The Ballad of Martin Taft

        Martin Taft, as anyone could tell you, wasn't a special man. He was of average build, looks and intelligence. He was in his mid-thirty's and had an equally average wife and kids. He worked in an office cubicle eight hours a day for a company known for distributing pencils. He enjoyed black coffee during his breaks and would oft share images of little animals subtitled with broken English on his social media. At home he would wash dishes after dinner, kiss his children good night and read self help books by Tony Robinson before bed, occasionally receiving affection from his distant wife.

        Martin Taft, as anyone could tell you, wasn't a special man. However, that Tuesday was anything but average. Martin had woken up, gotten to work, chatted with colleagues and called various clients before heading home, like usual. He had kissed his wife, greeted the kids and eaten dinner, like usual. He had binged his favorite show and read his book, like usual. Something unusual had occurred, however. He had not dropped anchor that day.

        Another day had passed. He began to worry. Had he eaten too much fiber? Perhaps that was all it was. He felt the need for some alone time, yet whenever he sat on the toilet he could only urinate. Another day. He had had a rather large sandwich from Subway for breakfast. His brow dampened with sweat as the anxiety began to build up as the food flowed down his esophagus. Where was his stool? He could feel it accumulating. Yet again, another day passed. The heavens had once more denied him the pleasure of sinking the Bismarck. What was their game? Eating had become a very anxious experience. He needed someone to confide in, but his wife had become cold and taciturn and he feared for his reputation at work.

        Saturday. His bowels had begun to hurt. For seven hours he had communed with nature that day. He could feel his body pleading for sweet release yet while he felt overencumbered, his cavity would not part way for his loaf. Tears flowed down his cheeks as Martin wept to himself from the privacy of his bathroom.

        He had had enough. He visited his doctor, detailing the problems plagueing his ability to defecate. The doctor didn't think too much on the problem and prescribed him with powerful laxatives before sending Martin on his way. A great weight had been lifted from his shoulders and for the first time in nearly a week he smiled. Yet any joy he felt was short lived. Martin had hurried to take his new medication yet it wouldn't take long before dread began to take hold. Six hours had passed, no biggy. Strenuous on his lower half, for sure, but the doctor said it could take up to eight hours.

        Eight hours had passed. Nine hours. Martin writhed on the ground in pain as his newly lubricated colon flushed his passed meals down, yet met the immovable object that was his bottom. Ten hours. He had vomited onto the floor due to the strain his abdomen placed on his stomach. His whole body tensed as he wailed to the horror of his family. As the children wept, his wife hurried to call an ambulance.

        The medical staff were dumbfounded by Martin's inability to feed the fish. They attempted many things to try and force poor Martin to evacuate his building, yet to no avail. They even tried to pry it open, yet it was as if his bottom had become made of diamond. In the end there was no choice but to use a vacuum, a procedure which would shock and traumatize those who witnessed it.

        Martin was held at the hospital for further procedures and experimentation. Such was the anomaly that was Mr. Taft's situation. His wife and children visited him during the duration of those weeks he was held at the hospital and he was called out of work. Yet bad news lurked over the horizon. The doctors had been unable to find a way to assist Martin in laying cable autonomously. Worst of all, everyone at the office had discovered his predicament. A co-worker's daughter had overheard the news from his son at school.

        For months Martin was on paid leave, stuck at the hospital. The doctors had begun to feed him through a tube to slowly discourage his rectal bacteria from reproducing, causing his bowel movements. Time and time again he suffered the horror that was the surgical vacuum placed inside him. His children had begun to grow distant, tired of having to meet a father who they believed did not have the courage to make room for dessert. His wife, who he knew had already been slowly drifting away, had stopped visiting altogether. There was little he could do to fix his collapsing marriage at this point, from the position he was in. It was a little shock when he was told by his son that his mother had begun dating Martin's childhood bully and unpleasant co-worker, Craig. Eventually Martin was served divorce papers and his children were moved to another city with their mother.

        His wife had left him, his children had become estranged and eventually even his paid leave expired and he lost his job. All of this because of his inability to release the kraken. As he began to descend into a depression, there was but one shining light. The Guinness Book of World Records had found out about his sealed bottom lips and gave him the title of "Man with Longest Held Poop" after a short interview. Though even this failed to cheer him up long term. He was not resisting his desire to bust a grumpy, he simply could not. He was but a fraud.

        After three years at the hospital, Martin Taft had become weak and ill. Dark rings weighed down his eyes, any muscle mass he once held now weak due to his tube feeding. He barely had the strength or the will to call out for aid when he needed to be vacuumed. Yet one day, as he sat staring out the window of his hospital room with the sun illuminating his hollow face and pale skin, he felt it. A rush of air. A backdoor breeze. A cheek flapper. A one man jazz band. Tears began to well up in his eyes. He was himself again.

        Martin Taft, as anyone could tell you, wasn't an average man. He was pale, skinny and weak. His life had been undone and he had gone three years without heaving a single Havana. Even though he fell low, he held out for dear life. He became strong, his will iron like his posterior once was. When he left the hospital on a warm Tuesday afternoon, he was driven home. As the breeze blew into his face as it once did from his haunches, he felt a certain optimism. That day he would be gifted a lottery ticket by a friend upon his return. He would win fifteen-million dollars later that week. A month later he met the love of his life, a twenty-year old Cambodian model he had met on an online app. His world record fame would draw to him journalists and media, paving the way for Martin's new career as a reality tv-star. He would invest in stocks, turning his millions into billions. He would donate to scientific research and charities around the world. He would even be elected president of the United States of America. 

        Martin Taft, as anyone could tell you, was an extraordinary man.