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  1. #51
    bklyn is offline who guards the guardians?
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    These stories are hilarious. Haven't had the pleasure of crapping myself, but I've had two close calls to talk about.

    The first was in Arizona.
    I'm on relationship #2 with a guy I swear is THE ONE. So he takes me with him on a corporate retreat to Scottsdale where they have all these team building exercises planned for the weekend. Of course they have 100 totally safe activities, but I want to go mountain biking in the desert and rock climbing - so I dragged 'the one' out on these trips. It's already 98 degrees at 8 am when we go out on the truck with our rented bikes and packed breakfasts and lunches. The packed breakfast is nasty tasting (duh it's been out in the heat too long) but I ate it anyway.

    A good 5 miles out on the trail I totally bonk. 110 degrees, not sweating although I am drinking water and then all of a sudden my bowels totally cramp and I know an explosive shit is eminent. I can't pull over and crap, because there's nothing but tumbleweed and thorns out there and we're with 'the one's' coworkers.

    I turn around and head back early, barely making it back without soiling myself. I tell the truck driver I MUST go to a bathroom, and he kindly takes me on a 20 minute drive to a Taco Bell. The ride feels like an hour, bouncing in the truck in total agony. I blasted the Taco Bell bathroom hard and then I realize - no paper in the stall. So I hobble, bike shorts down to around the ankles the next stall to clean myself. I think the whole restaurant stank as I made the walk of shame back to the truck.

    All coworkers of 'the one' think I am a spoiled brat for taking the detour to the toilet, but I couldn't tell them how urgent it all was.

    Second time was in Kenya, when I had a sip (and only a sip) of the local water. Oh My GOD!!! I didn't know it was possible to have so much waste in the body. Only took about 1 hour for the full body cleansing to begin. The biggest dump of my lifetime was riding the express train and 15 minutes later I had totally filled the toilet.

  2. #52
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    Tracy, you make dysentery sound so graceful. Did you take photos of the Kenya toilet?

    I laid a turd on the bogseat at school once. It was fine but wasn't complete without a mini Union Jack flag.

  3. #53
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    So I'm 19, attending an older friend's college graduation party. Rural New England, out on a dirt road. Jacked up pickups are parked everywhere. There are a bunch of kegs, picnic tables loaded with potato salad. Lots of friends, but also lots of family of the graduate.

    A bunch of guys are standing around, drinking beer, swatting black flies. A farting contest starts. Nobody can hang with me. I'm fucking untouchable. Another guy starts to make a run. Back and forth, things are beginning to escalate. Fart size, wetness, and decibels are increasing with each volley. Fuck that. I won't lose. I gather myself and swing for the fence. Impressive results, but I fill my Hanes with poo the consistency of wet concrete. I hobble off to the house to try to find the bathroom and clean myself up.

    I walk inside, and find most of the extended family hanging out in the kitchen. They're talking, and preparing even more food. I'm directed to the only bathroom available for party guests, which is not only accessed from the kitchen, but has only a sliding wooden panel door for privacy. I wedge myself into this tiny half bath and assess the damage.

    I sat down. I wasn't finished. I noisily blew ass for 10-15 minutes, red-faced and sweating, knowing full well that my friend's grandmother could probably hear me. When it subsided, I turned my focus to damage control.

    Not only are my tighty whiteys brimming with their fecal payload, but there has been smearing. Significant smearing. The entire surface area of my bum is coated. I get to work, using massive lengths of toilet paper to wipe down my bum. Then, inexplicably, I start scooping out my underwear with more TP. All I can say is that I was drunk. I seemed certain that I could salvage the things. At this point, I've been in the bathroom over a half hour. There have been a number of knocks on the door. I can hear hushed conversation in the kitchen, as uncles and aunts try to identify the asshole hogging the bathroom. I complete ladling out my underwear, pull up my shorts, including my gnarly underwear, and reach for the flusher.

    The contents of the bowl are a sight to behold. An unbelievable amount of crap. A pile of brown TP extends several inches above the bowl water level. This point bears repeating - I was drunk.

    I flush.

    Within seconds, dirty water, soiled toilet paper, and the contents of my bowels are flowing onto the floor. I freeze, in a blind panic. As the flow advances across the floor, and begins to flow under the door and into the kitchen, I make my move. I run. Through the kitchen, down the stairs. As I hit the bottom of the stairs I hear from inside, "Oh Jesus! Get a plunger!". I only looked back once, as I speedwalked down the driveway in sopping wet brown Hanes, and saw several of the elder males in the family standing on the porch, looking down the driveway at me in both disgust and horror.

    Every word of that is true.

  4. #54
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    Quote Originally Posted by bklyntrayc
    I'm on relationship #2 with a guy I swear is THE ONE.
    Neo?

    1234

  5. #55
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    Quote Originally Posted by Samwich
    present tense vs. past tense.

    Roo's statement "I've shit my pants" means that he has very recently soiled his trousers. Had he said, "I shat my pants," he would be attempting to convey that, once upon a time, he filled his underoos with his own excrement.
    I shit. (present tense, as in I am currently shitting)
    I shat. (Past tense, as in I took a shit either 2 seconds or 2 years ago)
    "I have shit..." is grammatically incorrect, unless "shit" is a noun.

  6. #56
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  7. #57
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    Ive done it once in my adult life....

    Back when I was in college....

    I had just eaten some Greek food with a friend at some hole in the wall restaruant- said goodbye to my friend and got back in my car and started the 20 minute drive back to the house I was living in for the summer.

    Out of fuggin nowhere (It may have been fooling me by pretending to be fart, I cant remember) I shat myself while driving- no time to react or pull over or whaterver. Such an odd experience really. Unfortunatley I had no other clothes in the car and I was PRAYING my stoner-never-leave-the-couch roomates werent going to be home doing what they were always doing. I had enough gerrbage in my pants that it was definitely noticeable and tormenting the hell out of me.

    My clothes, the bathroom/ shower were upstairs and the only way I could get there was thru the lving room.

    Sure enough my roomates were camped out on the couch. I cant remember exactly what I said to them but it was short and smug and I definitely did not want to tell them what had occurred So I got myself over to the stairs, with my backside out of view of my roomates, and started walking up the stairs and.....lo and behold some fibbige falls out of my pants- I was wearing shorts- and right onto the shaggy carpet and the base of the stairs. I was bummed to say the least. If I remember correctly it was a large enough chunk of playdo that I couldnt just deal with it on the spot with my roomates like 20 feet away so I just left it there and went upstairs to get my act together. This whole scenario was all about me being sneaky and not letting them know.

    So after about 10 mins I was back to normal and I went back downstairs and sat down in a chair close to the stairs and was hoping my roomates would go to the kitchen or do something so I could terminate the dookie that was camped at the base of the stairs. After sitting there getting real impatient I remember my roomate (female) say something like: "hey you guys did the cat go to the bathroom in here? something smells bad"- at which time my already high stress level just continued to keep getting jacked up. Eventually something happened where both of my roomates got up and I had time to grab some paper towels and do away with the goods.
    Last edited by Booger; 07-02-2005 at 06:32 PM.

  8. #58
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    Talking

    fur bearing, drunk, prancing eurosnob

  9. #59
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    In college, I shit my pants in the Historic Buckhorn Bar here in Laramie. I was drinking tequila and thought I could impress my friend with a very manly fart.

    My friend shit his pants in my car at about 5am on the way to Winter Park once. I pulled over and he emptied his drawers on the side of the road, and then proceeded to ski all day is his soiled britches.

  10. #60
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    That's funny, I dropped trou and flashed a skanky whore late one night at the Buck...fun times. She grabbed my package while doing a shot.

    As to fecal colon blowing, come to Peru.
    Pics to follow.

  11. #61
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    Quote Originally Posted by rideit View Post
    That's funny, I dropped trou and flashed a skanky whore late one night at the Buck...fun times. She grabbed my package while doing a shot.
    I was a bartender upstairs at the Parlor for a couple years. Oh, the memories of that place.

  12. #62
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    I've only shat/shit myself once and it wasn't exciting enough to even remember, but I do have several good body function stories.
    1) I took a massive dump at my friend's parents summer house and clogged the toilet. Water/shit everywhere of course, but there was a closet full of towels right there so I was able to minimize the damage...so I thought. After cleaning it all up I come down stairs to discover a waterfall of shitwater coming through the ceiling and cascading over every inch of their kitchen.
    2) First time I had met this one broad's parents that I was dating/victimizing was Thanksgiving dinner at their mansion on the east side of Seattle. I clogged their toilet real proper like after the feast and had to ask them for a plunger, cause they kept it in the garage...that was fun
    3) Senior year of h.s. my friends and I rented a condo in Killington for a weekend. I rode in the back seat with the other drunk on the trip and we polished of a case of Blue in no time...now it's time to piss. It was cold as fuck and we were wasted so we decided pissing in empty bottles was the best option. He goes first...turns around, kneels on the seat, does his business...no problem. Then I get up to bat...right away I knew there might be a problem...I couldn't tell if I was lined up right or anything, just seemed sketchy. But I'm wasted, so whatever. I start out real slow to make sure I'm on target...and I hear the sounds of piss hitting the bottom of the bottle. So then I just let it all go and everything was still cool...sounded good anyway. I get done...still think everything is fine...then I looked down and saw that my pants were soaked down to my knees. Apparently I was sending the piss stream right down the side of the bottle and all over myself and the back seat. Best part was we still had about 2 hours to drive and my bags were the first to go into the truck, so I had to ride the rest of the way in my piss-soaked pants. The rest of the weekend I was nice enough to always make sure I didn't sit in the same seat and would announce "you're sitting in my piss" every time we got in the car to whoever was lucky enough to win the piss lottery.
    ....I've also pissed myself while sleeping a few times after consuming enough alcohol to possibly die, but who hasn't really
    If it's green, smoke it...if it's pink, poke it

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  13. #63
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    coming up short and knuckling on a 5.

    asshair: "nature safety net "
    http://tetongravity.com/forums/image.php?type=sigpic&userid=932&dateline=12042516  96

  14. #64
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    ive only had the fart that got away from me. I was able to clinch it off, but not before enough damage was done to where i definately had something to clean up. Lucky for me i was in a car and almost to my buddies house. It was quite funny, he's all "dude, what you do, shit your pants" hehe. Only if he knew....

  15. #65
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    I'm proud to say, ever since I quit wearing diapers, I've never "shat" myself. :bows:
    Follow me on Instagram

    brett.mcnary

  16. #66
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    If offered a hotdog in Acapulco, decline.

  17. #67
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    It took me 3 different readings to get through this topic. My wife actually made me get up and leave I was laughing so hard. She says, "Whatcha laughing at?" I says, "You don't even want to know" as I wipe the tears from my eyes.

  18. #68
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    Underway on a 110' Coast Guard Cutter in the Persian Gulf. 15-20' seas, Captain comes about so the engineers can do a round of the aft compartments and I offer to go out and clean the windows. Captain makes me wear a safety harness and clip into the hand rails that hang all the way around the top of the bridge (about 14 ft off the deck) so that I do not end up like all the dead camel rafts out there. I had been eating ALOT of that sugar-free candy, with sucralose, the night before because it made me fart ALOT and the gas totally wasted all of the 12 man berthing I racked in and occasionally this candy will cause random sharts. About half way around the bridge, while hanging and bouncing to and fro from the hand rail, I let fly the hounds and COMPLETELY shart myself while looking back into the bridge at the captain, the xo, and my immediate supervisor. I guess I made some kind of face because the captain got on the loud hailer to ask me what was wrong to which I respond that I have just shit my pants and would very much appreciate a relief so I can clean out my pants. He tells me to continue relieving myself and not to come back inside the bridge until I can contain myself. From that day forward I was the only one allowed to use that harness and it was deemed the "Sharness".
    I just sharted a couple of days ago again. Ended up tossing my favorite drawers and taking a shower. It felt like crap went all the way up to small of my back.

  19. #69
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    Quote Originally Posted by scarz111 View Post
    Underway on a 110' Coast Guard Cutter in the Persian Gulf. 15-20' seas, Captain comes about so the engineers can do a round of the aft compartments and I offer to go out and clean the windows. Captain makes me wear a safety harness and clip into the hand rails that hang all the way around the top of the bridge (about 14 ft off the deck) so that I do not end up like all the dead camel rafts out there. I had been eating ALOT of that sugar-free candy, with sucralose, the night before because it made me fart ALOT and the gas totally wasted all of the 12 man berthing I racked in and occasionally this candy will cause random sharts. About half way around the bridge, while hanging and bouncing to and fro from the hand rail, I let fly the hounds and COMPLETELY shart myself while looking back into the bridge at the captain, the xo, and my immediate supervisor. I guess I made some kind of face because the captain got on the loud hailer to ask me what was wrong to which I respond that I have just shit my pants and would very much appreciate a relief so I can clean out my pants. He tells me to continue relieving myself and not to come back inside the bridge until I can contain myself. From that day forward I was the only one allowed to use that harness and it was deemed the "Sharness".
    I just sharted a couple of days ago again. Ended up tossing my favorite drawers and taking a shower. It felt like crap went all the way up to small of my back.
    Good Times...reminded me of a Naval shit story. I was on duty on an aircraft carrier in port in San Diego and was sitting in the lounge watching TV. A guy in my division walks in with this dude slung over his shoulder that is passed out. He had found the guy in the bushes outside of the bowling alley on the base. Turns out it was his 21st and hadn't done much boozing prior to that day. The duty officer(senior guy in charge that shift) was told by medical to keep an eye on the puddle to make sure he didn't die. So we're all laughing
    and someone drags him into the bathroom cause he starts puking all over himself. The duty officer goes in the bathroom and comes out to tell us that the little girl was naked on the floor of the bathroom, in the fetal position, and shitting all over the place. This is the same bathroom where I once dropped my deodorant on the floor for half a second, then rinsed it off under boiling hot water for a long time, and ended up in medical the next day with some crazy herpes looking rash thing under my arm pits...
    If it's green, smoke it...if it's pink, poke it

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  20. #70
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    never shat myself, but on the drunk relatedness -

    Its the second time I had ever drank to drunkeness, I had something close to 6 shots of tequila and a few jacks and a rather large and potent vodka and cranberry. For a guy who has only drank a few times and only been truly drunk once that was alot, especially in the span of an an hour and a half. Anyways by the time I finish it all my world is spinning, I felt like I was sitting on the middle of a see saw that was being teetered constantly thus making me rock back and forth without being able to control any balance. Anyways me and the girlfriend head to bed for what is the longest night of my life. I wake up on the toilet (how I got there I do not know) mid throw up. Only problem is I'm sitting on the toilet not throwing up in it, but rather on my feet. By this time there is a large deposit of tequila and Jack In the Box on my feet already and is growing by the minute. An hour passes and I threw up something like 12 times during it. I don't know what time it was but I remember seeing the sun come up and finally feeling strong enough to stand up and walk in the room covered in vomit after passing out in it in the restroom (my face in it). My girlfriend helps me clean it all off of me and gets me back in the bed. I wake up later that day to her asking me if I want to go to Ikea with her and some friends, I feel like crap but I wanted to see some of my friends so I decide to tough it out. This is the first time i've ever been to Ikea, and no one warned me about polish meatballs. I work my way through the store stopping at almost every different display and trying out a chair to make sure I keep the emptiness that is in my stomach from coming out. I make it all the way through the store to the damn cafeteria where someone says "maybe you should rest in there" ... bad idea. I walk in and immediately become nausious. I get out of there as fast as my weak body can move me and think for a second that i'll be alright if I can make it through the "pick up your shit" section. WRONG I get right infront of the cashiers and it hits me, I run like i stole something for the door and as i come out i manage to spot a trash can and head straight for it, pushing some lady out of the way (she understood once she saw me) and toss up two more times.

    My girlfriend later told me that she woke up to me laying flat on my back throwing up straight in the air and it coming back down and clogging up my mouth, she had to get me out of the bed and drag my puking carcas into the bathroom. I haven't been drunk since that day/ night.

  21. #71
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    Quote Originally Posted by BlurredElevens View Post
    I'm proud to say, ever since I quit wearing diapers, I've never "shat" myself. :bows:
    You're not trying hard enough.
    Monty Python's version of the cougar phenomenon:
    "This is a frightened city. Over these houses, over these streets hangs a pall of fear. Fear of a new kind of violence which is terrorizing the city. Yes, gangs of old ladies attacking defenseless, fit young men".

  22. #72
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    While my ability to contain by butt fudge is on par with most normal humans I have two "opps I crapped my pants" worthy stories:

    1. Worcester Mass is a cold place. It is a town worn hard by decades of industry, cold wet springs and being stuck in po-dunkville. Despite this reality, Worcester is home to the Eastern Sprints- one of the finest single day rowing regatta's anywhere. For one sunday in May 15 college (16 when fucking holy cross shows up) crew teams compete for a historic championship. As a result of this yearly hoard of ravenous rowers, Worcester is also home to some sketchy buffets. In 2002 my team was having a poor year but we still had some hopes at the Sprints. In order to remain stocked with the best fuel money can buy; our rowing coach decided that the buffet in the strip mall across from our hotel was the best place to eat. In retrospect it wasn’t a wise decision.
    On Sunday morning our team converged on this building like locusts on the fields of Africa. We ate everything. Six trays of bacon. Check. Six trays of sausage. Check. Eggs...dozens. Anyway...if any of you have ever eaten buffet sausage, eggs and bacon you know your butt will walk a fine line later in that day. We didn't care however and just rolled with it.
    A few hours later we were stretching when a few of us felt that familiar rumble. The rumble that starts deep down in the cockles of you heart and says "get thee to a poopery." Thinking that it was just PRAS (Pre-Race Anxiety Shits- don't act like you don't know what this is) we all decided to hit the bathroom. To make this story short...40 minutes later when it was time to launch the boat the three of us were still there. Our Colons were somewhere in the Worcester sewage system and the 1 ply sandpaper toilet paper had rubbed a whole clear through to our heart. With no choice- we cleaned up as well as possible, put on our powder blue spandex and went to race. ....jump a head...
    5-4-3-2-1...Etes -vous prez? Partez. Power twenty...2...3....4...5....6...POOOP. 1850 meters of rowing with deuces in 4,6,7 isn't the best way to make the grand finals.

    2. When I was 19 I was flying from Paris to Philadelphia on Air France. The night before I had eaten some fried calamari across from sacred Coeur. Apparently my years as a sinner caused God or Jebus to spike this fruit of the sea with the devil’s touch. About three hours into the flight the fried crustacean came back to visit. I was so sick that I sat in the stewardess's jump seat by the bathroom for the rest of the flight. They even gave me a bathroom just to myself. Though I doubt it was ever usable again after I triple played that thing for four straight hours.
    The real problem came however when we were landing. FAA regulations require that all passengers be in THEIR seats for landing. This requires that once final approach begins all passengers must be seated in the seats matching their ticket. The jump seat near the shitter is not on my ticket. The next 30 minutes were the worst 30 minutes of my life. With every bump of that plan my colon threatened to blow. The pressure was just building and building as we circled the airport lining up the landing. Finally I couldn't take it anymore and I tried to let some "air out." Well give a hyper active GI tract and inch and it takes a mile. The poo smell quickly filled the cabin and the wet ass feeling quickly filled my mind. What to do? Do the people next to me know I pooped? Do they think it was a nasty fart? They know I'm sick right? My mind raced while my face tried to convey " Sorry for the toot, passez une bonne journe a philadelphie."
    Not knowing the damage when the plane landed I remained on board until ever other passenger had left the plane. When I got up I knew it wasn't good. My thighs were just too wet. I knew there was visible messing. Anyway…I collected my bags and trudged/waddled up the isle. When I got to the area where the pilots are they saw me and asked what was wrong. I replied in my best French that I was mal a l'estomach and pointed to my ass. Needless to say in unison they broke out laughing like only Frenchmen can. Once in the terminal I went to the bathroom, threw out my shorts, boxers and t-shirt (it was tucked in) and replaced them with new stuff from my carry on and proceeded on my way, collecting stares from everybody as I gave off an awesome smell of airline air and feces.

  23. #73
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    The Commute: Or How I Shit in a Boy Scout Campground and Ended up with Dookie All Ove

    The morning started off as usual. Get up too early. Make some coffee. Slam down some Honey Nut Cheerios. a bunch. And try to get out of the house by 6:30 for my 1 hour 15 minute commute to work. Well, already its 6:38 am as Iím giggleing my Ipod around looking for the New Deftones. I finally leave and get onto 87 and it starts pouring rain, but not bad enough that you need to do 45mph or anythingÖbut I guess I was wrong. What the hell do I know about driving in Jersey?

    So Iím sipping on my coffee in my not so new, but greatly treasured stealth black WAWA coffee cup when I feel that rumble. No, not the rumble strips on the side of the road because you are falling asleep. The dreaded Gut rumble. The sensation that sends chills up any commuterís spine. You know the one. Weíve all been there at least onceÖsome more than others. Youíre just humming along to Ah Haís ďTake on meĒ, next thing you know your white-knuckle driving trying not to fart cause you know it isnít gonna be gas coming out.There I am doing 90 on 87 in the rain trying to get to exit 18. Itís to the point where Iím actually propping myself up off the seat with my left leg so there is no pressure on my puckering heiney hole. Then all the sudden itís over. Nothing. No poo pains. No rumble. Just sweet sweet silence. I get to the exit, look at the gas station, and then continue my drive.

    Now I should know myself better by now. You see, Iím no stranger, by any means, to the commuter gut rumbles. We are good friendsÖor bitter enemies. You decide.So like a complete moron, a title I gladly accept, I continue down the back roads toward Sometown, NJ. The rumble isnít even a rumble now. Itís developed into some kind of searing pain accompanied by occasional burping. YesÖIím burping now. So itís coming and going. Teasing me like the promise of a basket of Red Lobster biscuits, only to find out they are out. Then you see a 5 year old walk by your table with one and you contemplate pushing him down and stealing it, only to realize heís a cripple and THAT wouldnít be cool. Moving on. I finally pull into Sometown, about 15 minutes late. I eye the gas station but the rumbling is gone. Where the fuck did it go!? By this point Iíve been sweating, then freezing, then rinse and repeat for about 20 minutes. I debate stopping and forcing one out, but decide Iím okay and continue on. What an idiot.

    As soon as I get on the 4 foot wide bridge, it hits me like some crazy demon spawn ready to claw out of my abdomen like Sigourney Weaver did in that movie about the Alien. I forget what it was calledÖ.Anyhoo, Iím about to crap my pants. Iíve feared this for months now, knowing full well that this day would arrive. I was bound to crap my pants on the way to work. I guess itís a trade off though. Drink coffee. Stay awake. Donít die in a fiery ball of flaming car, or crap my pants? Tough decision I know, but I chose to crap my pants. So here is my day of reckoning. All those mornings I had fought off the demon was about to come crashing down.

    Now, I donít like to just give in. Iím willing to do just about anything in my power to avoid butt mud. Through my past career as a landscaper in the Philadelphia area I developed the art of ďcommando crapping,Ē as Iíve so wittingly titled it. This is not to be confused with ďGoingĒ commando, or the act of not wearing any undies. Commando ping is the art of pooping, outside, in highly populated and developed areas. Such acts have included the back of a truck under a tarp into a bucketÖ.so you get the idea. Anyway, I got into commando mode.Scanning my memory for discreet places along the road, the demon baby growing in my stomach is now starting to pop its head out and smell the world for the first time.

    As my Ipod blares away, Megadethís ďSymphony of DestructionĒ comes on to only drive home this already ironic debacle. As Iím cursing Dave Mustaine and his infectious riffs, circa the year of our lord 1992, an idea bursts into my head. The BOY SCOUTS!!! Now, the boy scouts are always prepared. Not ever becoming a boy scout and maintaining my anal virginity to this day, I do still subscribe to this well coined phrase. The Boy Scout Camp is coming up on the right. They have a parking lot up on the hill. Hopefully a porta-john or at least some cover. Sweet baby Jesus I am saved!

    So I make the 180 degree turn up the hill into the parking lot. No porta-jon and another car. No cover cause its fall you idiot. Fuck it! My insides are done. I make a hard turn, skid to a stop and throw it in park. I grab my napkins, jump out of the still running car, and do a quick scan of the area. Whether I was ok or not, it didnít matter. I had to deliver this anal baby. Did I mention it was raining? Not thinking, I drop trou and fire projectile diarrhea all over the side of my car as I had not stopped long enough to judge the distance or the immense pressure that had been building up for 40 minutes. But god damn did it feel good. I mean REALLY good. The sweet euphoria only a fight for life dump can deliver. So I wipe my ass, look at my car, and think quietly to myself ďIt is raining!Ē Problem solved. Should just wash right off! Car still running I jump in and peel out like Burt Reynolds in that movie with the car.

    As Iím reveling in my latest Commando , it hits me. I just shit in a Boy Scout parking lot. Not in the woods. Not even close, but right in the middle. Smack dab in the middle of an empty parking lot. As I sped away down the road, it dawned on me againÖ.Itís RAINING! Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that rain cures all. I feel kind of bad about relieving myself in a parking lot, but Iím sure itís no more offensive than the decaying Opossum I just ran over. Rain washes away poo a lot easier than Opossum.I step out of my car at work expecting to see dookie covering the side of my car like flames on a hot rod, but only see the mud under my wheel wells that I kicked up while driving across someoneís lawn to avoid a broken down school bus only minutes before. Thinking to myself, I wonder if public Pooping is worse than Public Urination. Then I wonder if it was really ďPublic.Ē Now as I write this, Iíve decided to change the names of the roads, towns, and Boy Scout Camps to protect my little Pile of Poo in hopes it can get washed away and find its way back to the sea to be reunited with his family. Fair thee well Dookie.

  24. #74
    Join Date
    Mar 2007
    Location
    TGR Forum
    Posts
    522

    Sharting

    I sharted myself 3 times last week.

    Not sure if it was the Burrito cook-off that I was 2nd place in, or a case of montezuma's revenge.


  25. #75
    Join Date
    Feb 2007
    Location
    floating in that 5-10% magic
    Posts
    121
    I agree, this thread should be in the Padded Room, but….Last year on the Iron Horse Lift at Mary Jane I soiled myself something fierce. Had the massive beer shits from the night before. Only 2 towers from the top, the lift broke down for about half an hour. Needless to say, that was a long half an hour. Pretty much all moguls anywhere you go from the top of Iron Horse. Thinking I could make it down to the base, I'd hit about 5 moguls then have to stop and clinch to keep from voiding myself. 5 moguls, clinch, 5 moguls clinch, 5 moguls clinch…3 moguls clinch, 2 moguls clinch, 1 mogul clinch, aaaah shit. In hind sight, I should have just gone in the trees and saved myself a lot of trouble.
    "You know what's rrrrreal good? Cheese, dipped in cheese." - Big Rodge.

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