I was making a visit to a client in chantilly, a plumbing contractor. Well, all the morning coffee caught up to me and I had to drop a deuce bad and had to use the client's facilities in this dank warehouse. I was the only one in at the time and took the handicap stall in the back and began to do my business. Two deep voiced redneck plumbers walked in after about a minute of my loaf pinching session (I could tell they were plumbers because I could smell THEM) and they were not pleased with the aroma. One blurted out "GOTDAM! They really need to install a ceiling fan in here!" Both pissed and quickly left, while uttering the occasional "phew!" "Jesus!"

I was so embarrassed I stayed in the stall after wiping/flushing to ensure they left the bathroom and walked far away to not notice me as the guy who thrashed their john.

Last year I quit my job and decided to take 2 weeks in Nepal before starting a new gig. My flight was from IAD to Frankfurt, Frankfurt to Singapore, then Singapore to Nepal. Well, I worked and worked all throught the last week to finish things up, and on the last day worked 12 hours before rushing to the airport with my bags. I was so busy, I don't think I had crapped in over 24 hours. Eight hours and many beers later, we touched down in Frankfurt and I had about 40 mins before my connection, I walked through the terminal to a mens room and quickly found a stall. Of course, like any airport shitter, I had to use a lot of paper to clean off the seat (god I wish people could just be decent to the seats and not piss on them). Anyhow, once I squatted, a horrendously foul stew of solid, liquid and gas began spewing forth from my sphincter. It's was piles and piles of bad news that wouldn't stop, and with every clump came an accompanying overture of hisses, dribbles, and pops. After 2 or 3 minutes of steady delivery, I began to hear German guys saying something about my performance. I couldn't understand their language but the tone wrang through. "Oh my god, what did he eat, oh the smell is lethal, phew, that is the worst shit I've ever heard," and so on. Then I could hear other languages chime in. French and Russians alike were suffering together under the wrath of my bowels. It was like a UN Security Council decrying my disgusting dukey.

I was so proud! After that, I washed my hands and went to Nepal.

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 forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-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 fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. 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 fart 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 convenience:


1. Occupied.
2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3. Poo on seat.
4. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5. No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.


Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Sh1tter. 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. Sh1tter was blathering to Mrs. Sh1tter about the sh1tty 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 bowels 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 fart 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 apparent: (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 poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart 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 poop 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 poop-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 poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

One time I had a bout of explosive shits. I rushed into the bathroom at work. Of course, the building maintenance guys were in there changing a light or ceiling tile or something. Normally I would have waited, but I was getting ready to shit my pants. Anyway, I sat in the stall and blasted away. Within a few seconds, the maintenance guys decided they needed to find the proper locking washer or something, because they fled.

The worst part of the experience was that I knew these guys and saw them every day at work. Pretty embarrassing.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
http://bible.cc/1_corinthians/13-11.htm

Plywood, what a masterpiece! Bravo to you sir.

I agree... Plywood... You're responsible for posting the best bowel movement in a public toilet story ever...

I'm calling it now... There can be no bowel movement in a public toilet story that is capable of ever out-doing this one...

You have posted an upper limit of bowel movement in a public toilet stories..

.. a paragon of excellence..

I feel a strange, bittersweet sorrow.... akin to losing one's virginity... I'm glad that I read this story, but I regret that I can never be touched in such a manner ever again...

I thank you.

Signatures are for fags

I want to recommend Plywood for a Nobel Prize in Literature.

C'mon people, don't be so gullible. It's a good story but it's plagiarized.

http://www.theginblog.com/2007/09/more-classic-potty-humor/


Charmin Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I want to recommend Plywood for a Nobel Prize in
> Literature.

This isn't really a public toilet story, but....

In my old company, we had the bathroom inside the office space - none of this common hallway bathroom stuff. One day, my boss/the owner was being a real douchebag and irritating the fuck out of me (I would end up quitting a few months later). In this company if you had a client or prospective client come to the office for a meeting, the owner would always give some grand tour of the office, culminating with a walk past the bathrooms as they made there way back to the front of the office. It just so happened that there was a pre-lunch meeting that day and I was having the foulest smelling gas imaginable due to the previous night's dinner. They were the kind farts that you didn't even want to let loose in your own office because you don't want people to walk in to talk to you and smell it. I knew it was just the preamble to a really nasty visit to the restroom.

I held that dump in until I heard the meeting wrapping up and I ran down to the bathroom and let loose one of the foulest smelling dumps I've ever unleashed. It was awful. I made sure not to turn on the exhaust fan and when I left the bathroom, I left the door ajar so the stench could seep out slowly.

I hear the "tour group" talking in the back portion of the office and as they came around to the bathroom area, the talking suddenly ceased and they were pretty much quiet until the reached the front of the office to leave for lunch. I KNOW they smelled it, because I went back a minute later and I could smell it.

__________________________________
That's not a ladybug, that's a cannapiller.

When I was a teenager I was in Wal-Mart and I had to really pinch one off. I went into the bathroom, got comfy and let it rip. It was one of those bowel movements that is naturally noisy, there is just no preventing it. The sound was a total racket, and I was grunting alot too because I was in a hurry to get up and out of there. I heard people coming and going but I was just focused on the task, which was hard to concentrate on what with all the noise. I filled the whole bowl from what I remember and washed my hands and left. Once I got outside however, there was a family standing there, two little boys, a little girl and their parents. The boys immediately started pointing at me, laughing "that's the one mommy and daddy". They heard my cacophonic colon and it made their day. I hope my kids grow up with that sense of humor :)

Harry Tuttle Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I agree... Plywood... You're responsible for
> posting the best bowel movement in a public toilet
> story ever...
>
> I'm calling it now... There can be no bowel
> movement in a public toilet story that is capable
> of ever out-doing this one...
>
> You have posted an upper limit of bowel movement
> in a public toilet stories..
>
> .. a paragon of excellence..
>
> I feel a strange, bittersweet sorrow.... akin to
> losing one's virginity... I'm glad that I read
> this story, but I regret that I can never be
> touched in such a manner ever again...
>
> I thank you.


It is an old story, plagerized from an old an old National Lampoon story of the 80s. You dumb bunny!!

I remember working as a summer teen in a real 'Sweat shop" job involved cutting fabric, trimming salvage of fabrics, all types of rags. Used to work with alot of Chicanos, Mexicans, Latins, that type. The maintenance/facilities dept had just replaced a cracked toilet bowl with a new one. plumber or whatever he was left the old bowl in the toilet area to be thrown away later by th janitor. Come to find out while it was there some Latino takes a shit in it, the other toilets must have been occupied. Typical of that place.

Eva Braun wins this one, hands down.

Vernon Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Harry Tuttle Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > I agree... Plywood... You're responsible for
> > posting the best bowel movement in a public
> toilet
> > story ever...
> >
> > I'm calling it now... There can be no bowel
> > movement in a public toilet story that is
> capable
> > of ever out-doing this one...
> >
> > You have posted an upper limit of bowel
> movement
> > in a public toilet stories..
> >
> > .. a paragon of excellence..
> >
> > I feel a strange, bittersweet sorrow.... akin
> to
> > losing one's virginity... I'm glad that I read
> > this story, but I regret that I can never be
> > touched in such a manner ever again...
> >
> > I thank you.
>
>
> It is an old story, plagerized from an old an
> old National Lampoon story of the 80s. You dumb
> bunny!!


They had cell phones in the 80s?

I remember the weekend my first child was born. It was a Sunday afternoon and he was born on Saturday, so I had not taken a dump since Friday with all the excitement. So I really had to go and I left the maternity ward because I didn't want to be anywhere around people I knew because this beast was going to be foul and I felt it would be unkind to torture my wife given what she just went through. I found a toilet off of a lobby area in the hospital and it was a handicapped, single toilet, unisex bathroom. I was in there for probably 20 minutes relieving myself. It...was...HORRIBLE. People were jiggling the door handle the whole time, so I knew there were others trying to get in - I picked a popular spot I guess. When I finished and opened the door, there was a woman and a guy, I am guessing they were married, waiting. I hauled ass down the hall and I turned back and I saw the woman take a step inside and then quickly back out. Her hubby asked what was wrong and she said that the smell was too strong and that she felt she was going to throw up!

I'm a pretty well respected professional, husband, and father. I interface on a daily basis with clients all over the DC area. I am very involved in my kids' school, and I do a lot of volunteer work for my church. I spent two weeks in Haiti last fall doing relief work. I'm not a perfect man, but I do the best I can.

I also like to run, and try to do so every morning or every night. I usually run for about an hour, and running tends to loosen up my colon after about 30 minutes, without fail. The end result is that I often have to shit while running. I always try to go prior to leaving the house, but I rarely time it right.

And I shit everywhere. I shit on the perimeter of a local golf course that I frequent, I shit in the bushes along major roads during rush hour, and once I even shit in the bushes 50 yards from my home because I wasn't going to make it. I could not tell you have many places around my community that I have shat. I've even stashed a few sandwich baggies full of toilet paper along some of my more frequent "hot spots." I've never been caught, because it's usually dark when I deliver my payload.

It's a painful secret that I carry around. All of the people with whom I interact on a daily basis have no idea that I'm such a neighborhood shitter. Thankfully, they'll never know. I often wonder, how many more like me are out there?

John Smallberries Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I'm a pretty well respected professional, husband,
> and father. I interface on a daily basis with
> clients all over the DC area. I am very involved
> in my kids' school, and I do a lot of volunteer
> work for my church. I spent two weeks in Haiti
> last fall doing relief work. I'm not a perfect
> man, but I do the best I can.
>
> I also like to run, and try to do so every morning
> or every night. I usually run for about an hour,
> and running tends to loosen up my colon after
> about 30 minutes, without fail. The end result is
> that I often have to shit while running. I always
> try to go prior to leaving the house, but I rarely
> time it right.
>
> And I shit everywhere. I shit on the perimeter of
> a local golf course that I frequent, I shit in the
> bushes along major roads during rush hour, and
> once I even shit in the bushes 50 yards from my
> home because I wasn't going to make it. I could
> not tell you have many places around my community
> that I have shat. I've even stashed a few
> sandwich baggies full of toilet paper along some
> of my more frequent "hot spots." I've never been
> caught, because it's usually dark when I deliver
> my payload.
>
> It's a painful secret that I carry around. All of
> the people with whom I interact on a daily basis
> have no idea that I'm such a neighborhood shitter.
> Thankfully, they'll never know. I often wonder,
> how many more like me are out there?


Unless you are the guy I run with occasionally I can tell you there is at least one other.

You are like Jack the Shitter. Scotland Yard is looking for you, sir...

John Smallberries Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I'm a pretty well respected professional, husband,
> and father. I interface on a daily basis with
> clients all over the DC area. I am very involved
> in my kids' school, and I do a lot of volunteer
> work for my church. I spent two weeks in Haiti
> last fall doing relief work. I'm not a perfect
> man, but I do the best I can.
>
> I also like to run, and try to do so every morning
> or every night. I usually run for about an hour,
> and running tends to loosen up my colon after
> about 30 minutes, without fail. The end result is
> that I often have to shit while running. I always
> try to go prior to leaving the house, but I rarely
> time it right.
>
> And I shit everywhere. I shit on the perimeter of
> a local golf course that I frequent, I shit in the
> bushes along major roads during rush hour, and
> once I even shit in the bushes 50 yards from my
> home because I wasn't going to make it. I could
> not tell you have many places around my community
> that I have shat. I've even stashed a few
> sandwich baggies full of toilet paper along some
> of my more frequent "hot spots." I've never been
> caught, because it's usually dark when I deliver
> my payload.
>
> It's a painful secret that I carry around. All of
> the people with whom I interact on a daily basis
> have no idea that I'm such a neighborhood shitter.
> Thankfully, they'll never know. I often wonder,
> how many more like me are out there?

What is your method for shitting sans toilet? Do you press your back up against walls and trees? Or do you just do the squat anywhere method? The only problem with the latter, is you have to be very mindful of your pants. It's really easy to drop some brown right inside your pants.

A favorite outdoor shitting method of mine is to sit on a wall, with my ass hanging over the other side. With the right angle, you cab leave a brown, banana slug trail all the way down the wall. That's a real crowd pleaser.

Signatures are for fags

Harry Tuttle Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> What is your method for shitting sans toilet? Do
> you press your back up against walls and trees? Or
> do you just do the squat anywhere method? The only
> problem with the latter, is you have to be very
> mindful of your pants. It's really easy to drop
> some brown right inside your pants.
>
> A favorite outdoor shitting method of mine is to
> sit on a wall, with my ass hanging over the other
> side. With the right angle, you cab leave a brown,
> banana slug trail all the way down the wall.
> That's a real crowd pleaser.

I simply squat as low to terra firma as I possibly can prior to blowing the mud. Helps the cleanup process to spread the checks as wide as possible. Minimizes the blast area. I try to be as courteous by hastily burying the evidence as best I can.

John Smallberries Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Harry Tuttle Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > What is your method for shitting sans toilet?
> Do
> > you press your back up against walls and trees?
> Or
> > do you just do the squat anywhere method? The
> only
> > problem with the latter, is you have to be very
> > mindful of your pants. It's really easy to drop
> > some brown right inside your pants.
> >
> > A favorite outdoor shitting method of mine is
> to
> > sit on a wall, with my ass hanging over the
> other
> > side. With the right angle, you cab leave a
> brown,
> > banana slug trail all the way down the wall.
> > That's a real crowd pleaser.
>
> I simply squat as low to terra firma as I possibly
> can prior to blowing the mud. Helps the cleanup
> process to spread the checks as wide as possible.
> Minimizes the blast area. I try to be as
> courteous by hastily burying the evidence as best
> I can.

If you are squatting though, aren't the heels of your running shoes directly underneath your asshole? I have included a detailed drawing to illustrate this point.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/18/2011 02:16PM by Brown Eye Blind.
Attachments:

Grab a tender little sapling, plant your feet and then lean back.

__________________________________
That's not a ladybug, that's a cannapiller.

But if the sappling uproots you may fall back in your puddle o' mud.

There has got to be a better way. Sounds like the seed for a good invention. A crapping cane or something. What about a water bottle (since we are discussing this in terms of a runner-shitter) that has a telescoping post that comes out the bottom so you can plant it in the ground while performing the doodie??



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 02/18/2011 02:30PM by Brown Eye Blind.

Brown Eye Blind -- Your picture does not take into account the spreadage between the feet. My feet will be 2-3 feet apart (I haven't measured, but not for lack of opportunity). I have an unblemished record of having never shit on my shoes or shorts.

Good day, sir.

Brown Eye Blind Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> But if the sappling uproots you may fall back in
> your puddle o' mud.


You gotta tug on it first to make sure it will bend, but not break. Something around 3 - 4" in diameter is optimal.

__________________________________
That's not a ladybug, that's a cannapiller.

Good point on the spreadage smallberries. And warhawk is right, anything about 2.5 caliper inches or greater would do, especially if it is a deciduous tree.

What if there arent trees around but small bedding plants? You will not get any support from a begonia or some alyssum. Those will pull right out. If you are running in a newly developed area with young landscaping, you should move along to the next spot.

Couple of year ago my wife and I went to Jackson, NH for our anniversary. Stayed an a nice B&B which was in close proximity to several nice watering holes.
My wife decided to go outlet shopping and dropped me off at one of said watering holes. I proceeded to drink a bunch of beers and partake of the local wings and nachos. By 6pm I was kegged and realy to leave with no sign of the old lady, so I decided to stagger back to the B&B. Midway there I could feel a mega dookie coming on the would not wait for the comfort of a shitter. I spied a golf course and decided there would be some cover but upon getting on the 9th green, my sphincter announced the coming arrival of said mega dookie, so I dropped trow, right there and let it rip. Luckily It was near dark so no one witnessed the upcoming carnage. What came out was a magnificent mountain of steaming dung, the equivalent of a hole in one.

Here is my story from when I was a long haul trucker.

One way truckers keep their travel expence low is to eat at buffet resturaunts just once a day and try to get all your eating done for the day in one shot. I was leaving one of these places that was well known for unlimited salad and pizza. I was somewhere in texas eastbound enroute to a produce distrubition center near Atlanta.
A couple of hours later I started to feel the rumble in my belly. I see a sign that says "rest area 12 miles" so I think that Ill be ready to blast one out there.
As I approach the rest area I am shocked to see a sign that says "rest area closed". Now i am in real trouble. Another sign says "next rest area 33 miles" I think to myself hey thats just a half hour, I can make it. A quick shout on the old CB radio confirms that the next rest area is indeed open.
About 10 miles shy of the heavenly shit house my warhead is bumpimg the bombay doors.
Five miles later I have a white knuckle grip on the wheel and am going 80mph with sweat rolling off my forehead. One mile shy of the rest area I lose it and crap my pants in a big way.
Once stopped at the rest area I limped in
the public rest room with my hideious cargo in my drawers
I sat on the toilet with my fruit of the looms still on, I take my buck knife and cut the sides of my underwear and drop the whole thing in the bowel then I wipe as best as I could using a huge ammount of TP. I was ready to run and just leave the mess but when I stood up the toilet auto flushed. The now clogged toilet overflowed and washed the entire mess including my soiled drawers out onto the floor! Guys in other stalls were screaming "What the fuck!!"
I ran back to my rig and drove that truck out of there like I hade just stolen it. A few hours later I made it to a truckstop and took a shower and the drain ran brown for a while.

Bradley Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Here is my story from when I was a long haul
> trucker.
>
> One way truckers keep their travel expence low is
> to eat at buffet resturaunts just once a day and
> try to get all your eating done for the day in one
> shot. I was leaving one of these places that was
> well known for unlimited salad and pizza. I was
> somewhere in texas eastbound enroute to a produce
> distrubition center near Atlanta.
> A couple of hours later I started to feel the
> rumble in my belly. I see a sign that says "rest
> area 12 miles" so I think that Ill be ready to
> blast one out there.
> As I approach the rest area I am shocked to see a
> sign that says "rest area closed". Now i am in
> real trouble. Another sign says "next rest area 33
> miles" I think to myself hey thats just a half
> hour, I can make it. A quick shout on the old CB
> radio confirms that the next rest area is indeed
> open.
> About 10 miles shy of the heavenly shit house my
> warhead is bumpimg the bombay doors.
> Five miles later I have a white knuckle grip on
> the wheel and am going 80mph with sweat rolling
> off my forehead. One mile shy of the rest area I
> lose it and crap my pants in a big way.
> Once stopped at the rest area I limped in
> the public rest room with my hideious cargo in my
> drawers
> I sat on the toilet with my fruit of the looms
> still on, I take my buck knife and cut the sides
> of my underwear and drop the whole thing in the
> bowel then I wipe as best as I could using a huge
> ammount of TP. I was ready to run and just leave
> the mess but when I stood up the toilet auto
> flushed. The now clogged toilet overflowed and
> washed the entire mess including my soiled drawers
> out onto the floor! Guys in other stalls were
> screaming "What the fuck!!"
> I ran back to my rig and drove that truck out of
> there like I hade just stolen it. A few hours
> later I made it to a truckstop and took a shower
> and the drain ran brown for a while.


Dude, that story almost made me puke.

How come fat fucks are always amazed with taking dumps?

1) They think it's a way to lose weight
2) They were never taught good hygiene
3) It involves food
4) They are fascinated by disgusting thing.

Dear person in the Islanders Resturant bathroom,

While I don't make a habbit of calling people out on their movements I need to put this one out there. YOU SIR, need to start each and every day with a bran muffin. Do you have the bird flu? In 26 years on this planet I have never heard, heard of, had or otherwise experienced as voilent a shit as you took in the Islanders bathroom. It sounded like you were pouring out a 5 gallon bucket of ice water from 10 feet avove the toilet. My ears have never heard so horrific a sound as your liquid fecal being fired downward between pockets of pressurized methane gas. I was only there to wash my hands before eating my lunch...but my appetite was foiled by your ass-disaster. Moaning and weezing in your stall while wave after wave of dysentery ran from your bowels. What had you consumed?! Raw chicken, 2 bowls of chilli, 1 bottle Ex-Lax and a gallon of milk? You single handedly ruined every molecule of oxygen in the room. 30 minutes later back at work it still seemed like someone had wiped a log of shit under my nose.

IF FU HAD MORE CONTENT LIKE THIS THREAD, THEN FU WOULD BE A PAY-SITE.

MORE!

So I was on my way out of town for a meeting. I had to be there at 8:00 am and it was three hours away. Driving in a new rental car (my truck was in the shop) I set out. As I left I felt that familiar twinge in my stomach. I knew a shit was a brewing, but I figured I had time to make it to at least the next city (1 hour away). About twenty minutes in, I realized waiting was a bad idea. I was sweating and having severe shit related pains. I figured I was about twenty five more minutes from the closest bathroom (a Safeway store at the entrance to town). I told my stomach to hold out that long and I promised no Mexican food for a month.


Well the shit gods were not on my side this day. I hit construction and the road was closed with workers and bulldozers everywhere. I figured that if I didn't drive through the barriers and around the workers I was in serious trouble. I said fuck it. Through the barriers I went and past the workers who were yelling and chasing me. I yelled "I really have to shit though". I hope they understood.


So now I'm squeezing my butt cheeks together and doing lamas breathing. I pulled right up to the entrance of the store and jumped out and started speed walking to the door. A worker who was walking out said to me, "we are closed till 8." It is 5. I stopped about two feet from him and let loose. It was a wet, runny shit that exploded through my shorts, down my legs, and into my shoes (is anyone else turned on?). I was shitting like I was alone; noises, grunts, and everything. So there I stood, face to face with this Safeway employee shitting myself and he had the nerve to say, "What the fuck is wrong with you?" "Clearly I could not hold it any longer asshole" I said back. He tells me, like someone who has never shit himself in front of someone before, "You need to clean this up." I told him to fuck off and got back into my little rental car.


Not having a change of clothes, I knew I wasn't making my appointment. I turned for home, just me and my shit soaked clothes. After the longest drive of my life I got home, walked in the house, and got right in the shower, shit filled shoes and all. I got out and went to sleep, not wanting to deal with the shit soaked car. When I woke up I went out to look at how bad it was and saw my girlfriends mom looking over the car (she lived next door). I walked up and told her that I must have the flu or food poisoning. She said to not worry about it and to go back to sleep. Like a real dick I did. She cleaned the car the best she could.


The next day I took the still stinking of shit car back to the rental place. I left it at the drop off spot and got out of there. I can only imagine what the poor Hertz employee smelled when he got in that car. I mean there was shit on the fucking dash. I don't know how that happened

8am meeting and you drive in shorts.

1/10

troll detection system v1.1 Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> 8am meeting and you drive in shorts.
>
> 1/10


I think he ment shorts as in underwear.
I liked the trucker story best.

This one is for the realtors out there. I frequent open houses and have a little fun. When there is more than one visitor I sneak off to one of the bathrooms and quickly turn off the water valve supplying the toilet and then flush. I then deposit a healthy crap in the dry bowl. I wipe remove the tank lid and leave the paper. Within a few minutes the aroma is stifling. I then remix with the other visitors attending the open house. I really enjoy the look on the face of the realtor showing the property when they get a wif of my open house gift.

Bradley Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Here is my story from when I was a long haul
> trucker.
>
> One way truckers keep their travel expence low is
> to eat at buffet resturaunts just once a day and
> try to get all your eating done for the day in one
> shot. I was leaving one of these places that was
> well known for unlimited salad and pizza. I was
> somewhere in texas eastbound enroute to a produce
> distrubition center near Atlanta.
> A couple of hours later I started to feel the
> rumble in my belly. I see a sign that says "rest
> area 12 miles" so I think that Ill be ready to
> blast one out there.
> As I approach the rest area I am shocked to see a
> sign that says "rest area closed". Now i am in
> real trouble. Another sign says "next rest area 33
> miles" I think to myself hey thats just a half
> hour, I can make it. A quick shout on the old CB
> radio confirms that the next rest area is indeed
> open.
> About 10 miles shy of the heavenly shit house my
> warhead is bumpimg the bombay doors.
> Five miles later I have a white knuckle grip on
> the wheel and am going 80mph with sweat rolling
> off my forehead. One mile shy of the rest area I
> lose it and crap my pants in a big way.
> Once stopped at the rest area I limped in
> the public rest room with my hideious cargo in my
> drawers
> I sat on the toilet with my fruit of the looms
> still on, I take my buck knife and cut the sides
> of my underwear and drop the whole thing in the
> bowel then I wipe as best as I could using a huge
> ammount of TP. I was ready to run and just leave
> the mess but when I stood up the toilet auto
> flushed. The now clogged toilet overflowed and
> washed the entire mess including my soiled drawers
> out onto the floor! Guys in other stalls were
> screaming "What the fuck!!"
> I ran back to my rig and drove that truck out of
> there like I hade just stolen it. A few hours
> later I made it to a truckstop and took a shower
> and the drain ran brown for a while.


So that was YOU! lmao

Dash Riprock Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I was making a visit to a client in chantilly, a
> plumbing contractor. Well, all the morning coffee
> caught up to me and I had to drop a deuce bad and
> had to use the client's facilities in this dank
> warehouse. I was the only one in at the time and
> took the handicap stall in the back and began to
> do my business. Two deep voiced redneck plumbers
> walked in after about a minute of my loaf pinching
> session (I could tell they were plumbers because I
> could smell THEM) and they were not pleased with
> the aroma. One blurted out "GOTDAM! They really
> need to install a ceiling fan in here!" Both
> pissed and quickly left, while uttering the
> occasional "phew!" "Jesus!"
>
> I was so embarrassed I stayed in the stall after
> wiping/flushing to ensure they left the bathroom
> and walked far away to not notice me as the guy
> who thrashed their john.


You did the walk of shame lol!

How the hell did I miss this thread?!

plywood Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> 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 fart 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.

I don't care if this isn't original. This paragraph made me laugh so hard I cried.

--------------------------------------------------------------
13 4826 0948 82695 25847. Yes.

me and some friends went to one of those cheesy haunted house tours around halloween about ten years ago,the kind where actors jump out and scare you, i think it was produced by some local charity (not around here). any way, while we were in line, my buddy said he really had to go to the bathroom. he asked the woman taking tickets if he could use the restroom,but she said it was for employees only. after waiting in line for 20 minutes, we finally got in and started walking around laughing at all the "scary" stuff, when finally my buddy said "dude, i can't handle this, i'm gotta take a dump like right NOW". it was in a long hallway between two rooms, and it was really dark. he just squatted to the side and and crapped! people were all around but no one could see him. we got to the next room and all of a sudden someone yelled "Oh man, did somebody fart??", and then a whole group of people started yelling and running in our direction, then someone else yelled "Somebody shit in here!" amongst the commotion. Then someone was yelling and swearing, apparently someone stepped in it. By this time we could barely contain our laughter, luckily it was dark. Two staff members came in with flashlights, and then turned the lights on and ushered everyone out. People walking past us were like "who the fuck would do something like that?" it was hilarious. the whole thing closed, im not sure if they opened back up later on or not.

Stanks for the memories! Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I remember the weekend my first child was born. It
> was a Sunday afternoon and he was born on
> Saturday, so I had not taken a dump since Friday
> with all the excitement. So I really had to go and
> I left the maternity ward because I didn't want to
> be anywhere around people I knew because this
> beast was going to be foul and I felt it would be
> unkind to torture my wife given what she just went
> through. I found a toilet off of a lobby area in
> the hospital and it was a handicapped, single
> toilet, unisex bathroom. I was in there for
> probably 20 minutes relieving myself.
> It...was...HORRIBLE. People were jiggling the door
> handle the whole time, so I knew there were others
> trying to get in - I picked a popular spot I
> guess. When I finished and opened the door, there
> was a woman and a guy, I am guessing they were
> married, waiting. I hauled ass down the hall and I
> turned back and I saw the woman take a step inside
> and then quickly back out. Her hubby asked what
> was wrong and she said that the smell was too
> strong and that she felt she was going to throw
> up!

related video
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eUBSFkRRPfw

I was on a wine tour with my now wife. It was like our third date and I wanted to impress her. We were at this gorgeous winery in May, perfect weather, nice crowd, wonderful Viognier. Anyway, I feel a vicious bowel attack coming on and excuse myself. I'd had had spicy Indian the night before and hadn't shit in the morning. (Sometimes it's awkward shitting in the bathroom after a girl spends the night and she's still there.) Anyway, I ask to use their bathroom. It's clean, floral, smells of lavender, very feminine. And I proceed to take the largest shit of my life in that sucker. It's a giant log, solid at its core, but slimy all around the outside. It stinks like a dead Frenchman covered in Vietnamese fish sauce. I try to flush, and the log just sits there like stone spire with churning brown water around it. I try again and the whole thing starts to overflow, brown water and used TP spilling out over the side and onto the floor. I panic, gather myself and walk out calmly, close the door and join my girlfriend, who's now sitting with a friend at an outdoor table. I sit, smile and pretend like nothing happened. Not a minute later, I hear a woman rush out of the restroom and yell "The bathroom is broken!" She must have been shocked at the scene of destruction. I hold back a smile. Anyway, we're married now.

I was running on South Four Mile Run Drive trail in Arlington last summer. Earlier that morning I had stopped at a deli in Falls Church and eaten a "Belly Buster", which contained like 4 kinds of breakfast meats, egg, cheese, etc. all on a 8" sub roll. About 20 minutes into my run it hit me in an area with no public restrooms except a closed Barkroft park facility and a gas station that I could see about a mile away at the intersection of South Walter Reed Drive. I looked for woods, bushes, dumpsters anyfuckingwhere to shit as I'm now walking at a slow pace with my ass cheeks tighty together trying to maintain my ass seal. Apartments everywhere along the trail looking down upon my last hope, the gardens along that portion of the trail. No, no I said as the ass buster was making its way past my sphincter. I'll be seen from the road or the apartments! Just when I was about to surrender to the bowels I looked down on the trail and saw the metal lid to a storm structure. I quickly stuck my finger in a hole in the top of the lid and removed it to find a 3'x6' by 4'high area with stormwater running through it. I quickly jumped in and slid the lid back over the structure and barely got my shorts down before exploding all over the bottom of the structure. I sat there crouched with my back against the side of the structure for about 10 minutes as I listened to bicycles, joggers, mothers pushing strollers and even a dog came up a one point and was sniffing around. A couple of quick tears to my short sleeve shirt and I rendered 4 ass wipes and a tank top. Climbed out of the structure, went the fuck home, showered and started drinking. I don't ever want to fucking go through that again.

The Saga of Fat Jim.

Fat Jim was a fucking pig, and my first college roommate. I lacked experience in these matters when we met, but I later learned that the shit he pulled while we lived in our 10x18 foot hovel broke all the rules of roommate behavior. He ate my food like I was his fucking cook, and this after my parents were kind enough to take him with us for our first 'away from home' visit to the grocery store. He bought 5 boxes of Capn't Crunch and, I shit thee not, a dog bowl to eat it out of, because it was the only one big enough.

The farting constantly I could almost take - man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. The sticking around leering at the poor unfortunate girls I managed to lure up to our room ... aggravated. Trying to get a bit of action here, Jimbo, vamoose. He actually treated one to his magical ability to fart on command, so third base for Abelard that night.

He finally crossed the line when I woke up in the middle of the night to hear him loudly plowing some sow not 5 feet away. I actually heard him say 'No, he won't wake up - he never wakes up.'

So, war it is, then.

This took a bit of planning. First, I secured some horse-quality laxative from Weird Harold, who was at that time in my debt. Weird would take any pill no matter the source, and a few weeks earlier I'd gone to the campus dispensary with a bullshit story needing a note to postpone an exam. Of course they gave me a prescription ('muscle relaxants', I think), and of course I gave them to weird, who took two sight unseen. He woke up 24 hours later. From Weird's medicine chest came the 'Hot Lava pills'. Since shitting fire didn't get one stoned, I'm sure Weird lost interest in them. He said taking one would make you think the end times had come, and that the host of heaven was pouring out of your angry, boiling butthole.

Next, I got a Sara Lee cake and re-frosted it, complete with 4 or 5 ground-up Lavas, and left it in our mini fridge with a note saying 'Don't eat my fucking birthday cake, you fat bastard'. Lastly, two friends and I went to every stall in the dorm and, if there was a bog roll present, dunked it in the bowl to render it a pasty, unusable mush. Jim never carried his own roll with him, which was standard procedure for dorm living. Good lucky wiping your ass with that, Jim.

Sure as shinola, got back to the room late to find a corner of the cake left and a note scribbled in the corner of mine - 'sorry - happy birthday'.

I searched the restrooms for the sounds of epic shitting, summoning all to come witness for posterity's sake. I think somebody brought a camera, but unfortunately, Jim was nowhere to be found. Revenge unwitnessed is hardly revenge at all, but it turned out this wasn't the end.

Turns out, right after Jim had eaten, he'd gotten in his car to drive home to try and patch up things with his high-school girlfriend, Stacey. I remember her name because I heard it every night, usually with her last name, 'you fucking bitch', as he railed at her for cheating on him back in Allentown, again. Long drive from North Carolina and he told me he'd almost made the Virginia line when the rumbling started. His drive up 95 became a terminator-style search for a toilet or concealment, and twice he didn't make it. He didn't know the magnitude of his dilemma and so tried to wait it out for the next exit, and shat himself noisily in front of a Burger King before witnesses. The traffic he hit outside Fredericksburg was also poorly timed, and with little time or concealment, again there were witnesses. To hear him tell it he'd fouled every bowl and median up the 95 corridor, even after he was sure there wasn't anything left to crap but his organs.

Odd thing - he never figured out what happened, and attributed his discomfort to the spam daiquiri (yes, spam and rum, hey it was college in the south) he'd drunk on a dare to wash down my cake. He actually thought it was all pretty funny, and told the story often and in great detail. Lesson learned: never try to out-gross a pig - it'll only disgust you and amuse the pig.



Edited 4 time(s). Last edit at 03/23/2013 11:07PM by abelard.

I am so glad.
Attachments:

Some details have been changed, but this is a completely true story.

I'd had McDonald's and cheap beer for dinner the night before, and drank two cups of coffee in the morning. I felt perfectly fine all day. No rumbling, no urge to poop, absolutely nothing to indicate the horror of what was about to happen. I'd unwittingly been thrust into a horror movie, and this was the part at the beginning when the main characters have perfect lives and perfect families and such. The happy period before the monsters come.

Early afternoon, I'm out jogging in fairly populated park about a quarter mile from where I work when it feels like I got punched in the stomach. I stopped in my tracks, confused, when my guts seized up again. My stomach growled like the Predator, full of murderous fury. I had to make a hard decision, and I had to make it soon.

I ran to the bathrooms, but the one working stall was occupied. There were people in the women's room or I would have gone in there. There were trees in the park, but they provided no concealment. There were children around, so I couldn't just pop a squat whever I wanted. The next closest bathroom was at work. Gritting my teeth, I began the long march.

I tried to jog, but it felt like there was a red-hot bowling ball in my lower gut. The intense pressure told me I didn't have the option of letting a little air out to relieve the stress. The best I could do under the circumstances is a fast shuffle with my butt clenched as tight as possible. About halfway there, I broke out in a full-body sweat despite the 60 degree weather. The pain was exruciating.

About 20 yards from the entrance, my guts cramped up again, and I stopped. A tear rolled down my cheek as I clenched as hard as I could, but my spirit broke. I had fought bravely, but a sense of calm washed over me as I quickly made peace with the fact that I was about to shit my pants in front of everyone. I was wearing light-colored shorts, so there was no way to hide it. Those last 20 yards may as well have been miles. My entire existence had been boiled down to one, single, biological necessity.

"No," I said out loud, drawing a couple curious looks. "It will not end like this." Whimpering, I broke out into a full sprint, rationalizing that if I move quickly enough, I may still shit myself, but I can at least limit the number of people who see me. My body screams for relief but I miraculously make it into the building and into the bathroomm. I didn't even consider what would happen if the stalls were all occupied. I was going to shit in that bathroom one way or another. This wasn't a choice, it was a fact.

Fortunately, one of the stalls was empty, and I shut the door and pulled my shorts down in one movement. The moment my ass touched the toilet, the floodgates open. For a solid five seconds, I made a sound like a firehose spraying beef stew at a brick wall. The stench was immedaite and overwhelming. When the deluge finally stopped, dead silence overtook the bathroom.

From the stall next to me, I heard the guy say quietly to himself, "Jesus Christ." I replied, "Dude, you have no idea."

--------------------------------------------------------------
13 4826 0948 82695 25847. Yes.

My fiance and I moved here from NY about 20 years ago. Her Grandpa Joe was 95, but insisted on making the trip down with us when we were moving - wanted to see the house and all. Grandpa Joe was a great guy, but had been in Depends since I met him 10 years prior. Anyway, we are coming down Rt 15 and he tells us we need to stop ASAP. I fly into the parking lot of Wendy's and get him as close to the door as possible. By the way, he uses a walker and moves at the speed of slow. He is in there for about 15 minutes and my girl asks if I can go in to check on him. By this time, I am worried that he is dead or worse..
I walk in and am immediately overcome by the foulest stench ever breathed in! Worse yet, Papa Joe didn't quite make it and had ass puked all over himself. I mean it was everywhere except the bowl. I don't even know where to begin. Walk back out and tell my girl to get him a new outfit. I mean, it sucks getting old, and Joe is clearly embarrassed, so I buck up and head back in. I help him get his pant, underwear, socks, and shoes off, and throw everything out except for the shoes. Those I put in the sink and turn on the hot water. The stall is small, and I go about 6', 240, so this is not going to get any easier. I have him turn around, and begin the most unpleasant task of wiping his back, his ass, and his legs. I mean, it was all the way down by his feet. Poor bastard is in the stall naked from the waist down. Finally, I have him turn around and start cleaning the front. Walker doesn't fit in the stall, so Joe is bracing himself against the sides of the stall. I wet some more toilet paper and bend down to get all the runoff that is between his legs and near his ancient cock and balls. I am almost finished, and just need to bend over a little more to reach down to get the last of it, when in walks this old guy. I realize that my face is now like 6 inches away from Joe's 95 year old cock and amazingly long hanging balls. By the horrified look on the guy's face, I can tell that he thinks I am blowing Ol' Joe! He turns tail and quickly runs out of there as fast as he can. I run out to get the change of clothes and I can tell that the witness is hurridly explaining what he saw to his wife. I contemplate going over to explain the situation, but think better of it. I run back in with new drawers and some sweats. I quickly dress Joe and actually take him over my shoulder and rush to the car. I yell for my fiance to hurry up and get the walker so we can get the hell out of there before the police arrive and I get arrested! Ah, the things we do for love! Joe was always good to me after that, right up until the day he died. We never spoke about that day again, but there was abond between the two of us that could never be broken.

A few years back, all of the public restrooms on I-95 still used lights that were controlled by a single switch on the wall near the door. For years I would turn the lights out on my way out. Sounds simple and stupid but let's think about it for a minute. Some of those bathrooms are like 100 feet long, with 20 or 30 stalls. I used to make the trip back home after my 3 to 11 shift sometimes, so it would be pretty late. Bathroom was usually empty but sometimes you could tell one or two poor souls were in the stalls taking care of some business. I would casually flick the switch, and wait for the comments. They would usually start out polite, but it typically turned sour pretty fast. A couple of times I could hear their pleas, screams, and curses as I walked past Cinnabon and out the door.

My kids didn't beleive me until we just went to the Greene Turtle in Leesburg. Was in there wizzing, as was my son. We laughed all the way back to our table as I turned out the lights on some poor bastard. Still makes me laugh thinking bout it.

MrMephisto Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------
> Some details have been changed, but this is a
> completely true story.
>
> I'd had McDonald's and cheap beer for dinner the
> night before, and two cups of coffee in the morning"

McDonald's and cheap beer followed by coffee in the morning. That's all I need to read to know where this story is headed.

I even Googled parts of it to see if it was a copy pasta job and got no hits back. Time to dig in and read the rest of this tale...

I have you now.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/23/2013 09:45PM by TheNorthman.

Hey plywood, I'm the guy who wrote that story, you thieving bastard. I wrote it almost ten years ago for poopreport.com. http://www.poopreport.com/Stories/Content/dropped.html

Imagine my surprise seeing it posted here. You suck.

Here's my story. Sunday morning circa 2006 after a night of heavy drinking and eating god only knows what. I was making my Sunday morning trip to the local used book store. I knew I was going to have to take a dump but figured I could hold out until I reached my destination. It had actually become somewhat of a tradition of mine. The bathroom was perfect and they even had a unisex restroom as backup just in case my primary was occupied.

The plan was simple enough; I would make the 5-10 minute drive to the used book store, b line it straight to the military history section where I had stashed a book about the French pre-WWI preperations (I love that period of military history) the week before, grab it and move right toward the bathroom where I could spend the next half hour reading and shitting in peace. The store owner knew me well and was cool with me. Nothing could go wrong...

Heading to the store the vibrations from the engine gave me a serious case of the bubble guts but nothing that I couldn't fight off for 10 minutes. This was bad though. I debated letting out a small amount of gas to relieve the pressure but at this point I simply couldn't trust my farts. Add to that, the fact that I was driving and thus not in the strongest position to control the situation should my fart turn to a shit and I decided to hold out for the last few minutes.

Reaching the store after what seemed like an eternity I knew that I would have no time to grab a book before heading to the bathroom. This was an emergency. Not shitting my pants would be good enough. I got to the front door and much to my horror the store was not open yet! I looked at my phone and realized it was not even 8:30am. The store didn't open until 9:00am. No way I could wait a half hour...I debated shitting right there but thought of a fast food joint near by. It was my only hope.

It was about a minute drive away and it took all the strength of will I had not to shit myself in the car. Unfortunately this story does not have a happy ending. Upon arrival, the parking lot was completely empty and there were no lights on. I reached into the glove compartment and grabbed some napkins and headed to the door on the off chance that somebody was inside and would let me in. Alas, no such luck. Like the book store this place would not open until 9:00am.

I had intentionally parked my car so that driver's side was facing away from the street. There was a wooded area behind the fast food place. I opened both driver's side car doors to create a little makeshift private alcove. Sure I would be shitting in the middle of a parking lot but I judged the proximity I would have to my car (and thus a means of escape) as a worthy trade off for the increased likely hood of being spotted.

The shit itself went off without incedent. I actually had decent cover from all but one direction. There were cars driving up and down the road but from their perspective (upon a casual glance) I would look like somebody grabbing something from their car. About 1 1/2 minutes went by and a car pulled in the lot with what appeared to be two Hispanics in uniform probably there to open up. I wiped down real quick, marveled my masterpiece and the three or four shit covered napkins, pulled my pants up, closed the back door, jumped in the front and went home and took a shower.

I have you now.

You motherf***er - so it was you who turned out the lights on me at the Turtle? No one came in for like 10 minutes, and I just sat there trying to decide if my ass was clean from the smell of the toilet paper.

Your hell will be a completely dark stall with no way out!

Really? Blowing a senior citizen in the bathroom who just shit himself?

Doesn't get much lower than that!

C'mon, I dare you

http://www.poopsex.net/gallery/japanese-piss-and-shit/

One time I was taking a dump in WV before whitewater rafting, it was one of those diarrhea ones you get if you're nervous about something.

Anyway I realized I had gone into the womens bathroom when two girls walked in and were talking.

Believe it or not, public defecators have a patron saint, sort of. Behold Caganer - it's like Where's Waldo went to Barcelona for christmas and decided to honk out a stump.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caganer

I never thought I would enjoy such a thread, or make a deposit so to speak, but here goes.

Back when I was a kid, I was a little league outfielder. As if being not the worst player on the team was bad enough, the fact that my coach was my dad's best friend, didn't make life easier. He was a military guy, didn't take any nonsense, and expected you to be at position no matter what. Yeah, he was the guy who if you broke a bone, would tape it up, even for kids. The man was a complete asshole, even though he had his good moments.

Anyhow, one game I had to go, as I had earlier in the day eaten all of the food at the concession stand. It was rough, and I remember being embarrassed at the thought, of shitting myself in public. During the middle of a game, I just knew I had to go, and during the action I beelined it all the way to the don's john on site. The game went on, but I was out of action for the rest of it.

The coach to his credit understood.

Tough One Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I never thought I would enjoy such a thread, or
> make a deposit so to speak, but here goes.
>
> Back when I was a kid, I was a little league
> outfielder. As if being not the worst player on
> the team was bad enough, the fact that my coach
> was my dad's best friend, didn't make life easier.
> He was a military guy, didn't take any nonsense,
> and expected you to be at position no matter what.
> Yeah, he was the guy who if you broke a bone,
> would tape it up, even for kids. The man was a
> complete asshole, even though he had his good
> moments.
>
> Anyhow, one game I had to go, as I had earlier in
> the day eaten all of the food at the concession
> stand. It was rough, and I remember being
> embarrassed at the thought, of shitting myself in
> public. During the middle of a game, I just knew I
> had to go, and during the action I beelined it all
> the way to the don's john on site. The game went
> on, but I was out of action for the rest of it.
>
> The coach to his credit understood.
Attachments:

Since I have often regaled family and friends with my own tale of alimentary desperation, I will overcome my reticence and share it here. Unlike most of these posts, this really occured. In Fairfax County.

It all happened many years ago as a young man when my fiancée and I took my soon-to-be in-law’s out to dinner one Saturday afternoon. I had an iron constitution at that time and was as regular as Big Ben. It was an ordinary and uneventful dinner at a local steakhouse here in Fairfax County. I had a large bowl of chili and followed it with salad and a rack of ribs. As the meal was finishing, I had no idea at that happy moment what gastrointestinal distress was about to occur.

Since my hands were a bit messy from the rib-fest I decided to wash them in the restaurant bathroom. It was when I was drying my hands that I, as George Costanza once said, began to perceive an impending intestinal requirement. Not realizing the havoc that the salmonella-laden raw onions in that chili bowl were wreaking in my intestinal tract, I casually thought to myself, “No worries, it’s only a 5 minute drive back to the in-law’s house. We’ll drop them off and it’s then only another 5 minutes back to my apartment… no sense in stinking up the restaurant bathroom”

My humanitarian impluse was a gargantuan mistake. We were only out onto Rt. 29 when I was first hit with a wave of severe cramping. Of course, EVERY stoplight was turning red. We were about 3 minutes from the in-laws when the abdominal pressure became almost overwhelming. I still can’t believe how fast things turned on me. Finally the last light came in view. Speed up… Red. @#$%&! At this point my exertions to keep the anal sphincter closed were causing me to be somewhat distracted from the conversation in the car and my fiancée noticed my pale face and the beads of sweat breaking out on my forehead and nose.

'Is there something wrong?' she asked. So I quickly explained (in low tones) my emergency situation. I turned up the radio and whispered to her that I needed her set of keys to her parent’s house. I knew there was zero possibility of making it back to my apartment. As we pulled up into the driveway, I told her I’m just going to make a run for the house. Awkward as it was, the second the car came to a stop I bailed out leaving the car running, driver side door open - keys still in the ignition. Hey - at least I didn’t jump from a moving vehicle.

I dashed across the lawn like a female Swiss tourist in India. As I was approaching the front door I pondered my dilemma: should I take the first and quickest option – the half bath just inside the front door? Costanza came to mind again as I knew that that bathroom was not gonna provide me with the privacy that I knew I was going to need. As I fumbled with the lock - feeling a small trickle running down my leg - I knew it was going to have to be a bedroom bathroom.

Leaving the front door open I sprinted up the stairs, made a quick right turn into a bedroom, wheeled around the bed unbuckling my belt, skidded into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. I got my jeans down and myself onto the toilet seat with additional leakage, but I noted with some satisfaction that it was probably containable damage. Little did I know.

With blessed relief I “released the hounds.” It has never happened before or since, but what erupted from beneath was, well, not normal. There was no diarrhea, no fecal matter, no solid material at all. Only a high pressure jet stream of molten liquid. It was a torrent like a blast from a fire hose. Or at least a quarter horse water pump. This orange-brown foul raceway of sewer water hit the bottom of the toilet with such force that the curvature of the bowl caused it to come back out the top of the toilet. My effluent was literally spraying from between the top of the toilet bowl and the toilet seat. The spray came out on all sides over the toilet like a waterfall – down my legs, onto my jeans, into my socks and shoes, all over the floor, onto the bath rug.

There’s really no hiding something like that. I stayed in the bathroom until the worst of the odor abated. I had run out of toilet paper cleaning up as best I could. After about 30 minutes came the inevitable knock on the door - Are you OK? I asked for some paper towels and a trash bag. As I slunk out of the bathroom my future in-laws were standing in the hallway waiting to use THEIR bedroom to change clothes. Seems I was using their bathroom. I laugh about it now, but it was humiliating at the time.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 03/24/2013 09:35PM by newgatedenizen.

@ newgate,,,,,,, I am laughing with you bro!

dalmo buyer Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Tough One Wrote:
> --------------------------------------------------
> -----
> > I never thought I would enjoy such a thread, or
> > make a deposit so to speak, but here goes.
> >
> > Back when I was a kid, I was a little league
> > outfielder. As if being not the worst player on
> > the team was bad enough, the fact that my coach
> > was my dad's best friend, didn't make life
> easier.
> > He was a military guy, didn't take any
> nonsense,
> > and expected you to be at position no matter
> what.
> > Yeah, he was the guy who if you broke a bone,
> > would tape it up, even for kids. The man was a
> > complete asshole, even though he had his good
> > moments.
> >
> > Anyhow, one game I had to go, as I had earlier
> in
> > the day eaten all of the food at the concession
> > stand. It was rough, and I remember being
> > embarrassed at the thought, of shitting myself
> in
> > public. During the middle of a game, I just knew
> I
> > had to go, and during the action I beelined it
> all
> > the way to the don's john on site. The game
> went
> > on, but I was out of action for the rest of it.
> >
> > The coach to his credit understood.


and I don't give a shit literally or figuratively.

.
Attachments:

On a flight to Hawaii, Dulles to Honolulu, fairly long lines for the toilets. Ten or fifteen people in line.

A 50-ish woman behind me had been giving me the evil eye while we were waiting.

Luckily, she was the next in line for my toilet when I emerged.

This is because I had left behind a shit that - due to the fact that the tanks were filled - was sticking up to within perhaps an inch from the bottom of the seat. It was jammed into the hole and rose like a skyscraper.

I tried flushing the monster 5 or 6 times, with no effect whatsoever.

The shit looked like a bagette, completely filling the toilet.

I don't know how the woman dealt with it, and frankly I had already given all the shit I was gonna give.

Bravo Hawaii man!

Bradley Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Here is my story from when I was a long haul
> trucker.
>
> One way truckers keep their travel expence low is
> to eat at buffet resturaunts just once a day and
> try to get all your eating done for the day in one
> shot. I was leaving one of these places that was
> well known for unlimited salad and pizza. I was
> somewhere in texas eastbound enroute to a produce
> distrubition center near Atlanta.
> A couple of hours later I started to feel the
> rumble in my belly. I see a sign that says "rest
> area 12 miles" so I think that Ill be ready to
> blast one out there.
> As I approach the rest area I am shocked to see a
> sign that says "rest area closed". Now i am in
> real trouble. Another sign says "next rest area 33
> miles" I think to myself hey thats just a half
> hour, I can make it. A quick shout on the old CB
> radio confirms that the next rest area is indeed
> open.
> About 10 miles shy of the heavenly shit house my
> warhead is bumpimg the bombay doors.
> Five miles later I have a white knuckle grip on
> the wheel and am going 80mph with sweat rolling
> off my forehead. One mile shy of the rest area I
> lose it and crap my pants in a big way.
> Once stopped at the rest area I limped in
> the public rest room with my hideious cargo in my
> drawers
> I sat on the toilet with my fruit of the looms
> still on, I take my buck knife and cut the sides
> of my underwear and drop the whole thing in the
> bowel then I wipe as best as I could using a huge
> ammount of TP. I was ready to run and just leave
> the mess but when I stood up the toilet auto
> flushed. The now clogged toilet overflowed and
> washed the entire mess including my soiled drawers
> out onto the floor! Guys in other stalls were
> screaming "What the fuck!!"
> I ran back to my rig and drove that truck out of
> there like I hade just stolen it. A few hours
> later I made it to a truckstop and took a shower
> and the drain ran brown for a while.


JESUS CHRIST!

More stories please.

I got so drunk at a bar once that it gave me diarrhea. There were 2 people in line for the bathroom. I ended up running outside, leaned against the fence on the side of the bar, and release a torrent of mud no human has ever encountered before. I felt better afterwards and waited in line to wipe my ass.

True story.

squirts Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I got so drunk at a bar once that it gave me
> diarrhea. There were 2 people in line for the
> bathroom. I ended up running outside, leaned
> against the fence on the side of the bar, and
> release a torrent of mud no human has ever
> encountered before. I felt better afterwards and
> waited in line to wipe my ass.
>
> True story.


That is good stuff, thanks. Got any more?

I was strolling around the Washington Memorial back in the early 80's when the signal, seemingly from nowhere, came to me it was time, now, to shit. Weird cause I dont remember any unusual food or drink but there it was, the unmistakable directive from my intestines that my free will could chose the place but the time was to be entirely dictated by my ass.

I dont know about present day but back then the Washington Memorial was a veritable desert of comfort stations save one very small limestone building near the base of the memorial. We weren't even certain there were bathrooms there and it sure didnt look open. I was in track in HS and a college soccer player so I can say with confidence that I was a very fast runner with endurance. I am also certain that from the monument, in my prime, it would have taken 5 min. to reach an area where I could have started looking for a bathroom - no time for that. My only hope was the abandoned-looking limestone block structure.

I thanked the good Lord above when I saw the 'Men' sign and proceeded to the entrance. It was locked. I had begun to move mentally into the 'acceptance' phase of the imminent pants shitting about to take place when I grasped at one last hope. If this very 'closed' looking structure had a 'Men' side it must therefore have a 'Women' side! My girlfriend and I scurried around to the other side fueled by a nearly irrational hope that perhaps this facility was open to women only. To our amazement, this women's side was in fact open!

I had never used a women's room before but what the hell, Im in the middle of the mall and we look around and see few if any people around (it was sometime in late fall). So away I went into the dark 2 stall bathroom while hearing the subdued giggling from my girlfriend from outside.

I got in with little time to spare and unleashed holy hell. No need to be specific but this was no ordinary trip to the bathroom. After about 5 min the explosions from my rear diminished in frequency but by no means had finished when I heard voices outside - lots of voices. Then the began to shuffle in - an entire girl scout troop was entering my lair. My first thought was 'Jeasus Christ' how do I get out of there without being caught. I pull my feet retract them as far as possible from the stall walls. Maybe if they cannot see my feet they will just think the stall is out of service. Bargaining with myself I reason that if they do see my feet I must make them seem as small and demure as possible so I rest them on point in close to the befouled toilet.

Just as my mind ponders the implications of a male lurking in a women's roomfilled with girlscouts my rear delivers a series of thunderous explosions. 'They know Im here now' I think as I try to time flushes with every disgusting release - cover noise.

At this point I have no choice but to wait. Wait until every last girl scout uses the one available stall immediately to my right. I never counted the actual number but by the dozens of shoes shuffling back and forth and the 15 minutes it took I figured it was more than a few. Things died down bowl-side for me after 10 minutes which left me the last 5 minutes to ponder the fact that I have, in fact, suffered one of if not the worst case scenario of using the other gender's bathroom. At the same time I understood that my episode was epic performance art for an audience of one - the whole time my girlfriend had stood outside in awe laughing her ass off...

cool story bro - vote which is the best!

cool story bro... Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> cool story bro - vote which is the best!


They are all good but the trucker story was the best.

Finally - a thread that delivers!

>"No," I said out loud, drawing a couple curious looks. "It will not end like this."

This remains one of my favorite lines I've ever read here. Kudos, Mr. Mephisto.

what a bunch of losers you all are.

MOAR!!

Finally - a thread that delivers Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> Finally - a thread that delivers!


Delivers shit!

When I was a kid, about 6 years old, I was ice skating in the neighborhood. There was a very small 'pond' (more like a wetland) between some houses 2 streets up in the woods. I was having a grand time and had just gotten the hang of skating. I remember being very happy having learned to skate and especially enjoyed skating in and around the trees growing in the pond.

Then it hit me, a wave of realization that I had to poop. I panicked and proceeded to run, with my skates on. I ran over lawns, through neighbors properties. I still remember the click click click of my metal skates running across the road. I finally made it in full panic up the wooden stairs of my family's backyard deck, in through kitchen (no time for pleasantries with mom) into the bathroom.

Got my pants off (skates still on) but never made it to sitting down. I shat myself a foot from the toilet.

Nothing is open when I drive late night for uber. Here is my tale:

I bought a single serving, slice of cake from weis(pooooor mans food lion, but ten steps better than macGruders).
Nowadays since everyone is type 2 diabetic, this slice was 88%blue frosting, 20% blue fondant(sheet icing)and 2%actual cake!
The next morning I'm driving uber and suddenly my stomach starts to grumble. I'm 33, so I'm pretty knowledgeable when a fart becomes a squirt. The more I keep from starting, the more I debate whether to just blow a gasket in my pants and just call it a day....
I drop some fare off in ft Washington and run into the McDonald's bathroom. Old style-so only a single toilet next to a urinal....I enter, lock door quickly and drop my trousers, bend over at 45degrees and let LOOSE! It was green like Slimer from ghostbusters!!! Sprayed the toilet and a wide band on the walls! Just as fast as I entered, I wipe, pull up pants and get out! Someone would mistaken this for a crime scene OR, I'll be banned from this location. I quickly flush the urinal just as someone is walking in. He opens the door and mutters something in Filipino! I jump into my corolla and go "online" with uber!

And I was at a campsite. I think I took a 4 foot shit! I shit you not!

Tough One Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> I never thought I would enjoy such a thread, or
> make a deposit so to speak, but here goes.
>
> Back when I was a kid, I was a little league
> outfielder. As if being not the worst player on
> the team was bad enough, the fact that my coach
> was my dad's best friend, didn't make life easier.
> He was a military guy, didn't take any nonsense,
> and expected you to be at position no matter what.
> Yeah, he was the guy who if you broke a bone,
> would tape it up, even for kids. The man was a
> complete asshole, even though he had his good
> moments.
>
> Anyhow, one game I had to go, as I had earlier in
> the day eaten all of the food at the concession
> stand. It was rough, and I remember being
> embarrassed at the thought, of shitting myself in
> public. During the middle of a game, I just knew I
> had to go, and during the action I beelined it all
> the way to the don's john on site. The game went
> on, but I was out of action for the rest of it.
>
> The coach to his credit understood.

Show me on the doll where your coach touched you....
Your story is a daily occurrence for me driving uber

My son was 6 and we went to KFC/Taco Bell Kingstowne.
He said he needed to take a dump.
Bathroom is one open area-like those family bathrooms where u have all the facilities to yourself.

While I was padding down the urine soaked toilet seat, I told him to wait a sec.
he said "daddy now!" And Before I could turn around, he squatted and dropped a runny deuce right on the floor! It was the floor where you could just use a hose to wash the whole bathroom down with the drain grate in the middle.
I just took the toilet paper and covered his mess in a mountain of tp.
Looking back, I shoulda just left after this, but we ordered food and the old redneck that went in after us, just kept looking at me and shaking his head.....

Worked at American Cafe on Wisconson in the 80's. We got all kinds of low life scum there because we were very busy into the early morning, I think we were open till 3 or 4 am for fuck's sake. Anyway one night some fucking pig left a big steamer on the back of the toilet. Must have had to stand on the toilet to deliver his brown baby boy. It was really big and had the very classic Dairy Queen curl - a real beauty for those that appreciate that sort of thing.

Anyway the bus boy refused to clean it and quit on the spot when the manager insisted so the manager had to do it and we lost the bus boy for the night. Worked there about 6 months - some real wild west shit there. I remember feeling surreal standing at the front when it was slow watching hot chicks with the bull dyke bartender

While I was training for marathons I would go out FAR away from home. In all my runs I only had to crap twice. Once I was out of town on a 14 mile run. I felt the urge and must have spent 20 min running around looking. I finally found a restroom in a park - alas it was closed for some unknown reason so I gave up leaned against the bathroom outside wall and let loose.

Other time same sort of thing in Arlington. Home was in S. Arlington and I was running up Wilson on the North side. I fought it for as long as I could but only made it to a small park at Washington Blvd area before I stole away to a nearby tree.

Both times I came home wearing only one sock...

this is good shit.

When I was a altar boy I was working a wedding and the priest had just banged me in the butt an hour before the ceremony. My butt was sore and during the last part of the wedding mass I farted out some liquid poop and the fathers jizz. It ran down my leg onto the floor. It was bad!

bob. Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> When I was a altar boy I was working a wedding and
> the priest had just banged me in the butt an hour
> before the ceremony. My butt was sore and during
> the last part of the wedding mass I farted out
> some liquid poop and the fathers jizz. It ran down
> my leg onto the floor. It was bad!


DAMN!

BUMP!

bob. Wrote:
-------------------------------------------------------
> When I was a altar boy I was working a wedding and
> the priest had just banged me in the butt an hour
> before the ceremony. My butt was sore and during
> the last part of the wedding mass I farted out
> some liquid poop and the fathers jizz. It ran down
> my leg onto the floor. It was bad!

Holy Shit!!