The character in question has problems with his bowels and sea anemones from his disturbed imagination begin to mock him. His family is distraught, his workplace confused and the character in question must face up to his demons. He’ll need his family’s help and he’ll need to relax. Relief is at hand and everyone will sing of it. More
The character in question has problems with his bowels and sea anemones from his disturbed imagination begin to mock him. His family is distraught, his workplace confused and the character in question must face up to his demons. He’ll need his family’s help and he’ll need to relax. Relief is at hand and everyone will sing of it.
As in two minds that are sarcastically fermenting, a thousand dilating sea anemones terrorise this business man sitting on the toilet at his work, because he is stubborn and he will not go. They are mocking him; effortlessly releasing their human waste ranked behind intestinal bends on the walls around him. No strain, and get this log jam man they are saying, no sphincter pain. He’s sitting there waiting, and by the time the last thousandth had delivered on nature’s calling he’s zipping his trousers. The blockade continues, and he trudges back to his piles of paperwork. Ah, his dilemma had nearly deserved those insipid anemones flying around the toilet door!
And as soon he sits the terror anemones now dance on his computer screen, one rogue screen saver followed by a jaunty ’nother. Is there a hint of a smile as they wink at him? Silly man, sinking to an ever lower low. He is being mocked and persecuted, because his will won’t release him from his strangled insides. And if it wasn’t for his puritan self discipline, he’d be looking for something to throw.
Like a true metrosexual man he’s prone to analysing his flagellant self. Is it stress, or is it his glucose free diet that is forcing him to lock? Or is it his sinister side that’s turned his faeces into asteroid rock? And inspired, he attacks his gloom like an angry war veteran disorientated by the TV war news with a manic laugh at his screen tormenters.
His co-workers worrisome looks disrupt him while he’s standing over his work. He smiles helplessly, suggesting a health condition, the truth of which he mustn’t say. “Are you alright Herman, you’re suddenly looking worse for wear? ‘ “No, I’m fine thank you, I just need to stretch my legs, cramp you know; it’s something I regularly struggle with.” “You should see a doctor and then you’d feel completely loose.” That’s an understatement, one for the avalanche building within his bowels, and he won’t be standing for the rest of the day, looking like a goose.