What makes you think that it was the pooper that grunted “Hoo Boy” rather than the poo, uttering it’s first words “Poo Boy”?
Crapping in public restrooms is something I Simply Don’t Do. I do, however, make as much of a production as possible when changing tampons. This includes but is not limited to blurting Christ’s name when I yank the old one out, loudly rustling the new one around, ripping the packet open with my teeth, gearing myself up with feet on either wall of the stall and triumphantly exclaiming GOTCHA! when it takes.
But poop noises just ain’t cool!
My favorite? If you hear any noise from the next stall, just reply, “I can name that tune in one note.” It’s usually funnier with those singe-bubble farts, but any noise will do.
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OK, time to get anal retentive here. I too am particular about which way the toilet roll faces - the paper must be dispensed in the overhand fashion, i.e. the paper comes out at the top of the roll rather than underneath. I can’t stand it in the underneath position - it gives me the heebie jeebies (no idea why - there’s probably a lot of therapy bills in my future).
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Back to the OP - being a woman, I concur that we certainly know how to crap daintily, but those first morning farts during pregnancy… now there’s a time for saying hoooooooo boy! Sounded like that big horn call that Gimli blows in the Battle of Helms Deep.
Man, place I used to work had a guy we all called “Big John”, on account of how he was pretty big, and his name was John. Now, when I first started working there, the other guys took me aside and said, “see that guy? Big John? If you’re in the shitter and he comes through the door, you better finish your business right quick, 'cause you don’t want to be in the vicinity when Big John lets loose.”
Luckily, Big John (on account of how big he was and all) produced a very distinctive wheeze when he moved. Sort of a huh-hoooo…step. huh-hoooo…step. And he moved pretty slowly. So if you were on the ball, you could finish up in a business-like manner and be out the door well before Big John got settled in.
Anyway, I heeded the other guys’ warning for a few months, but then came a stretch where Big John and I didn’t cross paths for a few months. However, one day when I was relaxing in the stall, most of the way through the crossword puzzle, the restroom door opened. huh-hoooo…step. huh-hoooo…step. Big John. Well, Hell, I still had the whole lower section to fill in, so I decided to stay put.
Big John wheezed his way over to the stall next to mine, closed the door and settled in. There was a pause of about five seconds or so. Then Big John let loose with a HUGE war cry of a grunt, loud enough to instill fear in a band of bloodthirsty Picts: HUUUUUUUuuuuUUUUUNGGGHHHHHH. He followed that up with a machine gun splatter in the bowl, and an immediate flush. Then he did it again; same speed, same intensity. HUUUUUUUuuuuUUUUUNGGGHHHHHH splatter-splatter-splatter flush HUUUUUUUuuuuUUUUUNGGGHHHHHH splatter-splatter-splatter flush HUUUUUUUuuuuUUUUUNGGGHHHHHH splatter-splatter-splatter flush Over and over.
By about the fifth time I’d had enough. I bolted, cleansing and cinching trou as fast as I could. I guess I must have looked a little frazzled, because when I got back to the office, the guys just looked at me and said, “you got caught in the shitter with Big John, didn’t you?”
I’d just like to jump in and say I’ve been reading The Spirit Cabinet, by Paul Quarrington, who’s one of my favourite humourous novelists, and having read this thread has really added something to the experience:
The novel revolves around two vaguely-familiar Teutonic zoophile prestidigitators with a long-running show in Las Vegas. One of the fellows, Rudolpho, has a limited vocabulary, and heavily salts his conversation with the often completely contextually-inappropriate ejaculation, “Hoo Boy!”
Seriously, there’s often three or four “Hoo Boy!”'s on each page.
The first chapter is available online, and, to be fair, Rudolfo only lets loose with two, there. They kind of build up as the narrative unfolds.
The thing is, after reading this thread, at each of these bi-syllabic utterances, I picture the expressive illusionist straining at stool, and I’m not entirely sure that this was Mr. Quarrington’s intent.
So thanks for that, China Guy.
Since we’re on the subject, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins (he of “I Put A Spell On You” fame) recorded a song called “Constipation Blues” consisting of him making an assortment of … interesting … noises to a bluesy accompaniment, along with a few odd lyrics:
“Got a pain down deep inside
That cannot be denied,
Let it go…”
Very funny, in a disturbing sort of way.
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OK, time to get anal retentive here. I too am particular about which way the toilet roll faces - the paper must be dispensed in the overhand fashion, i.e. the paper comes out at the top of the roll rather than underneath. I can’t stand it in the underneath position - it gives me the heebie jeebies (no idea why - there’s probably a lot of therapy bills in my future).
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You’ve never lived in a house with cats
Doesn’t EVERYONE do it that way?!!?!?
Well, the heebie jeebies are both simple to explain and well-founded: if the paper is mounted ‘underhand’, the outside surface is hidden on the back of the roll…thus providing a perfect hiding spot for deadly Panamanian Bung Tarantulas.
Early morning, too early for the glare of bathroom lights…you do your business and reach for the roll, grab for three squares of two-ply quilted softness, and get eight legs’ worth of fanged hairy terror.
Let me think------ “Hoo boy” I got it, the Bathroom.:smack:
Speaking of single farts, I remember as a kid running into the school bathroom once trying to deflect a pant crapping. But just before I could reach the stall, that little rectum sensor went off, telling me the horse was just about to kick the gate open.
I stopped and quickly twisted my legs like a pretzel in an attempt to physically restrain the migrating beast. It turned out to only be gas but it was overpressured enough to rupture pipe. Even reaching back with my hands and trying to push my cheeks together, I could still feel these huge bubbles the size of pool balls trying to make their way out. One by one they made their way through the fleshy crease and then exploded into the atmosphere, echoing loudly in the small, tiled bathroom. The noise was simply deafening.
Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam! Blam!
It sounded like I was fucking trying to assassinate myself. The door swung open and my friend look in in amazement and started laughing hysterically.
Then my English teacher came in as well. “Are you okay?” she asked. “I’ve got the poops” I replied. “Oh” she said and walked off to help some other children that didn’t look so fucking stupid.
I am suing all your asses for the gut I just busted! 
Bravo…well done. But what do I feel so…dirty?
Because it’s TOILET HUMOR!
Lieu, I take back what I said earlier. You haven’t gone to crap after all.
But when you do go to crap, we expect a full report on our collective desk in the morning.
Expect, hell, we look forward to the report!
I use to have a boss that sounded like he was having sex while Urinating. He would moan and lean his head back go Ahhhhh when he was done. It was a very strange Behavior. Became a running joke around the office.
A new guy on his first day came out of the rest room and sat down with a group of us and said hey isn’t so&so the boss round here? We said Yep. He said well I don’t know how to say this but he was just Masturbating in the rest room.
We all cracked up.
The new guy didn’t show up the next day ~
This thread made me laugh so much I nearly lost it and had to zoom into the only vacant stall, only to find that the previous occupant must have dreamed he is Jackson Pollack incarnate. Never mind “Blue Poles” … talk about “Brown Smears”.
I once heard someone grunting so loudly in the stall it sounded like he was passing a bowling ball…after the final splash he shouted, “Get thee behind me, Satan!”
Lieu is the Ernest fucking Hemingway of Poo Prose.