Besides being drunk, tell us about your closest call.

Yesterday, if I had waited two more seconds it would have been too late.  If the door to the bathroom had been closed I would have kicked it in.  By the time I yanked down my drawers, the process had begun.  Thank God I was in position already.  It has never been that close before.

BTW - Has anyone tried to discreetly break wind only to accidentally draw some mud? [shock]

Been there, done that

Picture having a horrible case of food poisoning plus a cold. For 3 days every sneeze was a new pair of underwear.

Holy crap!

Once my friends and I were driving back from New Orleans after the college National Championship(Go Gators!). We were headed back to Gainesville, about a 10 hour drive. We had Denny's for lunch, Burger King for lunch AND dinner. I hadn't taken a dump since the night before. By the time we got back to the apartment, I was a homicidal wreck. Everything kinda got blurry after I left the car.

Yeah

Two confirmed kills for me, once on a water slide in New Jersey.  It said no one over 180 allowed, so my big wide ass went flying down it and got a three gallon butt injection.  The old ring piece couldn't hold on so I filled up the pool at the base of the slide.  The next time was in Key West drunk on Duval Street eating crab legs at a restuarant called Asia, went to fart and shit myself.  To add insult to injury my friend Ron spat a crab leg in my face when he realised what I had done.  How did that conversation go.
Me,   "I think I've shit myself"
Ron,  "yee how's it smell?"
Me,   "Don't know but it's wet and running down my leg"
     Crab leg in face.

I was soooo hungover but I managed to drag my carcass over to my buddies shop to work on his dirt track car for him.
It was a bright sunny Sunday and Beth, a friend and also a girl who I always had the hots for happened to live across the street.

I am taking the intake off the motor and while bent over the fender, I have a sudden urge to fart. Without any thought I squeeze (no PUSH) it out but as you probably surmise, strange things were afoot at the circle-J.
I managed to mustard-paint my drawers AND jeans. Running liquid yellow reminiscent of the previous night’s Busch beer bomb-fire bash.
Disgusted with myself I make way out of the garage to my car on the street. As I clear the utility door the sweet, smiling Beth pops into view. Her beautiful dark brown eyes greet me and in panic and didn’t understand her question. I assumed it was about what I was up to.
I started to backpedal into the garage but the enclosed confines surely would have provided conversation for the foul odor.  Instead I approached Beth fast and strait on (a move I was to congratulate myself on), she opened her arms as if to accept a hug. I positioned my hands on her waist and spun her around as I positioned my mustard colored shit filled ass between the car and me. Now it is; the shop, Beth, me, my mustard ass, and the car.  The car, the only tool around that can save me from utter embarrassment.
She eyed me oddly as I walked backwards to my car and around the back of the car to get into the driver’s side seat.

A day later she asked me what was up with me that Sunday.

LMAO,  that is some funny stuff.......... could you imagine if she would of gotten a whiff of that.....

Boomholzer:

My eyes are watering!

Driving back from a deer hunting trip with my buddy. As we were packing up our camp I decided I didn't want to haul home an opened gallon of apple cider so I decided to finish it off. All 3/4 of a gallon. While driving through Tucson on the interstate it hit me. Bad. Was looking for the next off ramp. Sweat poring down my head, death grip on steering wheel. ALMOST stopped in the median in the middle of Tucson when off ramp came up. Flew down off ramp - ran stop light - my buddy then realizes something is wrong. "WTF is wrong with you?" I was afraid to say anything for fear of setting off "reaction". My buddy looks at me like I'm crazy as I fly into gas station. I jump out of truck with decision already made that if bathroom was locked, I was heading behind the dumpster near by. Door was unlocked - no one in bathroom - dropped my trousers - didn't even hit the seat when "it" happened. Buddy still doesn't know WTF is going on. Has a good laugh later as I told him my back up plan for the dumpster. Pictured gas station attendent throwing away trash when he finds me squatting behind dumpster. "Buddy, what the HELL are you doing to my parking lot?!"          

Once upon a time at a change of command ceremony for the First Cav, the Higher Highers decided that they wanted a multitude of soldiers in formation wearing BDU's, LBE's, K-pots, and slung M-16's with bayonettes as a backdrop for their 2 hours of patting each other on the back.

We had just marched into place and were put at parade rest when I felt a disturbing grumbling from my nether regions.

I held back the imminent flow for what seemed like [b]DAYS[/b]. Finally when I could not stand the cramping in my bowels and the quivering of my sphincter, I let it go. Felt like about 10 gallons of lumpy water had been released from my rear, to flow down my legs and become trapped in my bloused BDU trousers.
As to not have to stand there for another hour with a mess in my pants, I feigned passing out.

The medics assumed they were treating a heat casualty, and against my objections put me on a stretcher and loosened up my clothing. This included removing my boots and undoing my blousing straps.

Let me tell you, that Spc-4  was one [b]very[/b] unhappy medic when he got my trousers un-bloused.

I got out of the rest of the formation and the only really negative outcome of the situation was the nickname I got labeled with (and kept until Desert Storm when our First Sergeant renamed me "BIG WIG"- but that’s another story) For quite a while anytime my presence was required, someone was sent to go get "Little Shitty"

\
It actually happened 9-11.  My bride and I took off from Dulles Airport to go to Aruba...forced down in Atlanta in time to see the 2nd tower fall.

I lost it

The closest I ever came to crapping my pants? Probably when I actually crapped my pants.

I was playing golf with a buddy a few years back. We always played strict rules of golf, match play format. About the eighth hole, I started cramping. Walked down the 9th hole nearly doubled over, putted out in record time and quickly spirited myself to the restroom only to find that I was too late. Leakage. I coated the throne with more peat moss and discarded my boxers. Outside I explained the situation to my buddy, who called me a lot of foul names and said that the match was his -- by forfeit. I gave him the finger and finished the back nine Navajo style. I won the match.

Funny post. EmbarrASSing, but funny

I was more worried about her SEEING it, there was a yellow Gorbachev on the ass cheeks of my once blue jeans!.

Every time I see a ninja.

[url]http://www.realultimatepower.net/[/url]

I was golfing with a friend of mine when HE felt the need to take a crap.  I stood in the fairway on the 6th. hole waiting, and waiting(theres a porto jon in the woods between 5 and 6.  Well about 10 minutes later he comes walking out of the woods like nothings the matter.  He get's closer and I can see his shorts are stained yellow and brown and he has streaks running down his legs.  He comes up to me and says "I didn't make it".  I laughed my ass off, then we finished the round and never spoke of it again, and that's the closest I've come to shitting my self.

Commercial fishing in Alaska one night during a pretty nasty storm.

All of the fear moved itself into my bowels and I exploded into a wastebasket. The stench was so bad it took several hours for the nuclear-like fallout to go away.

My shipmate never said a word to me about it, even though he was about 5 feet away. He was as scared as I was and he intuitively knew that MY fear had just manifested itself that way.

About an hour HIS fear manifested itself; he started shaking like a baby's rattle for about an hour.

Neither of us ever mentioned it to each other, but is sure brought us a lot closer together.

Incidentally, out of the five of us that went fishing together that night, only two of us are still alive.

Panama City, Fl, 1967, spring break. I will never drink Singapor (sp) slings again!

An old, but GREAT story....


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 a 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 too 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 diagonal wire-cutters 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 portions. 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 ass 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 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 coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about halfway 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 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 esophagus.

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.

cont....

Part 2...


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 sweatpants 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 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 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 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 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.

I went to Ryans Steakhouse for lunch today!!!!!
No shit!!!!

You mean, TODAY?
AB

... Just about every day of my life until I mastered the shitter.

well, I got salmonella one time ... needless to say, I spent a lot of time on the pot because of a fart-gone-bad.  if you ever get the opportunity, turn down salmonella.  it's not fun.

I find myself laughing as I read these stories.  There is something hilarious about it.  I must be anally fixated!