I give you “The Steakhouse Incident”
http://www.ihos.com/steakhouse.html
Not true. I took the SAT at the ghetto high school the next town over, and at the midpoint I went to the bathroom because I had a serious turtle head. The bathroom stalls had no doors on them for some reason, and there was no toilet paper. I searched in vain for another bathroom but there wasn’t enough time. I spent half the test prairie dogging it. After the test, and after waiting 40 minutes for AAA to come open my car door that I had locked the keys in (this day was an all around disaster), I figured I had come that far, I may as well go home and crap in the comfort of my own bathroom. I barely made it, and I attribute my success to the solid nature of that particular poo (the first law definitely applies to less solid dumps).
Now that I’m older and I’ve rid myself of some of my Pollyannish tendencies, I would have little problem using that stall without the doors. I’d use the farthest stall, and if any jackass happened to stumble into view, I’d give him a “WTF?!” look and go about my business. But I did it the hard way that day.
OK, I confess. I needed a good line to end the story. The TP dispenser was really empty, but there was a spare roll (one of those gigantic 12-inch diameter industrial rolls) sitting next to the sink.So it wasn’t a complete disaster.
I did that once. But that’s a different story.
Further explanation required, please.
The same as turtle head, with the leading point of the turd poking out, then retreating back in.
I used to work at a job where showing up on time was a big thing. Rolling in 3 minutes late was not acceptable at all, and if you did it more than a certain number of times in a certain period, you could be looking at disciplinary action. My record on prompt arrivals was not stellar, and I could ill afford another tardy.
One morning I barely made it out the door on time, and if I was very lucky, would make it just under the wire. As I walked down the street towards the subway, I farted a little bit. Just a little. But it was wet. I knew that penetration to the outer layers was in my near future. And I knew that a torrent of poo was on the horizon.
What to do? Proceed to work and spend the day visibly sitting in my own crap? Or go back home, drop the kids off at the pool, and change clothes?
When my supervisor demanded to know I was late, I just shrugged my shoulders. I took my lumps.
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Aha, thanks Moidalize.
Bravo Sir.
You are a Scholar and a Gentleman. I’ll be adding “assular orientation” to my dictionary.
Poop stories in general are amusing*, but poop stories on the Dope get me laughing 'til the tears roll. Nice job, Friedo.
- Provided they follow the Fourth Law of Poop: “This shit is only funny when it happens to someone else.”
I’ve often thought of asking here: how often do you spend an entire meeting at work pretending to follow the discussion but actually thinking about what a tremendous dump you had earlier on, and basking in the afterglow? What’s the longest you’ve experienced the afterglow lasting? For me I’m sure it’s more than 2 hours.
A good poop early in the morning can make your entire day. Conversely, a poop “incident” can ruin what would have otherwise been a great day.
I never understood this poop in the morning business. Mine always seem to come in the early afternoon, like clockwork.
It’s a good way to break up the workday. Breakfast, work, lunch, work, poop, work, go home.
Mine come right after I eat my first big meal, regardless of when that is. The morning thing is very weird to me too.
Coffee is not only a diuretic, it’s a poopuretic*, too. Many people drink coffee in the morning which explains the morning poop.
*Yes, I know laxative is the correct word, poopuretic is just more better.
You may deserve clapping, but I will NOT be shaking your hand, after that story.
For me, same way that I spend meetings NOT after having a tremendous dump. Daydreaming.
Meetings are boring, soul-sucking, time-sucking, mind-numbing slow paths to death.
I may be able to contribute a new poop legend tomorrow or Saturday. I am scheduled for my first ever colonoscopy tomorrow, which means I need to drink an evil brew this evening to let the cleansing begin.
I’m not sure if I will even get off the toilet tonight, unless propelled off by a blast from my colon.
Except that “diuretic” sounds like it ought to mean “gives you diarrhea.”
Here’s another fun poop thing: the smell. It’s like a fart, where you smell your own and you recognize that it smells bad, but also almost smells pleasant. Catch a whiff of someone else’s air biscuit and you’re fanning the paper at them. Same with poop. However, if you change your diet around, or sometimes, for seemingly any odd reason, it smells like I’m shitting with someone else’s ass.
That’s a disconcerting thought for me.