So I'm sitting in the can today at work dropping the kids off at the pool.
I hear the door open and someone rushes in, and goes to the next stall over.  He proceeds to make the longest, loudest, most horrifying ripping nasty sounding drop.
I swear to god I have never heard such a terrible sounding noise in my life.  I wish I'd had earplugs it was so loud.  Something around a 12ga out of a 28" barrel.  If that guy had any part of his rear still attached to his body I think it would be a miracle.
The bad part is, I can't help but snicker.  I tried to hold it, but a noise slipped out.  This guy starts laughing next to me also, and we giggle about it for a minute.  Didn't say anything, just laughed.  
I left, and walked back to my desk and laughed for about five minutes.   Later today, I recognize his shoes as the visiting VP!!!
Guess Cali food doesn't agree with him.  [:)]

Too many sprouts??

No, beekeeper, that's over in San Frangaycoast you are thinking of.  I'm over in the predominantely semi-normal side of the bay.  

You should have yelled incoming as loud as you could.

I'm like the guy in American Pie.  Try to not use the drop tanks at work.

Maybe "Hey, pal, can I get a courtesy flush over there"  That's pretty clever.

[):)]
NSF

Real men don't giggle

Every corporation has at least one VP that's an asshole.  

I like to embarrsas people on the john at work.

I like to walk into the room while someones pinchin a loaf and make comments, "OMFG did youuuuu do thaaaat all by yourself man?!"


Good tone but no bouquet.


Hell yeh! If it's embarasing I want in on it. Sides, all kids think farts are funny.

Striker, that is the funniest, do you have a link to the "steak house incident".  I remember nearly choking while reading that I was laughing so hard.

Did you forget to warn him not to drink the water? [bouce]

"I Try to not use the drop tanks at work".


your missing out,
The company bio hazard area is one of the best places to avoid the boss or kill some non productive time. Its also a great way catch up on corprate events via  graffiti on the stall

[moon]

Striker, that was good stuff, but it has just wet my appetite for the "steak house incident".

I have tears running down my face... gotta go to the bathroom...

You forgot "The Phantom S***ter."

This guy is so proud of his handiwork he leaves it for everyone to admire.  This makes the bathroom unusable till the janitor cleans it up.

He is also very good at not getting caught.  He may do this repeatedly for weeks.

What about the guy who leaves huge streaks in the bowl, and the guy who leaves yellow droplets or worse on the seat?  

thebeekeeper1;

Hell no your not supposed to grow out of it. Your wife is [beer]

Pogo, we have a special Phantom Sh!tter also...he hasn't shown his head for about a week, though.  
One day I walk in and find all three stalls on our floor wasted.  Mmmmmmmkay....
The worst was about 6 months ago when someone missed the pot completely! [:O]

sfoo.... do you work with asian imigrants? I ask cause you say they missed completely.

I work in building maintenance for a semiconductor capitol equiptment manufacturer. We have a large imigrant workforce in our manufacturing facility. I frequently have to replace the broken seats from them being used a stools. I used to do janitorial work for a store I worked in and know for a fact the ladies room is the worst in flu season! I broke out the hose more than once.

Damn, Striker!
I was laughing to tears and a headache with that post!
Whatta Howler!

No BigMac, they all got laid off last year.  [:(]
And striker, if you keep posting crap like that, well, uh, more power to ya.

[i]Smithers..

Have the Rolling Stones killed.[/i]

the new toilet terminology for shitting is

[b]GIVING BIRTH TO A LIBERAL[/b]

During the Clinton years, I used to say, "Excuse me, I have to go drop Clinton off at the White House."

[^]

Here is the Steak House Incident....


This came from the triangle.dining newsgroup, and is about Ryan's steakhouse
Restaurant in Raleigh, NC. Pretty damn funny.

Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group
and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication,
but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth.

Funniest damn 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
diarrhoea. 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
diagonal 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 ass 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 one's ass toward said toilet,
hooking one's fingers into one's 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 one's ass 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 co-ordination rivalling 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 wanting a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events is 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
crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of
vomit coming up my oesophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes
precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your
ass. 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 ass 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 consistency of thick mud with embedded
pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass.  But remember I was only
halfway 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 initially hit the toilet
seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already halfway 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.  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 ass in a ring
curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no fucking 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 he
(still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I'd 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 bring 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 or 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 naked 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.

Steve Crisp
Hope you enjoyed it!!!!! Hope it never happens to you!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Steak House Incident) It's written by Steve Crisp and was
originally posted by him to alt.tasteless a few years ago (late 1997
maybe?). Ryan's (where it happened) is in Crossroads Centre in Cary, NC.

That was the funniest thing that I have ever read in my life.  I was laughing uncontrollably, everybody in the office was asked me what I was laughing at?  I told them it was just a funny email.  Now they all want me to forward it!

Oh my GOD!!!!!! I could never imagine the pure terror I would feel had that happened to me.

"dropping the kids off at the pool"

[>:/]thanx man now I can't call my kid a lil. shit and not lose my cool.

Ah hell A2car, why not?  Call 'em a lil' shit and just think of this thread.  After laughing for the next minute or so, your kid will think you are psychotic and take out the trash in a pre-emptive move designed to assauge your insanity.  [:)]