April 13th, 2006 12:52 PM
Received this in an email!:
A bit disgusting but funny all the same!
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over
48 hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of ass cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell.
As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms.
I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your
2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3. $hit smeared on seat.
4. $hit and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall ..2. I trudged back, entered, dropped the trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. $hitter was blathering to Mrs.
$hitter about the $hitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My ass let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a f@rt of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my p00p-mate. This initial "herald" f@rt had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid p00p had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible...
throw up...in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids...love them...
oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My $hit-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous $hit-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to $hit in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in a bathroom.
And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
April 13th, 2006 04:18 PM
and I actually do believe that my A has actually fallen off
jeez, that hurt
and now I've got to go and clean cookies from the monitor
top notch warning
55 - I'm fiftyfeckinfive and STILL no wiser,
Beware of Geeks bearing GIF's
come and waste the day :P at The Taz Zone
April 13th, 2006 06:14 PM
OMFG I almost pissed myself!
(kr5kernel at hotmail dot com)
Linux: Making Penguins Cool Since 1994.
April 13th, 2006 06:45 PM
April 13th, 2006 06:49 PM
You son of a bitch I can't quit laughing now. I just tried to go pee and pissed all over the seat because I was laughing to hard.
April 14th, 2006 02:40 AM
That is good stuff man. I drooled laughing so hard. You just can't make stuff like this up.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone
The fool doth think he is wise, but the wiseman knows himself to be a fool - Good Ole Bill Shakespeare
April 14th, 2006 02:45 AM
It made me immediately go and take a dump.
Get some good religion from Bad Religion.
April 14th, 2006 06:21 PM
April 14th, 2006 09:26 PM
That was one of the funniest things I have read in a while
April 14th, 2006 10:44 PM
This story reminds me of one of my own. I was about to leave the mall with my friends Tom & Kenneth. Kenneth had to use the men's room, so I wandered off to the water fountain while he went in. After a drink and quite a bit of waiting, I decided that I might as well go to.
I recognized his shoes underneath the stall as I headed toward the urinal to solicit my own business. After finishing, I got the idea of banging on the door to "wake" him up. So as I was leaving, I took both fists and pounded on the door repeatedly so hard that the door almost swung open. I saw the sneakers start dancing around in shock while a few violent gasps and movements followed.
Cocking my head back and laughing wildly I said, "Hey Ken! Did I scare the $hit out of ya?!" while making my way to the exit. However, much to my suprise, Tom was standing there waiting for me...while talking to Kenneth!
\"Greatness only comes at great risk.\" ~ Personal/Generic