A couple weeks ago, while browsing around the library downtown, I had to take a ****. As I entered the john, Barack Obama — the messiah himself — came out of one of the booths. I stood at the urinal looking at him out of the corner of my eye as he washed his hands. He didn’t once look at me. He was busy and in any case I was sure the secret service wouldn’t even let me shake his hand.

As soon as he left I darted into the booth he’d vacated, hoping there might be a lingering smell of **** and even a seat still warm from his sturdy bum. I found not only the smell but the **** itself. He’d forgotten to flush. And what a treasure he had left behind. Three or four beautiful specimens floated in the bowl. It apparently had been a fairly dry, constipated ****, for all were fat, stiff, and ruggedly textured. The real prize was a great feast of turd — a nine inch gastrointestinal triumph as thick as his male reproductive organ — or at least as I imagined it!

I knelt before the bowl, inhaling the rich brown fragrance and wondered if I should obey the impulse building up inside me. I’d always been a liberal democrat and had been on the Obama train since last year. Of course I’d had fantasies of meeting him, sucking his male reproductive organ and balls, not to mention sucking his bumhole clean, but I never imagined I would have the chance. Now, here I was, confronted with the most beautiful five-pound turd I’d ever feasted my eyes on, a sausage fit to star in any fantasy and one I knew to have been hatched from the bumhole of Barack Obama, the chosen one.

Why not? I plucked it from the bowl, holding it with both hands to keep it from breaking. I lifted it to my nose. It smelled like rich, ripe limburger (horrid, but thrilling), yet had the consistency of cheddar. What is cheese anyway but milk turning to **** without the benefit of a digestive tract?

I gave it a lick and found that it tasted better then it smelled.

I hesitated no longer. I shoved the ****ing thing as far into my mouth as I could get it and sucked on it like a big half fine upstanding member of society male reproductive organ, beating my meat like a madman. I wanted to completely engulf it and bit off a large chunk, flooding my mouth with the intense, bittersweet flavor. To my delight I found that while the water in the bowl had chilled the outside of the turd, it was still warm inside. As I chewed I discovered that it was filled with hard little bits of something I soon identified as peanuts. He hadn’t chewed them carefully and they’d pbumed through his body virtually unchanged. I ate it greedily, sending lump after peanutty lump sliding scratchily down my throat. My only regret was that Barack Obama wasn’t there to see my loyalty and wash it down with his ****.

I soon reached a terrific climax. I caught my great times in the cupped palm of my hand and drank it down. Believe me, there is no more delightful combination of flavors than the hot sweetness of great times with the rich bitterness of ****. It’s even better than listening to an Obama speech!

Afterwards I was sorry that I hadn’t made it last longer. But then I realized that I still had a lot of fun in store for me. There was still a clutch of virile turds left in the bowl. I tenderly fished them out, rolled them into my handkerchief, and stashed them in my briefcase. In the week to come I found all kinds of ways to eat the **** without bolting it right down. Once eaten it’s gone forever unless you want to filch it third hand out of your own bumhole. Not an unreasonable recourse in moments of desperation or simple boredom.

I stored the turds in the refrigerator when I was not using them but within a week they were all gone. The last one I held in my mouth without chewing, letting it slowly dissolve. I had liquid **** trickling down my throat for nearly four hours. I must have had six orgasms in the process.

I often think of Barack Obama dropping solid gold out of his sweet, pink bumhole every day, never knowing what joy it could, and at least once did, bring to a grateful democrat.