Anyone who has worked as a home health nurse in a rural area will relate to this question. Having to drive literally hundreds of miles just to see 3 or 4 patients a day, and when you get to their house it is a 5 star roach motel, so you don’t even consider using the facilities. Then, later in the day, you realize something is on deck so you hightail it towards the nearest town/gas station/bail bonds place but alas, it is too late. Always keep new scrubs in your car, that is my motto. A good day is when you work 12 hours and you can stop to pee at McDonalds once.
Feh, I need a new career.
The only time I remember pooping my pants is when I was about six and had diarrhea. All I really remember is that I was wearing dark blue underpants at the time and thought to myself, “Wow, you really can’t see the stain!”
My boyfriend told me a funny poop story the other day: when he was about eight and living in India, he crapped all over himself one day at school. They made him go home, and when he got outside he tried to hail a rickshaw driver, but the dude took one whiff and wouldn’t let him near his vehicle. So he had to go back into school and call his parents to pick him up. When they got there, they wouldn’t let him sit down in the car, so he had to keep standing the whole ride home. When he got home, his parents were having a party and there was a ton of people over, so his mom took him into another room and gave him a few smacks while she changed his pants.
My mom pooped her pants one time, too. We were at Disney World and her sysytem wasn’t reacting too well to the Norwegian food we’d eaten earlier. Luckily she had a washcloth with her and could use that.
(God, she’d KILL me if she knew this had gotten out…) 
Hold on a sec!
Ok, I have too.
What the hell, here is my other “I am 15 years old and I just shit my pants” story. I was at the mall with some friends and one of them farted. Someone said that they could do better and tried to do so. Me, being who I am, said that I could do better than that procedes to fart. But there was more than a fart. Everyone hears the wer sploosh of liquid shit filling my boxers. Then, one of my friends procedes to kick me in the rear, wich caused me to lose control of my bowels again. I went to the mens room and spent the next half an hour on the toilet.
Only me ex-girlfriend and I know this one, until now.
We went on a mini-vacation for a long weekend. Had a great brunch of eggs, and some other things. I mention the eggs because I think that’s what caused us to get food poisoning. After about a day I threw up, seemed to me to be everything I had eaten for two days. I got sick a few more times. Then the diarhea hit.
Diarhea or vomiting don’t care what time it is. 3:00am rolls around and that sip of water I had a few hours prior to wash my mouth out wasn’t sitting right. I got up to throw up the water and maybe some other stuff, I was vomiting for a while. Then the diarhea hit while I was throwing up, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Yep, vomiting and shitting my underwear at the same time. Expelling at both ends on my knees at 3:00 am with my new (now ex-)girlfriend 3 feet away in bed.
I felt so helpless, so beaten, so small.
mouthbreather, entirely my pleasure.
Regarding the shit-in-the-toilet-vomit-in-the-tub routine… what, do none of you people have trash cans in your bathrooms???
Yes, but have you ever witnessed one?
It was the fall of 1969. I was in 10th grade. My buddy John and I secured a case of Pfeiffer…the cheapest beer ever ($7.00 for three cases with empties). We drank a half a case each, got roaring drunk, and decided on hot dago sandwiches (extra peppers)for a night cap. We take these back to his house, consume them, and pass out.
Fast forward a few hours. I wake up thirsty as hell. I get up to get some water and see John, in his underwear, asleep on the couch. As I walk by, I hear something like, “Blurggle blorp glorp plup plup.” John has just dumped a doo doo in his BVDs.
I left.
Whoa, mama! Have I got one for you!
A few years ago, at work, I had 2 hamburgers for lunch.
They must’ve been bad meat, cuz by 8:00PM I was sick.
Tired, weak, and queazy, I asked for an early-out.
On the bus home, it hit me…HARD.
I ran up to the bus driver and asked/begged/COMMANDED him to open the door so I could blow chunks.
He tells me"I cannot open the door while the vehicle is in motion."
“If you don’t open this fuckin’ door RIGHT NOW I am gonna puke all over your dashboard!”, I screamed at him.
At 35MPH the door opens, and I hurl technicolor all over a passing cadillac, and pass a MASSIVE hershey squirt in my
work pants.
Very hot, wet, slimy bile, passed from both ends, simultaneously.
HEAVE/SQUIRT
HEAVE/SQUIRT
Heave/squirt
heave/squirt
heave/squirt
heave/squirt
heave/squirt
OHHHHH-MAN, I had completely emptied myself, ON myself.
As soon as the bus stopped, I got off without a word and walked the rest of the way home…I was not about to look anybody in the eye.
The seat of my pants were saturated, and felt the liquid
shit drip down both legs, to my ankles.
I made it to my back door a half an our later, feeling my thighs chafe, and stripped naked in the darkness, lest I drip a trail over the new rugs (not an easy feat in 45 F degree weather).
Wiping myself off the best I could with my unsoiled t-shirt,
I left my clothes on the back borch and went inside to take a shower for half an hour.
Though I was empty, I still had dry-heaves all night long.
Good thing I had the next 2 days off.
** Holy Cow that was YOU!! ** Damn… I have heard that story… crap I have friends who was there. You poor bastard. To make matters worse I do believe pictures were taken of that night. 
**Raising Hand **
When I was 6 months pregnant with my son, it was after Christmas and New Year’s and one of the charming thrills of being pregnant is constipation. Considering my pregnancies are a walk in the park, I’ll take being corked up.
I had not gone poop in least a week (If not 10 days) and hadn’t even noticed it. (OK, maybe I was a little crabby.)
It’s the end of the work day. I have a 45 minute drive home and I mentally ask myself “Do I have to go to the bathroom.”
My bladder and colon check in with negative responses and I Hit the road.
The second I am on the highway, the urge to poop starts, very lightly and “I figure, no problem, Six exits and then twenty minutes from there. I can make it home.”
Naturally, I hit a traffic jam and by the time that clears up - about 30 v-e-r-y l-o-n-g minutes, I am in tears ( me, in tears? I didn’t even cry in labor.) and trying to figure out what exit has the closest fast food place for me to get to from the exit. Answer: MY exit, which is still 5 away, which seems like a mirage in the desert by then.
I figure if I just fart it will take some of the pressure off…nope, I just pooped my pants while driving and the pressure got worse. LOVELY. I had a All that Christmas and New Year’s binge eating food just waiting to come out. Oh Joy. Several more little toots, same result. “Thank god for leather seats”
I cannot hear the music on the radio I am clenching my teeth so hard.
By the time I made it to McDonalds: The Rest Stop Of The Nation [sup]TM [/sup] I wobble into the restroom do my business, which took probably a half hour and I will say this proudly that:
**A)**It was without parallel, the best poop of my life
B) It was the most I’ve ever pooped
** C)** I left my underpants (which being pregnant, I was wearing my husband’s underwear rather than buy ugly yucky maternity stuff) in the trash there ( which is the second time I’ve done that at McDonalds (the other time was a “That Time Of The Month” incident which I don’t think I need to go into details for that, but how is that for a visual?)
Rysdad, it’s all your fault… I just had to post how much I was laughing over this:
Those sound effects just KILLED me!
And to answer the question, yes…
I was doing my paper route, and felt the urge to do the inevitable… I thought I’d have enough time to get home, so I didn’t ask anyone if I could use their washroom. Bad idea.
As soon as I walked in the door, clenching my buttcheeks all the way home, I let loose… running all the way to the upstairs bathroom, I noticed that I had left little brown stains on the stairs. Of course, I didn’t want to clean them up right away (having more pressing matters to deal with), so I ran to the bathroom and locked the door shut. Yup, there it was, down my leg and my pants too… to say nothing of how my underwear looked! :eek:
My mom and sister came home a while later (I was still in the bathroom), and I could hear my sister saying: “What is that smell? Is it POO?!?” I swear I’m as immature as Zette is, in that I seem to find toilet humo, poo, farts, etc. funny… so I naturally started laughing! Okay, so it wasn’t very funny, but that my gut reaction! (no pun intended)
Oh, the humiliation! Unfortunately, I hadn’t finished my paper route yet, and my sibs weren’t willing to finish it for me (boy, was I ever :mad: at them); having to wear a large adult diaper is NOT fun! (I took at least one or two Immodium before I perforce went out to finish my paper route)
P.S. You can still see minor poop stains on the bottom stairs if you look closely. (they’re grey carpeted stairs, so I guess that was better than white steps…)
Now, why am I hitting “Submit”?
The best story my dad ever told me:
While in the Air Force stationed over in Germany him and several buddies were coming home from a long night of drinking. One of his friends begs to be let out of the car (a VW Beetle) on the way home so he can take care of business by the side of the road.
They stop, let him out, and after waiting several minutes, manuever the car so that the headlights are shining on this guy so they can hassle him for taking so long.
They catch him in process, so to speak, crouched with his pants around his ankles, squeezing a chocolate turtle out. However, he’s so drunk he doesn’t realize that he’s not bent over far enough. The turd ends up in his pants, which he promptly pulls up and buckles without even noticing!
They didn’t let him back in the car.
I don’t remember having fudged my shorts since I was about six. I shit during spelling one morning and after incubating it like a rotton egg all day in my little chair it was flattened in back and pressed into a long triangle between my butt cheeks so that it looked like a big Toblerone bar. The Susy Bake Oven that was my pants had made it hard as a rock by the time I got home and I’m sure that given a skateboard, it probably would have made a pretty decent ramp.
Nope, but I came reeeeeeeeeeeeeal close last night, shortly after dinner (teriyaki chicken) while mowing the lawn. Didn’t even have time to sit on the toilet before the par-tay started - fortunately, my aim was true and the splattering was kept to a minimum.
My apologies if any of that is TMI.
I will never eat Toblerone again.
Damn! That man can WRITE!!!
Great visuals, as always, lieu!
Quasi
Yup, Yup.
My then g/f and I went away for our first vacation together. We went out for a brunch the first morning, and we proceeded to get food poisoning. It didn’t hit until the next day, but I was a heaving real good. Up every half hour or so.
She’s in one bed, I’m in the other. About 3 I need to purge again. So here I am, throwing up everything I’ve eaten for the last 2 days and I feel the need to purge from the other end too, diarhea decided to make an appearance. I can’t exactly stop and turn around, so I do the ole’ cheek squeeze. Works good for about 2 seconds-my mind was elsewhere. I just couldn’t keep the cheeks together anymore and all of sudden it starts coming out the back end and I know there is nothing I can do to stop it. So here I am thowing up and shitting my underpants and I have never felt so low in my life-emitting from both ends and no way to stop it. This seemed to go on forever, and all I can think of is ‘this is a wonderful way to impress my g/f’. I finally stop, wash my mouth out good enough, and then stop and think what the hell I’m gonna do with my soiled underpants. It wasn’t just a little bit, it was a load! So I take them off and I start to wash them in the shower. I didn’t want to make too much noise, and it was a hopeless cause anyway, so I decide to just bury them in some toilet paper and hide them in the little wastebasket they put in the bathroom. Wipe my ass a bit, and then go back to bed.
She wakes up in the morning (she claims she didn’t hear me, I can’t believe that) and asks where my underpants are. I say “You don’t want to know”. I finally spilled the beans, so to speak, so humiliated.
I have an “almost” story to tell. On one of our family’s many Providence to Long Island car trips we stopped along I-95 to eat lunch at McDonalds. Well, since my gallbladder surgery, eating McDonald’s has always been a risky proposition. It was a chance I shouldn’t have taken that day because no sooner had we gotten on the road, me behind the wheel, than the cramps began. I am not sure if the rest stop where we ate was the last one, but there wasn’t another one right away. To add to the fun, I was a very inexperienced highway driver at the time. Luckily I saw a sign for Trumbull, CT and the Trumbull Mall fairly soon after the pain began and, even more luckily, I was able to get over and I found the mall, ran into Lord and Taylor, found the bathroom and did what needed to be done. Thank God, because I don’t know what’s more embarrassing, shitting my pants in front of my husband or telling him what size pants to go in and buy for me.
To this day, I refer to that episode as the rumble in Trumbull.
Just once. I promised myself that I’d never mention it to another, but yes. I was in high school, and I had the flu. Ugh.