I’d like to buy a bowel

by RAF KATIGBAK

The mall next to my house is pretty much like most malls in the known universe. There’s an over-priced grocery store to nourish yourself, some budget boutiques to clothe yourself and an overcrowded dollar store brimming with useless tchochkes for pretty much everything else. It has a creepy Santa Claus at Christmas and a heartbreaking attempt at a petting zoo a couple of times a year. That is to say, it has pretty much everything you’d ever need to survive and also that any extended amount of time spent wandering its halls would make any sane person want to stab themselves in the neck with whatever sharp object they had in their pockets.

That is, until one brief shining moment a few weeks ago. In a single glorious instant, my humble shopping complex, with its seemingly random amalgamation of discount houseware outlets, ice cream parlours and cell phone kiosks, crystallised in a perfect moment of sheer surreal what-the-fuckness. It was a chilly Thursday, March 19: The day my mall housed the biggest asshole in the world.

Finding the giant asshole was sheer luck. I was late for a lunch engagement in Chinatown and a blast of mid-March cold forced me into the mall’s lower depths. I rushed through the food court and emerged in the high-ceilinged agora at the centre of the mall. There it was. The instant I saw it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was eight feet in diameter, pink and puffy. “No-effing-way,” I gasped. “This can’t be what I think it is.”

Sure enough, as I approached, the sign next to the gaping entrance confirmed: “Welcome to the Giant Colon! Please have fun exploring, asking questions and taking pictures!”

For a moment, I chuckled at the irony of the little symbol below warning visitors not to bring food or drink into the Giant Colon. Then I stepped back to marvel at it. It stared back at me blankly, like an inflated ocular socket sans eyeball, as it snaked along 40 or so feet of mall floor. The detail was disturbingly accurate yet cartoony, giving it a friendly, educational appeal as if to say, “Sure I’m full of shit and covered with weird sores, but let’s all have fun learning all about it!”

What was more disturbing, beyond how strange it seemed set up next to a food court, was how nonchalant everyone was around it. Without blinking, mothers happily pushed their strollers through the fleshy tunnel, young couples wandered in holding hands, old people playfully poked at the pustules surrounding the entrance. It’s like everyone’s natural reaction was, “Check it out! It’s like a bouncy castle! Except it’s full of shit!”

After standing stunned for a moment, I realized that excusing my tardiness because I was “too busy exploring a giant colon” probably wouldn’t impress my lunch date, so I snapped a couple of pics on my camera phone and made a mental note to return the next day. As I walked south, I couldn’t help but obsess over what I had just seen. What goes on inside? Do they show you how shit works? Are there giant pieces of bubblegum stuck to the walls? Later that night as I lay in bed, my mind reeled with the poop-chute possibilities. I wonder if they have one of those chocolate fountains at the exit? Maybe they give out free corn inside! Maybe there’s a section inside called Colons of the Stars where a guy in a gerbil costume talks about Richard Gere’s career highlights…

The next morning, I woke up and ran over to the mall eager to take my road trip down the Hershey Highway. But it was gone, vanished like a dream. I sat dumbfounded for a moment, then swore I would find it. Luckily it was not gone forever, but simply on tour and colorectal-cancer.ca had a schedule.

The best news of all? You can also rent it. I considered for a moment hiring one for my niece’s upcoming birthday, but reconsidered when I realized that that would probably make me the biggest asshole in the world.

RIFF-RAFF@SYMPATICO.CA