🕑 Added 2025-03-25 01:47:53 +0000 UTC
Story #192: The Poopy Diaper Retard (Part 4)
(The semi-finale to 'The Missing Integer')
(Content Tags: Brain-drain, humiliation, messy diapers, special ed, degradation, diaper sniffing)
"Can you believe anyone ever thought Rhys was smart?"
"Pfft, yeah. Everyone must have jus' been blind to how he *really* is."
"Nah, I always knew. I mean, it was super obvious."
The conversation between the three boys, all of whom were once classmates of the former genius, was a good barometer of the retroactive continuity that Rhys' mythos had undergone over the lengthy course of his degradation. The drop had been so precipitous, and the transformation so complete, that people no longer trusted the validity of their own memories on the matter.
It was no surprise though, since Rhys had given more than enough of a reason for people to disbelieve he'd ever had the capacity for higher thought. On some level, perhaps it was defensive, so that no other boy had to worry about the fragility of their own intellectual status.
Few horrors could supplant what had become of Rhys, and it was a more calming reality to accept that the boy had simply always been a dimwit. Otherwise, they would have to accept that the algorithm responsible could come for any of them; that simple human error and arrogance could support the lobotomizing of their intellectual status to the lowest levels possible.
Everyone had seen what had become of Rhys. The videos had been viewed plenty of times, not just from those who locally knew the boy, but anyone who'd allowed their morbid curiosity to click on the trainwreck that had become his life. The seat-sniffing and diaper-filling was forever associated with the dunce-cap adorned nitwit.
It didn't help that Rhys had made such a spectacle of himself in so many places; not that the poor poobrain could help it, since he'd been forced to adapt to the title that had been foisted upon him. After the humiliation he had suffered at the park, his actions had only worsened, as if he'd completely given into his basal instincts as a thickly padded moron.
And that was exactly what had happened to him. After fighting the current and exhausting himself for such a long time, Rhys' spirit had been left crushed, and he'd stopped swimming altogether; it was less painful to go with the flow, even if that meant giving up everything he'd once been proud of.
In a fit of irony, which would typically be reserved for a Greek tragedy, he'd given up right at the point where he could have feasibly turned it around.
Just a month ago, he could have still accessed his genius intellect with little trouble, even if it'd degraded possibly to the level of average. There had still been enough neurons firing to prove that he didn't belong in the special ed hell that he'd been left to burn in.
But in this final month, once he had completely given in to his assigned label, he'd lost more than he'd lost in the rest of his time as a 'poopy diaper retard'. He'd willingly abdicated the prodigal past he'd once been so proud of, and in a figurative sense, he'd pushed out the remnants of his old life into the plush padding that hugged his hips every day.
Rhys had discovered the joys of mindlessness, or perhaps he'd just been so crushed by the system, that he'd fooled himself into believing he'd be happier if he let go of the his past and his future. It was with glee that he now let stool fill the back of his tardpants, and it was with rapture that he allowed himself to find the primal pleasures within the deed. No longer did he fight the impulses that he'd learned from his new classmates, and he became proud to let his bulging diaper become the communal trough to sniff at.
Just as arrogantly as he'd stood up at the top in his former class, did he now think of himself special ed. It was inverse, since he'd once boasted being the smartest and now he boasted being the dumbest, but the same ego was involved.
It didn't come with the same respect, as he was mocked by his drooling compatriots for his relative idiocy, but it came with the same attention and adulation. He was thought of as dumb enough for the other retards to actually call a retard, which spoke to just how far down the ladder he had been kicked, but his loaded diapers were praised as being the biggest and most smelly of the whole class.
He'd fought that kind of attention for so long, even if his fighting had become meeker over time, but now he allowed himself to bask in it. He had a drooly smile whenever his classmates would come toddling or crawling to bury their noses in his lumpy seat, as if they were the same sort of peers that had always gawked at his perfect test scores.
Rhys was content. Not because he should be, but because he had to be. The alternative was to admit the misery that his life had become.
That contentment would become challenged though, and the unfairness of the world would rear its head one last time.
Behind the scenes, where Rhys couldn't see the machinations of the school's administration, his fate had been slowly moving through the sluggish beurocracy of the system. Many months ago, whenever he'd first been deemed a retard, he'd made an impassioned plea for a second opinion. He'd known that the system had made a mistake, and he'd known that a simple evaluation would prove he didn't belong in such a lowly state.
His request hadn't been ignored, but the endless paperwork and 'process' had kept things at a snail's pace. Today, after it no longer really mattered, that snail had made its trek to the finish line, and it was time to give Rhys his chance for redemption. He would finally get an intellectual evaluation, just as he'd wanted, but now he wouldn't be the least bit prepared for it.
Without his knowledge, the examination of him would start whenever he first came into class that morning. Before a strict assessment of his IQ could be measured, a different administrator would checking his behavior in the classroom, as that would be portioned into the final score.
Rhys didn't pay the woman in glasses any mind, even though she was unfamiliar; it wasn't anything new for an unknown adult to be spectating with a clipboard in hand. Plenty of other children in here had disability plans that needed to be reevaluated sporadically, and new members of the SPED faculty would start in a purely speculative position; there was no reason for Rhys to believe she was here about him specifically.
So he didn't alter his behavior at all to compensate for the audience; his sense of shame had been willingly corroded into dust, as a defensive mechanism, so he went about his routines as normally as he could.
At least at first.
Benjamin was still occasionally a volunteer in the SPED room, though not quite as frequently as he'd once been, since he'd been busy in stealing the thunder that Rhys had left behind. Being the second smartest kid in their class, once upon a time, had put him in the perfect position to usurp the throne that Rhys had been unjustly thrown from.
With that new reputation, as well as new responsibilities of the other intellectual roles left behind, Benjamin had become a lot more preoccupied with things. The boy still enjoyed coming to volunteer, though usually to just have an opportunity to taunt Rhys and insure that the boy stayed devolved.
Today was one of those days, and as he would find out, it was an exceptionally special day in the special class. The teacher, who saw Benjamin as nothing but helpful and responsible, had told him all about how Rhys was being given an evaluation today, and that had given the smartypants a lot to think about.
The best thing to do, or at least the smartest, would have been to remain quiet about it. Without Rhys knowing he was being looked at like a diapered lab monkey in a cage, the dimwit would undoubtedly act repulsive enough to get a failing score on his behavior, but that didn't tickle Benjamin's fancy.
Benjamin wanted a final humiliation for Rhys to actively feel; he wanted something that would push Rhys off that final cliff, with the former genius being fully cognizant of the consequences in play. Benjamin, after seeing what Rhys had become in the last month, was fully confident that the boy would fail regardless of his awareness of the situation.
So he decided to tell Rhys about what was happening.
The thickly diapered dunce hadn't been in class very long yet this morning, and so he hadn't done anything atrocious enough yet to warrant total failure on his behavioural score. Rhys was plopped down on the carpet with some infantile toys scattered in front of him; his onesie was taut over his enormous diaper, his drool bib was still relatively dry, and he had his index finger digging in his left nostril for a snack.
Benjamin knelt down next to the boy, the same boy he'd once begrudgingly accepted as his mental superior, and he grinned wryly. "Hey retard. Digging for some boogies? I'm sure that'll go over real well with our guest."
Rhys didn't stop, but he did give Benjamin a quizzical look, with his mouth stupidly agape. "Buh? What you mean?"
Rhys had once prided himself on his language skills, on his grammatical grasp, but that pristine communication had become as dirtied as his diapers. Much like how a person could involuntarily pick up an accent from being in a foreign place for too long, Rhys had adapted to the language of his new people: tard-speak.
Benjamin smirked and gave Rhys a gentle pat on his padded rump, "Didn't you notice the lady with the glasses and the clipboard? Don't you know she's here for *you*?"
Rhys just stared for a few seconds, as if his brain was a dial-up modem that needed time to process the input. "...Fo' me?"
"That's right, dummy. Today's the big day! The day you always said would come. They're here to see if you actually belong in the retard room, just like the number on your IQ score says. Aren't you excited?"
Excited wasn't the right word, at least not any longer. If this had happened even just a few weeks earlier, then Rhys would have been over the moon with the news, because he would have still been confident in his own ability to get a ticket out of here. But that was no longer the case for the nimrod; Rhys had given into his own supposed retardation, and that meant he no longer had the mental chops to breeze through any testing that came his way.
A juicy fear-fart sputtered within the bulky confines of his diaper and Benjamin grinned at the sound. "Sounds like you *are* excited! Or maybe you're scared? Maybe you realize that you really *are* a retard, and that you can't possibly prove anything otherwise."
Rhys could feel his world collapsing all over again, just like whenever he'd been forced into this place for the first time, or when he'd given up any hope of leaving. His former self and his newly actualized self were in bloody conflict inside his foggy head, and the pressure was crashing down on him like a tidal wave.
This was the opportunity that he'd been waiting for, but now that it was here, he was terrified. The old Rhys wanted nothing more than to leave this room and to rehabilitate his poor brain, but the new Rhys was stubbornly fighting to stay in the poopy paradise that he'd gaslit himself into believing he now existed in.
The drooly boy swiftly dislodged his finger from his nose, though still eating the treasure that he'd dug up, and his eyes shot over to the stern looking woman in the corner of the room.
It was hard for him to come to an internal agreement, but the old Rhys ended up winning out, at least on the surface. Rhys stopped allowing himself to simply float down the river of ignorance, and a tiny flicker of his old mental acuity returned to his glazed eyes. He wouldn't squander this opportunity, at least not if he could help it.
The following couple of hours, where he would become a bug under a microscope, would prove to be some of the most difficult hours of his life up until this point. He struggled to recalibrate his own behavior so quickly, with so little warning; the booger eating had to stop, the drooling had to become far less copious, and he needed to present himself in a manner that proved he still had two brain cells to rub together in his mushy mind.
Some of those weren't as strong of an issue to handle, at least whenever he really focused on them, but the worst behavior to manage was one that he was frankly hopeless to fix at this stage.
This class, the 'retard room', was undeniably a poop factory. There wasn't a moment that went by where flatulence wasn't ripping or bubbling into a diaper, and the feces were never far behind that heralding horn. It'd been a point of contention, of disgust, but now he had far different feelings to consider. Each sloppy toot was like a perfectly played note of a symphony, and the following plops or splatters were even harder to ignore.
One such boy, who wasn't far from him, was himself in the middle of a wide squat, with his padded rump directed right toward Rhys. There wasn't any malicious intent behind it, but it was deeply problematic for Rhys all the same. He heard the gurgling gas beginning to break noisily against the bulwark of the padding, he heard the mindless, slobbering grunts of strain, and he heard the sharp rustling of the diaper as it was filled with something large and heavy.
Right in his line of sight, the diaper bulged like a softball had been stuffed down the back, and Rhys could feel his mind wandering to pose the question of what such a glorious payload must smell like. Surely the lady with the clipboard wouldn't notice if he crawled over and got just a cursory whiff, right?
He had to fight the primal urge, but it simply didn't feel possible; the boy in front of him was farting even harder, grunting even louder, and that backside bulge was expanding with a wet crackling from within.
Rhys glanced over at the lady again, who was momentarily distracted by exchanging words with the teacher; if he was going to get the whiff he wanted, then now would be his best and possibly only chance. Just one big sniff and he could put this filthy habit behind him for good!
On his hands and knees like an infant, he made as fast as a crawl as he could muster, right up to the freshly pooed diaper that he'd been coveting the last few minutes. There was no need to ask permission or even forgiveness; seat-sniffing was as casual as saying 'hello' in this bottom-of-the-barrel room that he'd been imprisoned in. No occupant here would complain, not since he himself had gotten with the program.
With drool already cascading down his chin like a waterfall, the mushbrain fervently stuffed his nose right into the warm seat of the recently loaded diaper, and he began to take deep inhales of the fumes wafting from it.
The smell, this close up, made his brain fog over in glee. The odor even appeared to stimulate his own bowels to follow suit, as if the stench was able to activate a pavlovian response from within. While he snuffled the dirty diaper like a filthy pig, he began to spew gas into his own enormous diaper, and it didn't take long for solids to soon follow.
Turd after mushy turd barreled into the back of his tardpants without delay, as if he was letting go of a warm, brown avalanche into his diaper. Rhys didn't even notice what he was doing, or that his onesie was beginning to puff out in the back; his focus was solitarily on the delights for his nose, with everything else being pushed aside.
It took but only a few moments after he started pooping, for another mushbrain to crawl behind him and give his enormous diaper the same attention that he himself was giving the one in front of him. Just as usual, it was a line-up of depravity; only this time, the stakes were as high as they could get.
It was Benjamin's loud voice that made Rhys snap out if his sniffing stupor: "Yeah, that's pretty typical for him. Rhys *loves* smelling dirty diapers, and making them too."
It made him pull his head back from the diaper, a trail of drool connecting between his wet chin and the lumpy padding, and he glanced over to see that Benjamin was pointing out his current deed to the woman with the clipboard, who herself was frowning quietly and writing something down.
"I see...I think that's enough behavioural information to go on. I'll let the proctor know that the testing portion can commence."
Her tone suggested that the answer would be a forgone conclusion, and that they were only proceeding further to follow procedure; if it was only her analysis that would have been taken, then Rhys would certainly be staying in here indefinitely.
But, the knowledge that there was a second component gave him some small sense of hope. He might have messed *this* up, but there was still a chance to salvage things.
He would be going back to where it all started, and that would be what determined his future.
Rhys would be taking another IQ test, and this time, it wouldn't just be a matter of vanity.
