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When You Gotta Go

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It was embarrassing. Conrad hadn't had a poop in a week. No matter how hard he tried; no matter how long he sat it just wasn't happening. And he'd eaten enough prunes and ingested enough Benifiber to last a lifetime. After the third day his wife had jokingly started calling him Constipated Conrad. But to Conrad it was no joke. He needed to do something to rid himself of this accursed dilemma.

Then in the middle of the night Conrad had awoken doubled over in pain. The build up of bile was becoming unmanageable as was evident in what was happening in his stomach. His wife called 911 and an ambulance was dispatched.

Conrad didn't find it nearly as humorous as the ambulance attendants and he suffered through their questions of what he'd eaten and what he'd taken in an effort to break the dam, as it were. (Their words, not mine.) Wheeled into Emergency, Conrad suffered further indignation as the nurse asked him many of the same questions posed by the first responders.

Satisfied she'd obtained all the information she could from Conrad the nurse whispered into his wife's ear.

"What's that?" shouted Conrad. "I'm the one with the problem" he yelled. "You should be telling that to me!"

"Well" said the nurse "I was just telling your wife that we'd likely have to give you something that was anathema to you."

"Oh no you don't" squirmed Conrad, not the sharpest knife in the drawer. "I'm not taking no anathema."

The nurse and Conrad's wife dissolved into laughter as the nurse quickly responded "Don't worry Conrad we're all friends here. We're not enemas."

The prompt from my friends at Studio30+ is accursed/anathema this week. They're having trouble with their website lately but clicking on the link will take you to their Facebook page where you can see the rest of the accursed submissions.

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