Thai Heaven?
Good food.
My family and I sometimes go on a sort of pilgrimage that takes place in my grandpa’s hometown of cedral mexico. It is right at the base of the mountain where real de catorce is. it is an all night affair 10-12 hour hike up the mountain to the church in real. a lot of people go from all over mexico real fun. well now to the meat of the story. we were on the final leg about 30 minutes from reaching the entrance to the tunnel in real when i get the most goddawful cramps and know i just have to go then and there. the only problem is we were on this small narrow path with tons of people coming up it. to the sides was a sheer drop and a cliff wall. well other than shitting on the wall or the path itself i hang my ass over the edge and jettison my fetid load. mind you this is with people, lots of people, walking by not 2-3 feet away staring in horror at a man whimpering with tears in his eyes. needles to say my family said we’ll wait up top for you. i had to dispose of my underwear and later when we were back at the house my pants.
A few weeks ago, I was in the ladies’ room at WalMart. Every time I go in there to lay cable, the place turns into Grand Central Station, and this time was no exception. Since I’d let some of the pressure off, I decided to leave and come back later, because I just HATE having an audience. As soon as I vacated the stall, this woman rushes in, slams the door, and says QUITE loudly, “Oh, thank you, Lawd, for lettin’ me get to the tawlet!” (I live in the South, you know.) Then she says to the woman who came in with her (the room, not the stall), “Did you hear what I said? I said thank you for lettin’ me get to the tawlet, cause I got to SHEE-ut!” By now, I’m biting my lip to keep from laughing, but then she went into loud, prolonged grunts and groans: “HUNNNNNHHHHHHHH!!! huUUUUUNNNNNNHHhhhh!!! huh–UUUUUNNNNNHHHHHH!!!” I mean, like she was giving birth, or something! I kept expecting Peter Funt to show up and tell me I was on Candid Camera!
I barely made it out of the restroom and down the aisle before cracking up!
Augusten Burroughs’s *Running with Scissors * has some lovely anecdotes about how a crazy psychiatrist, who IIRC was his adopted father, who thought his faces was a sign from God and every morning got his daughter to fish them out of the toilet and put them into the sun to dry.
Last year I got some kind of stomach infection (the doc never did figure out exactly what it was) and I had the runs worse than I ever have. I decided to go to sleep since I was feeling so awful. Well, a couple of hours later, I woke up and figured I must have a really bad fever, since I was soaking wet. I got up to go to the bathroom, and I discovered I was only wet from the waist down. That’s right, folks - I pooped the bed without even knowing it!! :eek: Luckily, I’d been going so much there was not much “substance” to it. Then my poor husband had to come and clean it up for me while I spent the next 2 hours on the toilet. I was on all kinds of drugs for the next couple of weeks, thank goodness!!
Been saving this one for a really good lieu thread, but now seems as good a time as any.
I was sitting in the bathroom doing my thing at work. I heard someone come in and enter the other stall. A moment later, I heard the clank of someone who was obviously heavy drop themselves onto the toilet. I wondered if it was a certain customer who is known to use our facilities quite often. She’s a sweet woman, but she has IBS. I sympathize with her plight, but the fact that she advertises it to anybody who will listen kinda creeps me out.
I was finishing when suddenly came the most horrendus sound I have ever heard in a bathroom. I can’t even describe it. I fully expected to hear shards of the bowl hitting the floor and water flowing everywhere. I did not hesitate. I got out of there as fast as I could. I didn’t stop to wipe and I was still pulling up my pants when I hit the door out of the bathroom.
Wanting to find out if it was her, I walked down the hall into the employee break room and picked up a section of the newspaper. When the door opened, I looked over the top of the paper. Yup, it was her. I looked at her and she looked at me. Neither one of us has said a word about it and I never will.
lieu: Since I am new to the boards, I was not graced with knowing your incredible stories of the produce generated from your anus. I must say that I don’t think I have laughed and cried so much in one sitting. BRAVO! 
I don’t have any poopy stories, so I really have nothing to contribute to this thread. Sorry!
After an evening of beer and over-spiced mexican food a while ago, I awoke and nearly shat my guts out. Torrents of rank liquid, burning ring of fire, the whole 9 yards. I get into the shower, wash my hair, all the usual stuff and then I feel a tiny fart coming on.
I figured what’s the worst that could happen? So I let it out. It was silent. I then felt something on the back of my legs and looked down, yep I crapped all over the back of my leg. I was in the shower so I frantically cleaned it off. In the course of cleaning it off, I felt another urgency that was surely not a fart. Should I leap out of the shower soaking wet, possibly crack my skull and try to make it to the toilet? I had already just shat in the shower anyway, so I let it out.
Having taken a bowel-emptying crap previously, then gambled and lost, there couldn’t be that much left right? Of course there was. I unleashed an unholy stream of reddish-brown, chunky, steaming diarrhea into my shower. Since the last experiment ended up on my leg, I figured gravity would do it’s job, but even the forces of nature were against me.
The bath faucet and shower cotrol, as well as most of the adjoining walls were absolutely covered in shit. The faucet looked like it had been spray-coated with some sort of industrial fecal foamer. Oh, shit. I just shit all over everything! Lot’s of frantic water splashing, butt cleansing and swearing later, I noticed another little problem. Seems that shower drains can’t quite handle the log-jams that a toilet can.
The water in the tub (polluted with all manner of last night’s dinner) was slowly rising above my toes. So, now I’m basically standing in the equivalent of a massive toilet, poo and all. The water just won’t stop rising and I couldn’t turn the water off because there was still crap on the control knob. Finally I cleaned the knob off and stood there in diarrhea-water for a minute or so to see if the water would drain. After what seemed like an eternity, it did. I was not enjoying the thought of having to explain to my roommate why the tub was filled with shit.
I haven’t been truly panicked like that for quite some time.
Bad link?
Working in a hospital gets you lots and lots of these. My friends and family are sick to death of poop stories.
My favourite (because it happened to someone else) is the orderly who had the horrible luck to have a colostomy bag burst all over his sporty new shoes… his reaction was priceless, as were the frequent outbursts from him as he attempted to clean 'em.
Patients with dementia are pretty good for stories like that too:
“You’re in a chair on wheels now, you’re NOT over the toilet so don’t go yet!”
“…toilet?” <bbbmmppphhht>
“Crap.”
I was flipping through my pathophysiology textbook and accidentally got to a whole section, complete with photos and diagrams, of prolapsed vaginas. I think it burnt out my already high grossoutometer threshold.
nah, just messin’ with ya with a fakeroo. 
Wana see the real one?
No poop story here but a humorous sequential thread title:
It’s gross. It’s WAY TMI. Your poop stories.
Best way to stain guard furniture.
The weightlifter?
Yup!
I had a discussion with my wife, not so long ago.
The whole thing starts in midconversation when she asks me just what things there ARE that guys discuss that they won’t discuss with women around.
“Lots of things,” I said. “Hell, I know for a fact there are things women won’t discuss with men around.”
“So how do you know about them?” she asked archly.
“Because INDIVIDUAL women will discuss various things with men, depending on the woman in question and the man in question. Happens all the time. I’m not sayin’ there are any Great Deep Man-Secrets out there; I’m just sayin’ there are things men generally don’t discuss with women.”
“Mm-hm,” she said. “The words ‘deep’ and ‘men’ don’t necessarily belong in the same sentence, dear. What things, precisely, do men discuss with each other that they don’t discuss with women? Or are you afraid the Man Club will come after you if you break the Law Of Silence?”
“Honey, it’s not like that at all,” I said. “There’s things that even the dumbest man knows better than to bring up with women around.”
“Mm-hm,” she said again with that yeah-right look on her face. “Name one.”
“Well,” I said, “there was the time that old roommate of mine was lighting his own farts and accidentally set his pants on fire. That’s not something you generally share on a date.”
“Mm-hm,” she said. “And you posted that one on half the internet. It’s safe to assume that women would see it there.”
“Well, it’s not the same thing,” I said, feeling a bit persecuted. “It’s text, and it’s the internet, it’s not spouting off over lunch and coffee with the people at work.”
“Mm-hm. And I personally know you’ve used that story to get more than a few free drinks over the years, and I sincerely doubt you restricted yourself to male listeners.”
I said nothing. She had me there.
“So, precisely, what are these things that men don’t discuss with women? Even the dumbest men?”
…and then, it came to me. “When was the last time a man – a male friend or rommmate, for example – yelled at you from the bathroom, ‘COME AND LOOK AT THIS!’ ?”
She looked at me. “Huh?”
“Come and look at this,” I cried, falling into character. “This thing is fraggin’ HUGE! Must be TWO FEET LONG, at least!”
She looked at me, still not getting it.
“So whaddaya want me to come look at?” I replied to my own question.
“Come look at THIS!” I cried, answering myself.
“What am I coming to look at?” I said, pantomiming reading a newspaper.
“You GOTTA come see this, man!” I answered myself again. “I ain’t gonna flush it until you’ve SEEN this motherhonker!”
A look of slow, horrified comprehension crept across her face, as I gestured and jabbered at her.
“Man, I’ve SEEN a turd before,” I said, still pantomiming the newspaper.
“Man, you AIN’T seen THIS one!” I cried, filled with enthusiasm and pride. “Man, you could sell ADMISSION to see THIS one!”
“You sayin’ your turds are that impressive?” I said, still reading my paper.
“Dude, THIS one is!” I burbled. “GET UP! You have GOT to come SEE this thing!”
She stared at me, refusing to believe, refusing to relinquish that one thing left her to cling to, to save her sanity.
*“You ain’t gonna flush it until I come and look, are you?” * I said, irritably folding my imaginary newspaper.
“I don’t think I CAN flush it,” I said, suddenly doubtful. “I mean, I can flush, but I’m pretty sure it won’t go DOWN!”
*“Man, break it up with the damn toilet brush,” * I said, putting aside my newspaper and rising from my imaginary recliner.
“Dude, I keep telling you, this is NO ordinary log,” I said, with some trepidation. “I mean, we may need to send a crew in with wet suits and chainsaws.”
“Yeah, yeah, heard it before,” I said. *“Every guy says his is bigger–” * I stopped short as I sauntered into the imaginary restroom. I glanced down. My eyes bugged. I blinked four times. “Holy SHAT!”
“That’s what I TOLD you, man!” I said, filled with pride once more.
“Daaaaaaamn…” I said, in tones of awe. “Jeez… we’re talkin’ force ten MagnoTurd, here, dude.”
She made a strangled *hsnsnkkk! * sound, the sound a small giggle might make if it were not quite able to escape from a woman paralyzed with mind-numbing horror.
“I TOLD you, man! This one is MAJOR!” I said, proud yet reproachful of the unbeliever.
*"Um… damn, guy, what are we gonna *do ** with it? I mean, I’m pretty sure it won’t go down, all sideways like that."
“I dunno,” I said with a crazy grin. “I been thinkin’ about fishin’ it out and having it mounted. You know, like on a wooden plaque?”
“Hm,” I replied thoughtfully. "That way, you could actually display ‘The One That Got Away.’ "
“Hey!” I said. “Good one!”
“Yeah, but I really don’t wanna live in the same house with a shellacked turd, guy,” * I said. “Or with a guy with a shellacked turd. Deal with your newborn as you see fit.”* I turned to leave.
“Yeah, all right,” I replied, a little disappointed. “Man, do you believe something THAT big came out of ME? And women gripe about givin’ BIRTH and stuff, man…”
*“Yeah, well, you had a head start,” * I snapped back. “The ends of THAT thing are pointed.”
…and at that point, she finally gave way.
It was kind of interesting to see. I mean, I’ve never actually seen anyone laughing themself sick while looking like they wanted to throw up, the whole time, you know? And it went on for quite some time, finally dying down to a rapid-fire series of bugeyed, horrified giggles.
Women, be warned. Us guys will sometimes go to extremes to win an argument, you know?
Poop is relative. Believe it.
Damn, do I have some poop stories.
My oldest sister has a bit of an O-ring problem. She tends to leak - all the time. She has specific underwear which she only wears to bed and then throws away the next morning.
One Christmas, when we were all under 12, we were watching a funny movie. The two of us were in the kitchen wearing nothing but t-shirts and undies. I was talking about the movie and she started laughing so hard that she shit her pants. I could see it running down her legs. This, of course, made us laugh even harder. It just kept coming out. Finally, she took a shower and cleaned the kitchen floor. Then, my mother asked why we were taking so long. This got my sister laughing again and she shit her pants again!
A few years later, she was at her first boyfriends house. A lot of his friends were over too. She felt that telltale squirt and ran to the bathroom. Sure enough, she had shit her pants again. She took off the underpants but didn’t know what to do with them. She rinsed them out a bit and hid them…in his couch! He never said anything about it. Judging by his house, he probably never found them.
I must be fair to my sister though. I have my own shit stories:
When I was in 10th grade, I went on an ROTC conference to Boston. My stomach had been really bothering me all day. We were staying at the YMCA at the Charlestown Shipyard. Anyway, the first day we were there, we ate dinner with the Navy people. The served fish. The smell of the fish made me feel even sicker so I went to the bathroom. I then proceeded to let out the most foul smelling shit I’ve ever encountered. My classmate, who was on the trip with me, came in right after I finished up - but before I could open the window. She went into the stall I had used. She then proceeded to throw up from the smell. She was really nice though. She told everyone that the fish had messed with her stomach. The smell of her puke covered up the smell of my shit. She never did tell anyone what had happened.
Three years ago, I had to have an Upper GI done to see if I did actually have Reflux. The doctor told me that the barium had a habit of giving people constipation. I did the test, went home to change into my work clothes and left for work. I almost got out of my neighborhood when I farted. It was kind of liquidy. A bit uncomfortable. I kept going though. I figured it was nothing. A bit later, I farted again. There was no mistaking it this time. I had shit my pants. I went home, took a shower and debated calling in to work. My dilemma though - how to tell my boss why I was calling in. He knew the test I had done. He had taken the test himself. He knew there was no reason it should keep me from work. Finally, I called him and asked him if he remembered the side effects from the test. He said he did. I said it had the opposite effect on me. He started laughing and told me he’d see me the next day.
I used to work with a bunch of Japanese guys. A guy was out sick for a day and then came back to work, and we asked him, “Fujita-san, what was the matter yesterday?”
He said, “Poop and pee look same.”