Well, I didn’t shit my pants, but only because I wasn’t wearing any. I was recovering from surgery, so my innards weren’t functioning properly. So, I decided to abuse my innards even more by taking some Exlax, because that Metamucil just wasn’t working fast enough.
I’m thankful for 3 things:[ol]
[li]I was home alone[/li][li] Hardwood floors[/li][li] My butt firming exercises[/li][/ol]
I can’t seem to find it, but I’m sure I didn’t just dream it up. Anyway, a long-time poster (who exactly this was is eluding me at the moment, otherwise I could probably find it) said something to the effect that his ass was so hairy that his wife called him “Chewy,” as in Chewbacca. He also said that he would never ever tell any of his friends this. So, Lynn Bodoni (again, can’t recall for sure, but I think that’s right) took the liberty of actually changing his username to Chewy for a few days. The poster then went into mock outrage, but it was taken seriously by most, who were all surprised at this outburst. It was all quite entertaining, and I wish I could find the thread now, but that’s the condensed story.
It’s only bad for the first few minutes where it feels like your urethra is going to try and kill you in your sleep. Then it gets worse when you turn around and see the cat staring at you and you just KNOW there’s a thought bubble there that says “That was really elegant. Did you need those opposable thumbs for that, or was it just pure skill and grace on your part?”
In related news, I no longer try to find socks while hung over.
Er.
I’ll just back myself into this corner over here.
Ah, sorry. I only had claim to 1/3 of that six pack; not nearly enough beer to give details!
Hope you are feeling better in the a.m.
An old friend of mine was in Manhattan. He felt a really big fart coming on and ducked into an alleyway to let loose. Of course he was rewarded with a turd for his troubles. He went into the first bar he could find, ordered a beer, went to the bathroom and threw away the soiled underwear (and turd). Went back to his barstool, had his beer, and felt much better.
Just a little suggestion for someone that has been in the exact same situation, get a cordless phone. They work in the bathroom too.
Public Service Announcement: Farts aren’t lumpy.
This happened to me in the car, drivng home. Luckily (1) it wasn’t enough to come through to the car seat, and (2) I was 2 miles from home. I got home, ran upstairs, undressed in the shower, showered, washed clothes, and cleaned the shower. Ugh.
I guess that answers the question, “What can Brown do for you?”
I posted this recently in another thread: I’d been on a clear liquid diet, with the occasional protein drink, for several days. As you can guess, not much was going on in the way of BM’s, but what there was, was almost purely liquid. One evening, I felt a bit gassy, and since I was alone, I let it out.
I learned a lesson that night–when following such a diet, NEVER assume it’s just gas!
Whifton_Polekitty, all I can say is Ow. Ow ow ow!
First, a round of thanks
To JimSox5 for composing what has got to be the most inherently funny two-word sentence in the English language: “I shit.” then following it up, amidst a well-written scatalogical anecdote, with the gem “Excuse me, but I have to go. I shit my pants.”
To Anastasaeon, without whom the phrase “I puked my pants” would hithertofore gone unconsidered.
To Whifton_Polekitty for a most concise anecdote that simultaneously serves as a warning to naked computing which I will forevermore seriously heed, while at the same time causing literal tears of laughter.
Now, for my humble contribution:
I was suffering from diarrhea at the time - although I was as yet unaware of this fact. It was summer. I was wearing shorts. The whole family was cleaning out the garage one fine July morning. Birds were singing. Kitties were joyously playing in the front yard. I coughed. A 5" puddle formed. Everyone froze and stared. Somewhere, off in the distance, an cricket chirped.
I don’t have a personal shit the pants story, but there was a time I was soooo constipated that I wished I could have shit my pants.
I, however, have two stories of friends that have shit themselves.
Friend the first; got so high on his honeymoon in Jamaica (he never smoked before, or since) that he passed out in the hotel room and shit the bed.
“Dan, you want a pull?”, “No thanks, not since I shit the bed.”
Friend the second; This fellow was actually a workmate. The crew and myself noticed that he was walking a little funny after a lenghy bought of gas. He disappeared shortly and returned about 45 minutes later wearing different pants. We put 2 and 2 together, (he shat himself and went home to change, living only a few minutes from the job site) but never approached him about it.
Good times.
I tried to search, to no avail, but I’m pretty sure the poster in question was Incubus.
It was Scylla, I think.
Jim, are you over 50? If so, you forgot Rule Number One:
Never trust a fart.
No, I’m at the young age of 19, where my body is supposed to still be simply plotting to get me, but not yet be able to do it. However, my defenses failed miserably.
And thank you for your appreciation, Nature’s Call (and as an aside, how appropriate a user name for this thread), I try to impress with my eloquence when I can.
Isn’t it Philip Seymour Hoffman, in some forgettable movie, who says “I sharted”, when he thought he was just going to pass gas but got a lumpy surprise instead?
Shouldn’t the OP title be “I shat”? Or is that not correct past tense?
I dunno, would it be “I shatted” instead?
I have…a story.
One time Mr. AFG and I were out shopping. On the bus on the way back he remarked that he really had to go to the washroom. He shifted around in obvious discomfort until we got off at our stop, then reiterated that he really had to go. We still had a 20 minute walk back to the apartment, so I said he should just go shit in the woods if he had to go that bad. It was mid-winter at the time though, and he turned that offer down. We walked as quickly as we could back to the house, when he announced that he had to run or he wasn’t going to make it. So he sprinted ahead of me.
When I got in the door he was already in the washroom. I called out, “Did you make it?”
He replied, “Yeah…but I made a little bit of a…mess.”
Fear crept over me. “What kind of a “mess”?” I demanded.
“Um…” was his only reply.
I grudgingly entered the washroom. He was standing there, pants around his ankles, looking sheepish. There was an incredible/horrible sight before me.
Shit.
All over the toilet seat.
All down the side of the toilet.
All over the floor around the toilet.
Sprayed up the back of the toilet lid and tank.
All over the side of the bathtub.
Splashed against the side of the counter.
Shot up the back of his shirt.
I gaped at him in disbelief.
“Assplosion,” he said quietly.
Shirley , you just made my list.
That is now officially the fourth funniest thing that I’ve ever read on the Dope.