Bad Day (kinda long)

[zues 10+ year member]

Toasted1's Duece droppin' issues post made me dig this up.

Funniest ****ing thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we

decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served.

Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards.

It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot

bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible

in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to

the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that

evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian

ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.

Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day,

what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed

plates of food, I was in real trouble.

There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing.

At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought

it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table

without to much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be.

After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines

far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I

digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I

saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right

of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall.

One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to

the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good

shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate

worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of

diagional wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a

shit.

I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall

even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in

making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my *** was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain

"The Move."

Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when

the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events

occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men

make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the

body turn to position ones *** toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers

into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat

at the same time.

It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the

flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones *** is

properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that

the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the

event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a

picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and

saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those

little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I

did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.

Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten

so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely

experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the

intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of

macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a

bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted

from the goings-on at the other end.

To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the

toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my

esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precidence over shit

no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ***. It is apparently

an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes

a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into

the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus

diverted.

At that very split second, my *** exploded in what can only be described

as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of

"30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what

seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of

shit the consistancy of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid

came flying out of my ***. But remember, I was only half-way down on the

toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an

angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted

off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of

incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet seat.

Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get

beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be.

Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so

sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit

itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with

a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the

puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a

significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim

which I had now just collapsed upon.

.

Click to read more...

 

[zues 10+ year member]

Continued.......

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By

the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up

with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.

OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?

One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though.

Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now

slightly- opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway

between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not

just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles?

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three

Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of

turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full

of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet,

spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and

still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt

with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my

*** in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no ****ing toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to

the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK

since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying

hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the

manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When

the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way

was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no

way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I

needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help

me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.

At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a

bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what

was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to

her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a

slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some

close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small

turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt

immediately.

Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a

new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the

elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.

And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised

her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage

control for the time being.

She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry

ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me

that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.

Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in

that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to

deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum

wage of just slightly above.

At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile

floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean

up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.

He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife

got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I

stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from

the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and

carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured

that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in

the event I happened to be standing there ***** and some little bastard

kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet

committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the

entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of

the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had

intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when

I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a

standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to

throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now

waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any

restaurant in which I have eaten

 

[luvinthebass 5,000+ posts]

i ain't readin all that shit, i'm too tired

 

[luvinthebass 5,000+ posts]

food poisoning FTMFL, never eat stuff that has been layin out especially macaroni and beef

 

[bumpin buick 5,000+ posts]

shitty, get better soon. I think i get food poisoning from the college food everyday so I know what your feeling.

 

[ArrizX 10+ year member]

notes?

 

[xtremebassjunky 10+ year member]

lol. //content.invisioncic.com/y282845/emoticons/rolleyes.gif.c1fef805e9d1464d377451cd5bc18bfb.gif I actually read that...

made me feel better about my day //content.invisioncic.com/y282845/emoticons/tongue.gif.6130eb82179565f6db8d26d6001dcd24.gif

 

[luvinthebass 5,000+ posts]

shitty, get better soon. I think i get food poisoning from the college food everyday so I know what your feeling.

usulaly the first sign is a painful stomach cramp followed by dizziness then shits

 

[photocrazy8 10+ year member]

lol. //content.invisioncic.com/y282845/emoticons/rolleyes.gif.c1fef805e9d1464d377451cd5bc18bfb.gif I actually read that...
made me feel better about my day //content.invisioncic.com/y282845/emoticons/tongue.gif.6130eb82179565f6db8d26d6001dcd24.gif

haha, same here

 

[xtremebassjunky 10+ year member]

haha, same here

fvcked ,my truck up in an accident... //content.invisioncic.com/y282845/emoticons/frown.gif.a3531fa0534503350665a1e957861287.gif

 

[Nukedsodapop 5,000+ posts]

is this your story or someone elses?

just wondering

 

[BassBallin]

wow super doopa long!

 

[silvercookie 5,000+ posts]

feel better lol

i have never laughed that hard in my entire life .thank you.

 

[Ignatowski 5,000+ posts]

i ain't readin all that shit, i'm too tired

x2 what is this garbage - get a myspace page and annoy them

 

[DBfan187 5,000+ posts]

That was ****ing hilarious!