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Well, shit.

Discussion in 'Channel Zero' started by non-hetero, Oct 9, 2002.

  1. non-hetero

    non-hetero Member

    Joined: Jun 20, 2002 Messages: 685 Likes Received: 14
    Deserving it's own thread. Read it all.


    Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of
    weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for
    dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and
    beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that
    it is served.

    Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with
    Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the
    little bastards.

    It may seem that the events about to be told have little
    connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a
    moment.

    We went through the line and placed our orders for the
    all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front
    of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of
    kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate
    after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I
    tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian
    ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.

    Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well
    all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten
    four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble.

    There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having
    trouble breathing.

    At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I
    thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches
    right at the table without to much concern.

    Unfortunately, that was not to be.

    After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with
    explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way
    through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned
    the grease to begin with, but I digress...

    I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon
    entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two
    urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls
    against the back wall.

    One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would
    have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a
    bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was
    broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to
    stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is
    having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit.

    I went to the normal stall.

    In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large,
    handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because
    that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a
    bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked
    into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching
    Biblical proportions.

    I began "The Move."

    For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to
    explain "The Move."

    Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second.
    And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of
    physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any
    circumstances. There is a move men make that involves
    simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to
    position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into
    ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the
    squat at the same time.

    It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results
    in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that
    ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it
    even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front
    rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at
    the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling
    that of a skilled ballet dancer.

    I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the
    floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled
    by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was
    mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first
    walked into the stall.

    Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I
    had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I
    hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex
    started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the
    bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming
    up for a rematch.

    What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of
    events
    are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I
    can.

    In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was
    diverted from the goings-on at the other end.

    To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down
    to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of
    vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that
    vomiting
    takes precidence over shit no matter what is about to come
    slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing
    since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence
    of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into
    the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was
    thus diverted.

    At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be
    described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along
    the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something
    similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic
    feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistancy of thick mud with
    embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But
    remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment.
    The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in
    relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted
    off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of
    incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet
    seat.

    Then I sat down.

    Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to
    sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I
    have always considered myself as relatively stable
    gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're
    going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the
    shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so
    as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on
    the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a
    high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the
    puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a
    puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on
    about
    one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

    Now, back to the vomit...

    While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its
    way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my
    mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and
    beef I had just consumed.

    OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?

    One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the
    toilet, though.

    Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my
    now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and
    waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to
    a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I
    mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with
    elastic on the ankles?

    In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two
    or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were
    deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the
    bottom down by my feet.

    In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a
    couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there
    with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had
    bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to
    a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come
    back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid
    shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring
    curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

    And there was no fucking toilet paper.

    What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete
    maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He
    actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must
    have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just
    enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to
    have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager
    walked
    in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was
    prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was
    no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall,
    but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask
    my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he
    left.

    At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed
    just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

    About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not
    knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her
    voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble
    getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her
    help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the
    past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or
    something and just needed to being the car around so we could
    bolt immediately.

    Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to
    go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks,
    new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable
    leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.

    And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing.
    She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when
    I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just
    needed to handle damage control for the time being.

    She left.

    The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a
    few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon
    which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed
    to be cleaned.

    Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was
    going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I
    would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks
    working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above.

    At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of
    the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of
    duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked
    up a hose.

    Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls
    and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in
    order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial
    bathroom.

    He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I
    began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was
    finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them
    into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing
    into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to
    my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my
    new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it
    would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in
    the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little
    bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I
    had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

    When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned
    up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in
    the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the
    bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for
    all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management
    staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started
    laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again,
    but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now
    waiting to pick me up by the front door.

    The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner
    at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management
    staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
     
  2. Pistol

    Pistol Dirty Dozen Crew

    Joined: Jul 12, 2001 Messages: 19,358 Likes Received: 298
  3. Dirty_habiT

    Dirty_habiT Dirty Dozen Crew

    Joined: Mar 8, 2001 Messages: 18,058 Likes Received: 48
  4. WhAt_dA_fUcK

    WhAt_dA_fUcK Senior Member

    Joined: Sep 30, 2002 Messages: 1,149 Likes Received: 0
    uhh....yea what he said....:confused:
     
  5. Kettiecat

    Kettiecat Senior Member

    Joined: Aug 27, 2002 Messages: 1,122 Likes Received: 0
    hehehehhehehhehe
     
  6. non-hetero

    non-hetero Member

    Joined: Jun 20, 2002 Messages: 685 Likes Received: 14
    One of the few short stories that made me laugh and gag at the same time.


    Actually, only story that ever made me gag.
     
  7. destroya

    destroya Senior Member

    Joined: Sep 30, 2002 Messages: 1,714 Likes Received: 1
    roflmfao. that's fucking hilarious.
     
  8. OVERsketched

    OVERsketched Guest

    This is a funny story that almost made throw up as I was eating lunch at the time. And described in such detail it sems as if you were recording the occourance on a video camera....Nice one:D :D
     
  9. Ronnie Dobbs

    Ronnie Dobbs Senior Member

    Joined: Aug 6, 2002 Messages: 2,115 Likes Received: 0
    read it yet again..
    funny ass shit!
     
  10. toyeattoywar

    toyeattoywar Member

    Joined: Jul 3, 2002 Messages: 829 Likes Received: 1
  11. LadyKrink

    LadyKrink New Jack

    Joined: Mar 25, 2002 Messages: 41 Likes Received: 0
    why i just sat and read that whole story is a wonder to me. but that honestly was very amusing and i couldnt stop laughing at the mental picture i had in my head of you in that stall is sitting on a toilet covered in your own shit while you puke all over yourself and stare at the wall which also had your shit all over it and laughing.

    well they say you learn something new everyday, and what did i learn today that before guys take a shit they start with "the move"
    very entertaining story.

    i wonder what brittney spears looks like when she is taking a shit? have any of you ever wondered or laughed at the thought of brittney spears (or whatever other girl does it for you) sitting on the john busting ass and pushing until her face is bright red while taking a shit? haha well i know i have thought about it, it makes me laugh.
     
  12. vinyl junkie

    vinyl junkie Elite Member

    Joined: Jan 17, 2002 Messages: 4,725 Likes Received: 0
    holy fucking fuck... that is the funniest thing i've read in a long time... :lol:
     
  13. WALE!pd

    WALE!pd 12oz Loyalist

    Joined: Jun 7, 2002 Messages: 12,040 Likes Received: 364
    hahahahaha second time was just as good as the first this was such a funny story i saved it on my comp for later entertainment hahahahahahaha im gonna pee myself now
     
  14. bug

    bug Guest

    it's pretty well written. who wrote it?
     
  15. Long Bus

    Long Bus Member

    Joined: Jan 31, 2001 Messages: 253 Likes Received: 1
    honk honk
     
    HATER. likes this.
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