A disturbing realization.

For years I've thought I had a super power. And I still think I do, it's just a different power - and it's shared.

You see, I have the unique ability to eat eight ounces of food and somehow make sixteen ounces of poo. It irks me to no end - I have to be consistent with the courtesy flush EVERY TIME. It irked my parents too. I was a normal sized baby with adult sized poos, which presented a huge logistical issue that was promptly solved by adult undergarments and duct tape.
At a family dinner not too long ago, we were talking about our favorite subject, bowel movements and related poo talk. Yes, I know it's not appropriate dinner table conversation nor should it be a family favorite, but perhaps it gives you an insight into my strange and corrupted psyche.

As it turns out, my old man has the opposite power of me. He can eat sixteen ounces of food and make eight ounces of poo. That irks him to no end, because there is nothing that makes a man feel like a man other than a good shit, a shower and a shave (and perhaps a blowjob). A good B.M. should leave you with an empty feeling and a quivering anus, and that's not possible when you're passing shriveled raisins.
Matter can neither be created nor destroyed: Yet it seems that I am capable of the former and my old man the latter.

That made me feel special until it hit me: We weren't creating or destroying matter, we were transporting it.

My superpower isn't creating poo, it's teleporting poo into my colon, from my father.

GROSS!

My old man once told me a story of when he was in the jungles of South America. He apparently pissed off a witch doctor, who put a curse on his first born. I always thought it was bullshit, but I guess not.

Now, if you'll excuse me. My dad just ate some curry and I'm turtling.