Butt-washing Funny

By William Butler

A collection of Midwest and Southern short stories and jokes by the author. Includes chapters from the novel Thibodaux's Trial.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Butler
• Release date: Nov 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465713186

William Butler

William was born in Morehead City, NC. He moved around a lot as a child living in various places such as NY, GA, FL, VA, until his family settled back in NC, where he lives now. He runs the blog Bang Noir and writes articles for examnier.com. His debut novel, Bang was published in December 2010.

Book preview

Part One

Humorous Short Stories

Some of these are fiction and some are based on truth. I will leave it up to the reader to decide.

Western Introduction to European Technology, the Bidet

Yes, secretly, I have used a bidet. I encountered the wretched invention while working in Saudi Arabia. My company leased me a private villa with three bathrooms, each containing a bidet. Upon seeing the contraptions, a smile came to my face, I vowed that I certainly would have no use for such.

Over the next few weeks curiosity began to creep in. One day, I caught myself fooling with the bidet’s water faucets. Being of the Western culture, I only vaguely understood the principle of the bidet. In other words, I knew that it was not a urinal nor a drinking fountain. For those of you that might not know, a Western dictionary definition of the bidet may read: a bathroom fixture used for washing the crotch area.

Finally, curiosity won the day; I decided to try it out. Foolish me.

I am sure that European parents labor with the thankless task of instructing their offspring on the proper use of the bidet. With that premise, I deemed that it would be quite simple for a full-grown adult male to learn how to use it. Silly me.

I approached the European technical advanced appliance with the American can-do attitude. During my first attempt things went wrong from the start. It ended with water down my shoes, soaked socks, and wet underwear. After cleaning the bathroom, taking a shower, and a complete change of clothing, I vowed to never again attempt such an embarrassing and ridiculous thing.

The bidets became monsters lurking in my bathrooms. Ignoring them, they would not go away. Here set something not earning its keep. Here was something, which had defeated me. I could not leave it at that. Dumb me.

My second attempt to conquer the bidet was brought about by a macho American male we can accomplish all attitude thing. This attempt failed because of an improper water pressure adjustment. Oh, for sure, this time before I approached the thing I had removed my shoes, socks, and had ensured that my underwear were well below my knees. That was a mistake, having my underwear positioned above the knees would have better served the situation.

The water bounced off me, sprayed the floor, and the better part of two walls. The towel-rack was no less than five steps out of my reach. With wet underwear draped around the ankles and with the rear-end swinging in great arcs, my duck-waddle walk to retrieve a towel served only to throw water throughout the bathroom. I can assure you I am not describing a pretty sight, the fewer descriptive words I use may well serve the reader.

One would think I would have had enough sense to leave it alone. No way.

My third and final go at the bidet was based on intellectual knowledge and principle. Intellectually, I found a book on the care and feeding of the bidet, and read it from cover to cover. (Yes, some sicko did author such a book.) The principle, I vowed that no porcelain butt-washer was going to defeat me.

Keeping in mind wet socks, splattered walls, and soaked underwear; I approached the bathroom nude. With complete confidence I stared at the medieval European torture pot. This day, I shall conquer you, I said, with strong resolve.

Hurrying through my throne business, I eagerly looked forward to the challenge. I had carefully planned every step. Victory would soon be mine.

I took note that I could speed up the action, from where I sat I could reach the faucets on the bidet. I leaned over and carefully adjusted the flow of water. I adjusted the temperature to a degree that would be a comfort to any babies’ bottom.

Then, I was ready. With adrenaline soaring, I flushed the commode and took aim at the bidet. Flushing was the error.

It was actually a plumber’s principle that sent me to the emergency room. I am sure that all European mothers and father must demonstrate this principle to their offspring. On some bathroom installations the cold water supplying the commode also supplies the bidet. The water temperature of the bidet must be adjusted only after the commode’s tank has refilled after flushing.

Carefully aiming my bottom at the bidet spray, I positioned myself. The ideal position being the spray of water must clean an area close to the most sensitive apparatus of the male anatomy. Accorded to the sicko book, ideally, the spray of water should be directed to hit between this area and the second most sensitive area of the male’s posterior; you know, ain’t one, ain’t the other.

The human mind is quick. Expecting the pleasure of warmth but receiving a signal of too hot, much too hot, indeed scalding hot, the reaction to prevent irreversible damage is enormously quick. The muscle reaction that leaped me forward could have set Olympic records. I now hold the world record for the springing forward jump, both in time and distant. I could have covered considerable more distant, indeed even putting that record out of mortal man’s reach, had it not been for the bathroom sink, not to mention the wall.

Now, I ask you, how do you explain to an emergency room doctor that a broken nose and left foot pinkie was the results of using a bidet?

Butt Squeezing

There are things that a man in his late fifties should never do. Things never told to him, things he never read about, but things common sense would tell him not to do. These things can accumulate and seriously affect your status in your community.

I was working a construction management job in Malden Missouri, a small farming community in the upper Bootheel. A wonderful town full of hard working folks; folks slightly prone to gossip. We’re talking about wee things entering the mind and exiting with