Congratulations Spastic Colon!

You’ll be patient, waiting to strike until the ideal moment, which will be just as your owner stands up and turns his back to the conference table, flicking his extending pointer and landing it right where he wants it to be in one fluid gesture.

At this moment you will force his gastrointestine to erupt with sound, forcing out a roughshod trumpet sound that will make the majority of the board members scrutinizing him pale and a handful of them giggle. He’ll turn around with his mouth shaped into a tiny “oh” and his eyebrows raised in surprise and shrug.

“Sorry about that guys. Indian food, am I right?”

The more serious board members will start laughing at this and the less serious ones will roll their eyes and go back to doodling on their notebooks. This will be the ideal moment to follow up, right after your owner has, theoretically, dispelled his initial embarrassment.

This is the time to make him shit his pants.

It will be an audible shit. It’ll have to be an audible shit. But it’ll also be a visible shit, just the right mix of liquid and solid so that it is visible to the board members without oozing out completely. It’ll be the perfect shit, in a sense, wet enough that it will stain through his pants and dry and massive enough that it will produce a mass visible to all present.

There will be a moment of silence, terrible silence, as everyone realizes what has occurred. Then an uproar of laughter will erupt from one of the older board members, a man so ancient he is no longer concerned with anyone else’s opinion. He’ll be hunched over the table in hysterics, wondering just what will happen next.

The rest of the board will follow his lead after a few minutes of silence, chuckling uneasily and looking at one another as if to say “is it alright that we’re doing this?”

Your human’s boss will not join in, however. He’ll simply stand and say “DAMNIT JOHNSON! YOU’RE FIRED!”

And with that your human will turtle walk out of the boardroom and into the nearest bathroom, where he’ll do his best to clean himself up. He won’t have a fresh pair of trousers, however, and as such will have to ride the bus home reeking of shit. Later on, after he’s been escorted from the building and retrieved his belongings and signed an agreement stating that he will not sue the company in exchange for a modest severance, he’ll consider killing himself, which is bad news for you since as his colon you’d die too if he chose to do it. But at the very last minute, a week from today, that elderly board member whose laughter turned the room against him will call him up and ask him to work on his hedgefund, provided he shits himself at least once a month at an unexpected time.

Your human will promptly agree and the two of you will begin an uneasy alliance which will mark the first time your human gets to enjoy intimacy without your interference in almost a decade.

Congratulations Spastic Colon!