A chubby man in a post-apocalyptic world embraces his inner animal needs, such as voiding himself whenever and wherever he feels like it.
He could barely remember what he had said to the man after he got out of his van. One moment, he was explaining why he had no problem with pissing himself. Then he was farting up a storm and gradually annoying the driver. But now, he was back outside, breathing deeply into his helmet as he walked across the coarse ground barefooted. The shirtless obese man only wearing a red football helmet with five tally marks on it and a pair of red shorts gazed around the abandoned town the bearded traveler dropped him off at. There didn’t seem to be anything special in the area; most of the houses and buildings around him were demolished, ransacked, and unfit to live inside of. And as far as Five Strikes could tell, there were no other human beings around. He sighed as he rubbed his fat belly, listening to the gut bubble and grumble, his dirty skin smothered in sweat and dirt. He could already smell himself; he forgot the last time he showered or took a bath. Then again, considering that civilization fell several years ago, proper hygiene and being courteous was the last thing to worry about. Snorting, Five Strikes began to walk around town, eager to look for food to eat.
He had been lucky earlier when the bearded driver stopped and found water and other fluids–which both of them drank a sufficient amount of. Already Five Strikes could hear the fluids and acid in his gut sloshing around as he walked across the dry town. Breathing harshly, he looked inside of a few houses, coming up with nothing of importance except for some useless tools that had been broken, along with a couple of dead bodies with the flesh already peeled from their bones. The dreaded sights didn’t deter him though, as none of it was important for what he was seeking. He went back into the middle of the street, hearing his belly gurgle for a moment, as if to remind him that it needed to be refilled. Five Strikes grumbled and smacked his gut, as if to tell the rotund chunk of flesh to be quiet. When he resumed walking, however, he felt a different sensation coming across his body…a strange feeling of relief. As Five Strikes walked forward, his crotch grew incredibly warm. He recalled all of the fluids he consumed many hours ago and that he hadn’t bothered to pee since then. And now that he was moving through the abandoned town, his need to urinate was back in full force.
The strange thing was, Five Strikes had no warning. Ever since civilization fell, he noticed that his bowels and bladder were far looser than they used to be. Five Strikes looked down at his crotch, seeing a damp spot appearing where his bulge was. It spread around quickly, running around his underwear and leaking out into his red shorts, staining his chunky thighs and legs as well. Despite what he was doing, Five Strikes kept walking. He nonchalantly strolled down the street as he peed his shorts. He could hear the yellow fluids hissing and leaking from his penis, gushing downwards and running down his legs. Rivulets of yellow fluids trickled from his shorts, the droplets falling onto the ground and being absorbed by the dirt. By accident, Five Strikes passed gas as well, the juicy, warm farts blasting from his giant ass and adding another layer of warmth to the dry town around him. When Five Strikes found a two-story building on his right, he stopped for a moment. He stared at the house in silence, all while his bladder kept leaking. At this point, he was peeing so much that piss was running down both of his legs. It dripped down to his toes, and a puddle was forming between the man’s big dirty feet.
Five Strikes looked down at the mess he made and blinked twice. He audibly sniffed the air, his shorts stinking heavily of urine. As he finished micturating, Five Strikes shrugged, feeling much lighter and more content with himself. He shook some of the excess piss from his legs and walked over to the house, telling himself that the rest of the piss would eventually dry up because of the intense heat. After Five Strikes appeared inside the house, he wandered into the kitchen, stepping over the broken floorboards and small insects crowding around a strange stain in the corner of the living room. When he entered the kitchen, he saw that the fridge had toppled over and was empty, and that all but two cabinets had their doors torn off their hinges. Five Strikes approached the cabinets still intact and opened them up. To his shock, they were both full. Different sets of beans in different cans were locked up inside of it, untouched. Five Strikes raised an eyebrow, curious as to why no one had stolen them but took the rest of the food. He grabbed a can and looked at the expiration date, realizing that the beans had expired months ago.
Five Strikes ignored the date and took five cans out of the cabinet, sitting down on the floor in the corner and removing a giant knife from his pocket. He violently cut through the lid and took it off, shortly before he removed his helmet and sighed. Already he could tell that the beans didn’t smell pleasant, but they still looked mostly intact and had no bugs inside of them. Carnivores and many predators were prone to eating carrion; Five Strikes thought it was silly that no one bothered to take these cans because the contents inside had grown “stale.” Using a spoon he found on the floor, Five Strikes hungrily consumed his meal. He ate through seven cans of beans until his belly felt like it was about to burst. After belching and licking his fingers clean, Five Strikes put his helmet back on and meandered into the living room. Feeling exhausted after eating so much, he lazily plopped himself onto the filthy, moldy couch near the stairs and exhaled as he got some sleep.
About six hours later, Five Strikes woke back up, groaning and feeling a huge pain in his gut. Rolling over, the fat man passed gas, the flatulence sputtering against his big shorts and leaving the air stinking of beans. He took it as an alarm clock, and the man yawned as he stretched and woke up. Putting his feet on the floor, Five Strikes curled his toes before farting again, his bowels feeling very loose. Unperturbed by the stench, Five Strikes sat still, listening to his bowels gurgling as more flatulence made its way to his anus. He leaned over a bit, taking a foot off the floor before he let loose another chunky burst of gas, the trumpeting noise getting thicker and wetter as time went on. Feeling bloated, Five Strikes stood up and made his way to the front door. He opened it up and stepped outside, getting blasted by the heat of the sun yet again. He resumed walking through town, hoping to find a better place to sleep or to come across another traveler with a vehicle. But as he walked, he wrapped his arms around his belly, unable to stop himself from passing gas.
The chubby man let out a thick fart that went on for many seconds and ended with a sloppy splat. Something wet slithered out of the man’s asshole, and now it was clinging to the back of his already funky underwear. Sighing, the man stopped walking. Instead, he squatted to the ground, bending his legs as he showed off his fat ass pressed tightly against his smelly red shorts. He let out a long, sputtering fart that almost seemed to echo in the streets of the abandoned town. And then, with no shame whatsoever, he shat himself. The first turd exploded out of his ass, feeling like a grenade that went off and sent several chunks of shit into his underwear. Five Strikes exhaled with much relief, but stayed still, knowing he wasn’t done yet. A muffled fart oozed from his stinky ass, followed by some wet chunks of waste. A small stain appeared on the man’s shorts, but nothing horribly noticeable. However, the shirtless fat man pushed, and he wound up releasing a monstrous turd thick enough to choke someone that was almost a foot long. Five Strikes felt the massive load of waste filling up his shorts, causing the small bulge to sag downwards as the shit popped and squelched.
Five Strikes stayed put, feeling more excrement leaving his bowels. Another fat turd slithered out and joined the previous ones, balling itself up as it was sandwiched between the man’s greasy buttocks and underwear. His briefs were ruined; they already had holes in them, and now they were loaded with over a pound’s worth of shit. A small brown stain was showing up on the briefs, and when Five Strikes sharted, the stain only grew. The wet flatulence and feces was sprinkled onto the load, like someone was literally raining wet shit down onto an already dry, clay-like pile of slurry. Five Strikes didn’t mind. After all, he was just emptying his bowels. So many times he saw the horses from horse-drawn carriages shit onto the road as they transported people around the countryside. He remembered a vile incident where a horse shamelessly passed gas whilst trotting down the street. Human beings were no different. He needed no toilets, no privacy behind a bush. He just had to squat down and go…even if he was still wearing clothes. Five Strikes let out another muffled splorch, his shorts bulging outwards as the brown stain kept growing. He sniffed the air and coughed, taking note of the strong, beany stench of his waste.
But he wasn’t bothered by it. He expected his shit to smell this way–it was shit after all. Why bother covering up the odor or trying to hide it? Five Strikes remained in his squatting position until his bowels felt lighter. With a muffled crackling fart, Five Strikes finished soiling his britches and stood straight up. He knew that he stank. He knew that his trousers had been ruined. But no matter. He could always find a new pair. Until then, he would have to stick with these. Five Strikes put his hand in his pockets and continued to walk down the street, feeling no different from a wild stallion that nonchalantly left droppings in the middle of the road. Although, in Five Strikes’ case, shitting his shorts would prove to be beneficial in the long run.
Like a skunk that could ward off a bear with its spray, Five Strikes had his own “natural defense” that would scare off predatorily humans the second they smelled him.