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View Full Version : In This Thread, we post poop stories that are hilarious and perhaps gross, but true.


Car Key Boi
Nov 17th, 2002, 04:20 PM
They don't have to be your own stories, but they must be true.

The following story is one that happened to my good friend Hubcap Boi, and I know it's 100% true because I was there.

I've also got a great story from another good friend I Shit In Your Convertable Boi, but it needs some work, his grammer and composition is all over the place.

Anyway, here is Hubcap Boi's poop story and it's hilarious, although a little gross.




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 a 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 so 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."

Now the guys will know what I mean by "The Move" but for any 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 taking a dump 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 pooing 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 the 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 and Car Key Boy 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 and Car Key came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in their voices. I explained to them (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed their help.

Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, my wife probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked Car Key, I'm sure she had no idea that he 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.

Car Key left to get the new clothes and my wife 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. 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 or 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, Car Key returned 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 Car Key who disposed of it.

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 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, Car Key and 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.

- Hubcap Boi

Dahveed
Nov 17th, 2002, 04:30 PM
ugh it's too long, i don't have the courage to read it!

CC
Nov 17th, 2002, 04:52 PM
I'm was braver than you, then. But now I wonder if that was a good thing.

Car Key Boi
Nov 17th, 2002, 06:56 PM
As promised, here is I Shit In Your Convertable Boi's poop story, again this is 100% true, his wife confirmed it to me.



My wife and I went over to my old bosses house in a rather affluent neighborhood in Atlanta. The dinner party was for about 12 people, just like you guys, all refined people with good jobs and money coming out of their asses, that is except for me. 6 years of college has qualified me to drive a truck over the road. Its not a bad life but rough on the body. This becomes relevant to my story in that if you ask any trucker what the roughest part of the job is, he'll tell you its keeping on a regular shit schedule. Out on the road you are either constipated or you got shit practically running down your leg. During my vacation south, I was so fucking constipated I thought I was going to die.
My wife and I got to the party and I knew right away I was in trouble. I hadn't shit for about 3 days yet I was farting badly. I knew I was a bomb waiting to go off. Shortly after we arrived, the host lit the fuse. She served these fucking hors d'ouvres that were full of some kind of fish and garlic shit. One bite was all it took to break my long suffering bowels loose. As delicately as I could, I grabbed the ass of my pants and went in search of a shitter. The one in the hall was occupied so I figured there had to be one off a bedroom, so I made my way to the master bedroom and found one.

As soon as my ass hit that seat all hell broke loose. I swear I thought the first huge gaseous explosion scorched the porcelain. I sat there dumping out what can best be described as the motherlode of all shits. This son of a bitch was as big around as a beer can and as long as a goddamn loaf of bread. The hardest part was the first 6 inches. Any trucker will tell you that bouncing around on the air seat all day has a rather interesting effect on your shits. To see this, take some Play-Doh and roll it into a shit sized log, then bang the end on a table. Trust me, trying to pinch that blunted end out of your ass is no picnic.

Anyway, after all the crap was gone, I was very weak and needed to rest, so I just sat there on the shitter. As I was sitting, I ripped off about 6 or 8 loud, wet farts. They were brutal in both sound, smell, and texture. Soon, I figured I had been away from the party long enough, so with one last thunderous fart I got up. As soon as I looked in the toilet I knew I was in for trouble. Even this high priced, super powered toilet had no chance of choking down that wad. I flushed that sucker and nothing happened. Not one peice of shit went down the pipe. I looked all over for a plunger to no avail. I did see a toothbrush on the counter and figured no one would ever know, so I used the handle to bust up the shit logs. Man, I stuffed that bastard all the way as far as I could down the trap of the toilet, breaking up crap as I went. Finally, I gave the toilet one more flush, and with a mighty gulp, the shit of a lifetime went away. I rinsed off the toothbrush and went back to the party.

It was strange, as I went into the dining room everyone looked rather pale, and I noticed a somewhat noxious stench in the room. Thinking that someone must have farted, I went about my business of eating dinner. Conversation was non existant and no one would look me in the eye. Shortly, the host left the table to use the bathroom. It was then I realized what was going on. As she entered the same bathroom I had used, you could hear everything she did. It turns out that the contractor that built the house was a real dumbshit. To save time and money he linked some of the ductwork together. The shitter I used and the kitchen shared a common wall, so this asshole tied the bathroom fan duct and the range hood duct together. As well as amplifying any noise in the bathroom, if the bathroom fan was running and the kitchen's was not, the exhaust from the bathroom emptied into the kitchen. So, those poor people not only heard me crapping my brains out, the smell was dumped directly into the eating area.

My wife and I left soon thereafter and on the way to the hotel she told me all about what happened. She said the hostess almost passed out when I let the first blast go, and everytime I farted, the other guests practically jumped out of their seats. I guess the metal ductwork was like a megaphone so it sounded like I was taking a shit inside a metal trashcan.
Even though I did have a good laugh, I feel bad since I have never been invited to their house again. That's okay since I can't look her in the face without remembering that the toothbrush she uses on her pearly white's was the same one I used to bust up my shit.

- I Shit In Your Convertable Boi

Car Key Boi
Nov 18th, 2002, 12:07 AM
This was posted on the tennisrulz board by someone named 'Bernoldi' so I can't testify if it's true or not, but as a former native of NYC it certainly rings true.




I believe Gazza's story to be true. Sometimes the most extraordinary situations can happen to us that is beyond the imagination of the human mind. I know this because a similar embrassing event happened to me.

It was about three years ago. I was on public transportation coming back from the hospital. I was sick as a dog with the flu for about a week, I was very weak and had uncontrollable diarea. I did everything I could to clear myself out for the long bus ride but it didn't help. A car darted in front of the bus, the driver slammed on his breaks and threw everyone forward and that's all it took for me to let loose.

Fortunately, nobody was sitting next to me at the time and the windows were closed so it didn't float around. I kept my legs together as tightly as I could and stayed very still. Then we come to a stop where tons of people got on and I was scared but I had to get home. There was no way I was getting off in my condition. Everyone gets on and nobody is the wiser until some dick widely opens a window two rows up. I cringed as someone sat next to me but it seemed ok or at least nobody said anything. Human shit on public transport isn't so unusual, at least not in New York.

Then we come to another stop and all these highschool kids get on. People are standing up the bus is so full and adjacent to me (I was sitting next to the window) were these two black girls being really loud and yelling to their friends. Then it happened. One of the girls says, "Damn nigga, you smell that? That's human." the other, "some motherfucka done shit on the bus again. I'm so tired of these fuckas just takin a shit where the damns well please." A big gust of wind blows in through the window and they're still goin on. People are plugging their noses at this point.

Then someone at the back says, "You right. That's some nasty shit comin from up there and it's gettin worse. I can't stands it. Whoowhee!" After another gust of wind the girls figure it out. They look at me funny, I try to ignore them. The woman in the back asks again where it's comin from and a couple others chime in. By now it's about 10 people, mostly black, screaming around. Then one of the girls points at me and says, "It you ain't it?" She yells, "That's the ganky muthafucka right there. RIGHT THERE!" She points at me and all eyes are on me, people turn around pluging their noses and making faces in disgust. She continues, "Yeah, we know it's you ya dirty bastard." What the fucks yo problem taking a shit on the bus? Dint yo mama teach you no manners, huh!?" The other girl chimes in, "You still need yo mama to wipe your ass fo you? Damn punk assed bitch, get the fuck off this bus!"

Other people started yelling for me to get off the bus or at least for someone to close the window. I was frozen in terror and just stared out the window like I heard nothing. This went on for a good five or six blocks and I couldn't take it anymore. The person sitting next to me got off so I quickly got off too, 10 blocks from my destination. What a painful walk home it was.

THE most embarrassing moment of my life.

-Bernoldi

Berlin_Calling
Nov 18th, 2002, 03:01 AM
OMG THESE ARE SOO FUCKIN SICK BUT HILARIOUS!!!

Richie77
Nov 18th, 2002, 04:21 AM
Oh boy...that was really gross, but funny at the same time!

BasicTennis
Nov 18th, 2002, 05:14 AM
yeah....grossly funny indeed.:D

Car Key Boi
Nov 18th, 2002, 10:35 PM
Let me give you all the poop on the strangest fad to hit greater Gastronomia in many a moon.

300 bucks a pound for coffee made from beans pulled out of cats' turds.

http://www.accessatlanta.com/ajc/living/food/1102/18coffee.html

The Indonesian palm civet -- a catlike carnivore also known as a luwak -- prowls the coffee plantations of Sumatra and eats only the ripest cherries from the trees. It digests the juicy red fruit covering the beans but not the beans themselves, which pass undisturbed through the creature's gastrointestinal tract.

Well, nearly undisturbed: The beans ferment from the enzymatic action of luwak stomach acids -- an all-natural process that neatly mirrors the efforts of coffee processors who ferment premium beans before roasting them in order to lower their acidity. The luwak leaves its black gold on the jungle floor, where it is eagerly collected by locals.

Before long, the extracted beans make their way to J. Martinez & Company Coffee Merchants of Atlanta, where they sell -- sell out, routinely -- to customers willing to pony up $300 a pound for this rarest of coffee treats.

Company President John Martinez sells Kopi Luwak ("coffee from the luwak") to accounts as far away as Taiwan and to epicures as notable as actor John Cleese.

And to locals such as Rick Lang of Marietta, who orders Kopi Luwak "a half-dozen times a year." Lang brings out the treat, dark and steaming, for holidays, festivities and family gatherings. "It's very distinctive, like nothing I've ever encountered," he enthuses. "I think it has sort of an almond taste."

Kiwi_Boy
Nov 18th, 2002, 10:45 PM
ROTFLMFAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!
sick,vile and valgar!,but sooooooo funny ! :D

Kiwi_Boy
Nov 18th, 2002, 11:03 PM
the only poop story i lived through was undobtebly one of the most horrible moments in my life!

i was flying across to australia,it was a full flight,the flight seemed ordinary untill the flight attendant declared one of the three loo's on board had become "out of order". (right after dinner had been surved aswell)
anyway i had to use one of the w/c's and when i entered i lifted the seat and exited that vile little cubicle as fast as i could looking rather pale no dobt,lets just say 120 people had to share one w/c

DutchieGirl
Nov 19th, 2002, 03:05 AM
euh! Those must have taken forever to write! lol I only read the first one... that was enough! *eww*

Car Key Boi
Nov 21st, 2002, 02:22 AM
I almost forgot this one. This one is Gazza's story. Gazza is the biggest freak that I have ever met on the internet. He posts at another tennis forum and just be thankful that he doesn't post here. If you think I'm a freak, well, you aint seen nothing yet. Gazza is just a total fruit.

Anyway, I was going to tidy up grammer and composition but I haven't had time. The only enhancement I've added is a reference to the Sword of Damocles.




My brother works for Fed-Ex and therefore he works irregular days and weekends. Anyways he skipped off a Saturday, made some bullshit excuse about being sick and calls me up and asks if I want to go out on our step-mom's boat. My brother gets on well with our step-mom. I do not. Anyhows, we borrow the boat and stocked up with plenty of beer and also Bill had brought some high grade weed with him. So we're drinking Buds and smoking weed when all of a sudden I was desperate to do a dump, but there's no goddamn latrine., normally the boat has one of those chemical ones but it was gone, maybe getting replaced or serviced or whatever it is you have to do every now and then.

Also we were on a canal and there were buildings overlooking the banks so I couldn't just stick my butt out over the side of the boat and let go with the depth charges. So we moored up and I ran for the nearest bush to get cover.

So I'm squatting down and I'm pushing this big FAT turd and it was about half way out my ass when I heard this woman's voice screaming at me. I turns around, with the turd still dangling like the Sword of Damocles, and I see this NUN leaning out the window of this building and man she's just freaking out like you wouldn't believe, I just panicked and ran/hopped towards the boat with this big turd still dangling out my ass and my pants still around my ankles. By the time I get to the boat the turd has dropped off and landed in my pants but I didn't care I just wanted to get outta there as fast as possible. I scrambled onto the boat screaming at Bill to cast off and get us moving. By now my pants are covered in it and it's all over the deck of the boat.

I threw my pants in the canel there was no way I was going to take them home and wash them and thank god there was a pair of shorts that belonged to my dad on the boat. The deck of the boat was gross and we got the jet wash from the garage to blast it off. I wanted to leave it so that my step-mom would freak out when she saw it but she lent the boat to Bill so we had to clean it. I can't stand my step-mom. I think she's an absolute piece of shit and I'm tempted to go back when she's out and crap on her boat again only this time on purpose.

-Gazza