyebrows shot up as if he already knew that I was constipated. His mouth opened in disgust; he must have been able to tell that I can’t [poop] anymore.
“Are you alright?” he asked slowly.
I shot to my feet. “No, I’m not constipated! Why would you even say that? You racist!”
The man stood dumbfounded. “I… I didn’t…”
“I’m excretorally challenged!” I cried.