The literary phenomenon Karl Ove Knausgaard talking shit in "Boyhood island", part 3 of his 6-part opus "My struggle":
(also testing the "tesseract" OCR software)
Sometimes I would hold it in for days so that I could have a
really big one and also because it felt good in itself When I
really did have to shit, so much that I could barely stand upright
but had to bend forward, I had such a fantastic feeling in my
body if I didn’t let nature take its course, if I squeezed the
muscles in my arse together as hard as I could and, as it were,
forced the shit back to where it came from. But this was a
dangerous game, because if you did it too many times the turd
ultimately grew so big it was impossible to shit it out. Oh Christ,
how it hurt when such an enormous turd had to come out! It
was truly unbearable, I was convulsed with pain, it was as if my
body were exploding with pain, AAAAAAGGGHHH!!I screamed,
OOOOOHHH, and then, just as it was at its very worst, suddenly
it was out.
Oh, how good that was!
What a wonderful feeling it was!
The pain was over.
The shit was in the pan.
Everything was peace and light throughout my body. Indeed,
almost so peaceful that I didn’t feel like getting up and wiping
my bum. I just wanted to sit there.
But was it worth it?
I could spend the whole day dreading one of those big shits.
I didn’t want to go to the toilet because it hurt so much, but if
I didn’t it would only hurt more and more.
So in the end there was no option but to go. Knowing full
well that this would hurt like hell!
Once I was so terrified I tried to find another way to get the
shit out. I half stood, and then I stuck my finger up my arse as
far as it would go. There! There was the shit. As hard as a rock!
When I had located it I wriggled my finger to and fro in an attemp
to widen the passage. At the same time I pressed a little, and ij
that way, bit by bit, I managed to manoeuvre the shit to the side,
Oh, it still hurt to work the last bit free, but not so much,
What a method that was!
I didn’t mind so much that my finger was all brown; it was
easy enough to wash it off. The smell was another matter
however, because although I scrubbed and scoured, a faint odour
of shit hung around my finger all day and all night, even the
next morning I could still smell it when I woke.
All these pros and cons had to be weighed up against one
another.