It was the night of a friend’s 21st birthday party, and so naturally my plan was to drink vast amounts and get suitably inebriated. All was going well at the house, and I enjoyed more than one cup of punch; unaware of the punch to my bowels and reputation that I would later receive. As the night progressed and I continued to drink, I started to talk to a girl, and we hit it off. The next thing I remember we’re making out in the hall way: life is good. Life got better when I offered to walk her home and she agreed, I was in, score, back o’ the net, in the bag. It seemed that my banter hadn’t got all up in her grill but had in fact worked for her, offered a lot, and subsequently brought much to the table. I have to be honest at this point in the story and confess that my memory ends here, however! the events that followed were relayed to me the next day. When I entered said female’s premises I did of course, **** myself. Sources say I then proceeded to ring a close friend and have the following converstion:
“Friend, I’ve just pooped myself”
“What do you want me to do about it? Just go and clean yourself up”
“But it’s so runny”
I must point out that when saying the last sentence, I was in fact weeping. Yes I was crying from both ends: face and anus.
That is where my night ended. But not my humiliation. Three days later (while, I might add, my pooey pants were still under my bed) I then sent this text (sober) to the female in question:
“Hello Mrs. X!” I just found out that I musta pooped myself at your house on sat. I had an inkling, but I wasn’t sure. Anyway, I fully apoolagise and I hope I haven’t mentally scarred you forever! Really sorry x”
Yes, I said ‘apoolagised.’ And yes she didn’t actually know I’d shat myself until I sent that apology. Livid.
**** you SOPA