I was alarmed. I had often pood myself before but this was different. The poo shot out like a bullet only to suddenly slow down, leaving the visual effect of a tail protruding from my anus. Not ideal. I went downstairs to get the scissors and snip it off. But wait. It . . . was moving . . . Wagging, if you will. I called 111 and explained the situation. I described the yellowish puss that glazed it like a forbidden honey. I went into detail about the smell of mixed spice (Nick Lemongrass, Harrisa Not Herbs, Gerry Garlic, Shallots Magazine)s. Was it cinnamon? Sage? There was a hint of sandalwood. They sent the ambulance. At the hospital the scanned my poo tail, fearing my spine had shot out in a casement of turd. What they found . . . will surprise if the most experienced sharter. Within the core of my poo tail was a tape worm. Writhing in disgust at the stench and pressure of the steaming plopsy wopsy in which it was entombed. But this was not just any tape worm. It was a new found species, endangered as far as science understood. My arse was declared an ecological protection zone and the creature could not be removed. That, my friend, is how I gained my tail. It has moulded and now looks like a furry monkey tail. I have become psychically linked with the creature and can wag my tail at will.
My question? Am I a victim or a beneficiary of fate? Or am I something in between? A man who benefitted from a poo disaster? I will not question God's plan for me. This is my life now and I must accept it.