Wow. lieu, that was simply marvelous, hon! 
Thank you for sharing. Still, I just feel so sorry for that poor fella whose shit list you’ve now been placed on. 
“Brown Piston.”
Excellent post, lieu.
Well, c’mon guys, imagine you’re just sitting there letting loose a big one, or doing that quiet contemplative toilet thing and the guy in the next stall over, after playing a symphony in the low keys, tosses a ball of toilet paper at you.
How the hell do you react? Emily Post doesn’t cover that!
Someone needs to write a book titled “Bathroom Etiquette”. Who’s with me?
It would probably go something like this (sans toilet paper war):
HHHHHaaarrrrrrppprrrroooggaaaa
Yet another ** lieu ** classic. You seem to have quite a lot of adventures in the bathroom.
Count yourself lucky he didn’t have a prehensile rectum. TP nuts would have been the least of your worries.
I was trying to repeat this story to Mr. Cranky tonight. I lacked the right metaphors, and now my husband just thinks I’m weird.
Which, of course, is a shocking new realization for him.
Uncle! Uncle!
It’s gotta be a post-stress thing. I’m friggin’ dyin’ here. For the first time in my adult life I am actually laughing so hard I’m crying. The fact that I’m trying to be quiet due to the hour is only making it worse.
lieu, for this day, you are my sunshine. You are also the reason my ribs ache. I’ve been a fan since anuscane season, but the janitor’s cart in front of the door, man…
No mas! Too much funny!
ROFLMAO
Having just sprayed the screen with apple juice. That was just too funny.
Oh my god the maintenance cart was a stroke of genius just be careful as war has been declared or never go to the bathroom at work again.
Oh lieu, I’ve never heard a goose gun, but I just keep hearing something booming in the background. The rest of the office are wondering why I’m crying over here…thanks for the laugh!
ROFLMAO
I laughed so hard, I almost cried… I’m still laughing, much to the quizzical bemusment of my colleagues 
There were a couple of screws next to the wall across from the bathroom door today. What sort of impact could have dislodged them from the cart upon which they previously rested I have no idea, except there must have been a lot of scattered supplies for them to have gone unnoticed. Pity.
Cautiously, I did venture back in to that cuarto again today. I’m a creature of habit. Interpret that as you will.
As Monty Hall would undoubtably agree, door #3 still was upon first glance the most intriguing but again, alas, it appeared to have upon it’s own accord swung closed.
You can’t really walk up to a closed stall and peer in. It’s like thumbing open an album cover to see if the record’s in there. Yes, there’s a slit, but just weigh the heft instead of inspecting the crack if you want to discern if someone’s shaving their number two pencil in there.
The stall analogy for this would be to peer under the privacy walls. Discreetly. This doesn’t mean you can go in and just pretend to do push ups from the sink area. You probably should be somewhat less obtrusive. Cool.
It’s tough to be cool with gas. I had a candy bar after lunch today. We were fresh out of Walnut Joys so I settled for one with Almonds. I think it had been in there for awhile. I pretty much had to drag the bottom half of it out of it’s waxed cardboard slide with my front two teeth. A couple of hours later, my burps smelled… what’s the word… almondy?
Settling into stall #1 with righteous gas, I again wanted to discern if I could just poop with flavour but without embarassment. What better way, as proven earlier, that to simply fucking bend over, look two stalls to my left for my sole brother, and unclench.
You ever bend over when you got bad gas? Not only did I substantially increase the psi on my sphincter, I also woefully misaimed my portal.
The Pilgrims had a funky gun. It flanged wildly where the bullet came out and I think it was called something like a Blunderbuss. The stupid fucks quit making it because the damned thing was so inaccurate. I think it still is.
I hope to hell that the poor pants I saw 2 stalls over belonged to some other guy that yesterday’s victim because the blunderbuss that was my ass absolutely could not supress the gas volume aching to get out when I bent over to check for company.
In addition to the loud “Pooooooooffffff” that signaled a lethal charge had been lit, there was also the absence of any ensuing expectant sound that, generally, then allowed dismay to run rampant. The missing sound was that of poo hitting water.
Ever take a handfull of darts, say 5 or 6, and fling 'em together at a dartboard? They don’t all imapct at once… it’s more like a “Ffft fft fffft fffft fft fftah.”
That’s what my airborne poo did to that poor frikkin’ wall and pipe behind me. I turned around to verify my assault and yep, I’d pretty much been wielding a scattergun.
Ya know, it’s about fucking time but I finally hear a rustling from 2 stalls over. Homer Formby’s finally sandpapering his ass with a distressed piece of buttwipe and then the stall door flings open like a ornery bull’s chute at a rodeo.
I didn’t even bother looking out from my album cover of a crack to see the poor guy.
What was I supossed to do? Buy him lunch?
F**king stop! I can’t take much more of this, man…
lieu, seriously man, buy a cork. You’re gonna kill me! Almondy gas? What is this, chemical warfare with cyanide?
Oh yeah, Frank #2, you’re on the list too. “Bowel Movement Man” hit me as the ultimate follow up to the OP. I haven’t been able to look at a toilet without breaking up in 2 days…
Too much funny!
[sub]why Why WHY did I open the thread again? I’m starting to feel like the guy at the end of the third Hitchhiker book…[/sub]
lieu, you’re so…so…so… shitty!
I will never be able to look at a blunderbuss again without thinking of lieu.
I had a tough experience in the restroom yesterday. While on my way I was stopped at least twice. By the time I got to the restroom, the pressure was pretty intense. The restroom at my work has a handicap stall on one side and 6 regular stalls on the other. They are separated by the urinals and 4 washbasins. Upon entering I notice the HC stall is empty but I don’t like using it. It is at least 12 by 20 feet and reminds me of sitting in a large tiled garage.
On the other side, 4 of the 6 stalls are occupied. I open the door to the first empty stall and someone must have been real proud of themselves because they left their mess for everyone else to see. What caught my eye though was the fact there was no TP swimming with the turds. Must have been the type that can crap without dirtying themselves or their shorts have some serious skidmarks.
By now the pressure is starting to get really really bad. I enter the other empty stall, notice the water is clean, close the door, drop my drawers and sit down. Have you ever tried to stop something just as you start? I have been using these restrooms for years and can pretty much tell when my butt should contact the toilet seat. At that point when I should have mad contact I was still on a downward path. This one stall has a white toilet seat, all the rest are black. I failed to notice it was up and it was too late. I had my cell phone in my right hand and was unable to grab the TP dispenser for help. I was at the mercy of the toilet gods.
About the time my butt hit the porcelain I let fly. It was like a soft ice cream dispenser that is almost empty. Poot, phhht, poot, phhhht… I was finally able to balance my self and hover above the bowl. I reached behind me and lowered the toilet seat and just before I sat down noticed why the seat was up. Someone had pissed all over it. No way was I going to sit on that and I was in no position to wipe it off. So I lift it back up and sit on the edge of the open bowl. I can finish my #2 but cannot take that final leak that lets me no I am done.
My employer installed new TP dispenser a few months ago and they are the type that prevent folks from pulling off lots of paper in a single pull. Till about 1/3 of a roll is gone, you can only get a few sheets with each pull. Both rolls were full, one would not spin at all and the other would give me 2 or 3 sheets at a time. I had to spin the roll with one hand while gently pulling with the other to get enough. This took at least 5 minutes to get enough to properly clean myself. I used a bunch of ass gaskets to wipe down the seat and was finally able to sit down normally and finish the job.
Just before I flushed, knowing that there is a full house (there were more sound of doors closing than flushes), in my best George Bush voice, I comment “Hmmm, I’ve never seen it that color before. I wonder if I can get paint that color.” Some poor soul found it very funny, he was still laughing loudly after I washed my hands.
Has anybody else noticed that lieu is a homophone for a British bathroom?
Just because I like writing exercises, I’m going to write up what your first victim might have posted on another message board as his version of events. This is all in fun so no offense intended.
Username: Assaulted Senses
Thread Title: Stall Wars Episode I: The Flatulent Menace
Post Body:
You won’t buh-lieve what just happened to me in the restroom at my workplace!
I had just wrapped up lunch in the cafeteria and decided to answer the knocking at my back door with a leisurely bathroom break. I still had the new Reader’s Digest I bought yesterday and figured I’d wade through a few stories. RD always seems to knock things loose down there.
I enter the bathroom and am surprised that it’s empty. Cool. I grab the first available stall and settle in. Shortly I hear the bathroom entrance creak open and faint humming as they peruse their options. They head for another stall. Looks like I’ll have company. Oh well, I’m in no hurry.
My fellow shitter settles down and then I hear what can only be described as Chris Farley’s very first French Horn lesson, only with a French Horn that he had found rusting in a junkyard for three years. Mother of God, I hope that came out the right hole. Good thing I’ve got two relatively sturdy stall walls seperating us.
Then comes the sound of a several 50 pound rocks being tossed into a pond. You know the sound, PAAaah-looOOM-puh. Okay, so he’s got ass demons. I’ve had them myself from time to time.
Silence. Then the telltale soft sound of toilet paper being pulled off the roll and wadded up.
I continue reading a story about some camper surviving a bear attack in Montana when something whizzes in front of my face, bounces against the stall and lands somewhere below. WTF?!? I slowly life my magazine up and peer down. And I spy IT.
IT is a walnut-sized wad of tightly packed toilet paper and it is resting betwixt my shoes. I stare at it in disbelief. Did this turd roaster two stalls down just TP me? I sit stock still, unsure of what is coming next.
His one-man war against the porcelain bowl continues. More rocks are dropped. I can now imagine what it must’ve sounded like when Baghdad was being carpet bombed.
I kick lightly at the offending missle that I now share space with. No telltale brown marks on it. Looks like it was a dud. This is surreal.
I figure this guy is mentally unbalanced or likes to fuck with fellow bathroom goers. I sideswipe his pathetic TP nut under the other side of the stall and silently unroll a length of my own TP arsenal, using his grunts and splashes as audial camouflage. I squeeze the ammunition as tightly as I can, then turn my head to line up the shot.
He’s giving off plenty of audio cues as to where his head would be. I lock on target and let fly. One second later I am rewarded with a yelp. Bingo! He ceases fire and allows the innocent civilians to seek cover. Mind you, I haven’t let loose with a log of my own yet during this entire ordeal.
I hear frantic toilet paper bunching up and am fully prepared to see an entire TP roll come flying over the stall. What rave party did this guy just come from? Instead I hear him wiping himself up and muttering epithets. More TP comes flying off the roll. More wiping. Yeah, leave the bean burritos alone and maybe your ass won’t stage a revolution, buddy. I sit back and prepare to enjoy my own release.
Flush.
I lean to one side to see if I can ID the perpetrator through the door crack. Nope, he’s out like a shot.
Then I hear it. Water…splashing…on the floor…from two stalls down. I get a look of realization on my face that I’ve seen in disaster movies when people look up to see an impossibly high tidal wave about to overtake them. And it’s coming THIS WAY.
I pinch off the loaf I was proudly working on and frantically unroll some TP. My Readers Digest lies forgotten on the tiled floor. Two quick swipes and I’m trying to yank up my pants and zip up, at the same time fiddling with the door latch.
It springs open and I stumble out, still working the zipper. I look over and see my worst fear realized. I stare in horrid fascination for a few seconds. This guy needs to see a doctor or at least get a colonic or four. Then I hear a sound in the hallway outside the restroom door. Sort of a thump-scrape. I finish with my pants and bolt for the door.
It barely budges. I push again. Something heavy is on the other side of the door. I shove hard. I make some leeway but not nearly enough to escape the inexorable tide flowing towards me. I look back in panic to gauge its speed. The toilet continues its water flow unabated and the Poo Lava hungrily advances.
I start pounding on the door, shouting for help while shoving again and again. I let the door close so I can get a good start on the next push. I shove with everything I have and I hear something topple and crash on the other side. I don’t care as I can now make a speedy egress.
I get around the door and into the hallway. A maintenance cart lies on its side. Looks like the little poop shooter wanted me to suffer his version of hell by barricading me inside. Ha! I have escaped unscathed, with just a little wear and tear on my olfactory senses.
I notify the maintenance crew about the destruction in the men’s bathroom and warn them to wear face masks when dealing with it. No sense in letting someone else get hurt by this flatulent menace.
I have only just arrived back at my cube and now relate my mini nightmare. I haven’t caroused around the office yet to see if I can identify the culprit. No doubt he’s secretly proud of his treachery and is at this moment posting details of it on some stupid message board.
Don’t worry, my mischievious little poop monger, I have a long memory and a wicked sense of revenge.
Stay tuned for Stall Wars Episode II: Shit Harder
But I don’t want to be a homophone.
You’ll be a homophone and LIKE it, Mister Poopy Pants.
I am sssssssoooooo glad I have read this alone!! I now have wet underwear and my chair will never be the same…on top of laughing so hard, I wet myself, my mascara has started running in my eyes blinding me from the tears of laughing uncontrollably.I must tell you this is the first time my dog has hidden under the bed from my outburst.OMG my temples hurt!!! Please no more I can’t stand it!!!
Stay tuned for Stall Wars Episode II: Shit Harder **
[/QUOTE]
I thought Episode 2 of Stall wars was to be called
“THE EMPIRE BLOWS BACK” or maybe
“FATAL FART ATTACK”
After reading that story, I’m guessing you’d be a lonely homophone.