I just can't hold it anymore!

[Tucker Max]

From an email:

In the summer of '92 I was backpacking through Europe- the right of passage for many drunken hearted college students. And so after several weeks of youthful mayhem I found myself in St. Raphael on the
southern coast of France at Bastille Day. St. Raphael is one of those typical Cote d’Azur beach towns – but it isn’t much of a tourist place.

During Bastille Day it is loaded full of locals celebrating their holiday with a good number of travelers as well. So we were down at the beach part of town with several thousand others getting our drink on and trying to work our (pathetic) game on a bevy of Swedish traveler babes. My main back-pack was in a locker at the train station but I still had my day-pack with almost all the essentials. I would have made a great Cub Scout because I typically have enough on hand to deal with most random situations. Thank
God I did as it became very fucking relevant later that night.

So after several hours I suddenly have to take a shit. And by “suddenly have to take a shit” I mean I.Have.To.Take.A.Shit.Right.Fucking.Now. Now I had been traveling long enough to know that the average French bathroom isn’t any place I want to be. Usually I would have gone off somewhere to dig a cat-hole and do my business like a good cave man. But there were too many people around. So it was off to the public toilet at the beach / park bathroom.

Holy Fucking Shit. Literally. There was shit EVERYWHERE in this place. The shitter was just three holes in the ground with foot rests where one is supposed to stand while dropping the duce. But this one was covered with shit from about three feet high on the walls down to the floor with increasing depth the closer that one got to the actual shit-holes in the floor. And the smell was enough to gag a maggot. And to make matters worse all I had were Teva sandals – not the footwear for wading through putrid French-man shit.

“No fucking way” I said to myself. And then my colon convulsed. My gastrointestinal tract had just given me the two minute warning. The inevitable price of two weeks worth of constant boozing and eating a poor
traveler diet was about to have to be paid. So I went outside and sat on a bench to strategize.

In my day pack I found the four items that were going to make this possible. Two very large size ziplock bags (I put everything that I wouldn’t want to get wet in ziplocks – socks, underwear, toiletries, etc), a bandana and deodorant. I put one ziplock on each foot. They fit over my feet and came up mid-calf. I applied generous amounts of deodorant to the bandana and tied it Western style around my nose and mouth.

Now I was as ready as I was ever going to be to get this done. I looked like some kind of homeless HazMat wanna-be guy. The people around looked at me like I was from Mars as I made my way into the toilet. I took care of business. The smell was dulled by the bandana and my feet protected by the ziplocks. But I could still feel shit as I stepped through it. And I damned near wretched a few times. But fortunately my active colon expelled its cargo quickly.

I walked out leaving vile footprints and headed straight to the nearest trash can. Once there I carefully took of the ziplocks and threw them out, removed the bandana, folded it up and put it back in my pack. And with the most horrible shitting experience of my life over I felt like a million bucks and went off to continue drinking on Bastille Day. I totally struck out with the Swedish chicks. But after such a harrowing situation I really didn’t give
a damn.

FOCUS What is your worst shitting experience? What is an awful place, you lose it in your pants, anything like that?

[Mike Gill]

Everyone does it, multiple times a day. You wait for the room to clear, check the hallway and then sneak a fart. 99% of the time you get away with it. This is about the one percent when things go horribly wrong.

I was working as a trainer at Gold’s Gym in Durham North Carolina. I owned the personal training rights in the club and made almost all the sales. I had just met a potential new client and had taken her back to my office to present a program overview to her when I started to get “that” feeling in my stomach. It is that combination gas, upset stomach, I gotta fart feeling. I can usually suppress this and find an opportunity time to go to the bathroom, so I continued on with the sale.

It is taking longer than expected, and my discomfort is turning into sharp gas pains. Instead of excusing myself, I take the risk that I can sneak it and hope the soft chair will absorb the smell. I focus and just let a little gas out. Success. I continue on with the sale.

Just 30 seconds pass when I get the feel that someone has just shoved a sharp knife in my lower abdomen. I had to risk it again, so I did.

The smell hit me like a sack of bricks. I don’t remember eating anything out of the ordinary but this fart said otherwise. Rotting fish covered in vomit and cooked in the sun did not smell this bad. My instincts took over, and I stopped selling and ushered her out the door saying” Lets just try some exercises”.

As I got up from my chair my fear was confirmed. I had indeed shit my pants with that last fart. It was not more than Hershey Kiss sized poo, but it was poo. I could feel it grinding around between my cheeks. This was confirmed when I passed a mirror and did a quick back check. My khaki shorts looked like I sat in chocolate milk and it still smelled. I made a hasty retreat to the locker room, ditching my work shorts and making it through the next three hours in a pair of nylon gym shorts out of the lost and found.

[Jay Vee]

From my original post:

http://messageboard.tuckermax.com/showpost.php?p=120137&postcount=24

Here's the text:

I think the easy answer would be the hundreds of times I needed to take a shit when I was living on an Iraqi military base. For those who aren't familiar with Arab culture, they are about 1500 years behind the power curve when it comes to innovation. For instance...they have not yet discovered the benefit of using a toilet. I suppose back in the 7th century, these goatherders used to just dig holes in the ground and shit in them, then use their left hand to wipe their assholes. Fast forward to the 21st century, and very little has changed. Despite having been exposed to our Western plumbing for a hundred years or so, all the Arabs have managed to do with our technolgy (porcelain, running water) is to invent a hole in the ground that flushes! Oh, and they don't use toilet paper either, but they will steal it from Americans so they can take it home to clean everything but their bungholes. Fortunately, I never used the flushing holes, I always managed to find a Westernized Port-O-John in plenty of time.

But more on focus, the only time I can think of when I had a disgusting shit experience was when I was stationed at a spec ops unit in Coronado. The unit was about 80% special operators: SEALs, Recon Marines, EOD, Navy Divers, and SWCCs. The other 20% was made up of regular fleet guys like me. So, whenever the unit felt like doing a more challenging PT session, we would leave the base and go out in town for a run at some local areas in San Diego, like Balboa Park or Mission Bay. One time, we went to a local canyon (Murphy Canyon, I think) for a mountain run. Most of the guys there had done it before, but it was my first time and I didn't know the route. Being the helpful bunch that they are, the guys just told me to "keep up" so I wouldn't get lost. At the time, I was in pretty decent shape, but I was nowhere near the running machines these fuckers were, so my only goal was to keep the last guy within sight.

After we reached the top of the hill and started the run back, I realized that I wasn't the last guy, there was another regular fleet-type guy way behind me. I told him to forget about making it to the top and to just turn around there and follow me. He did, but he did it slowly. Meanwhile, I was trying to keep the guy in front of me in sight so I could follow him back, and trying to keep Poole (the slow guy) within sight of me as well.

Long story short, I got lost, and Poole got lost somewhere, too. So, as I am trying to run around the canyon looking for a map or landmark, my stomach starts grumbling. No problem, the parking lot couldn't be too far away. I was able to keep running, but I guess the running got the rumbling even worse, so in time the turtle head was to the point where I had to stop and walk. I was determined to not have to shit out in the woods (I was more afraid of some wild creature sneaking up on my asshole then anything). But nature left me no choice, so I ran behind a tree and took an old school shit, twigs and berries and everything. My body was thankful for the release, but I was now worried about having to wipe my ass with leaves. Not that it mattered, since there were no leaves. So I used the only thing I had: my brown t-shirt.

I eventually made my way to the park's fenceline, and followed into an adjacent neighborhood: there was no way I was going to keep wandering around that fucking canyon lost like an idiot. Since it's San Diego, no one was really surprised to see a shirtless guy in running shorts, and I was able to convince a tow-truck driver to give me a lift back to the park's parking lot. I apologized profusely for getting sweat all over his seat from my bare back, but he was cool. The chief petty officer who got stuck having to wait for me never even asked me what happened to my shirt. He kept giving me shit about getting lost, but I told him "Hey fucker, I at least found my own way back. Where's Poole?"

(The Parks Department eventually found Poole, too. They had to scramble a helo and some jeeps, but they found him.)

[FKA SH3]

One time on summer break from college, I was out on a date with a girl I had met a few weeks prior. She lived a good distance from my house. The drive wasn't lengthy by any means, but it meant I wasn't in my home neighborhood most of the time I saw her. When we were on the way back to my house after the date, I felt a rumbling. Apparently something I had eaten did not agree with me.

I was in somewhat familiar territory, but it was very late at night, and no places with a public restroom were open. I couldn't risk making the drive to my house, either. I just knew I wouldn't make it.

A light bulb went off over my head. We were only a few blocks from my friend's house. He had moved to a town about four towns away from where we grew up, and this was his neighborhood. I told the girl I wanted to swing by my friend's place to "pick up a movie for us to watch," and she agreed to that.

So, I park the car in front of my friend's house at around 3 in the morning and I make the mad dash around to the back of his place. All the lights are out. It is obvious that both he, his roommate, and the people living in the upper half of the house are all asleep. I decide I don't want to wake him up just to defoul his bathroom. I begin to panic because the walk/jog around the house has not helped me at all.

That was when I saw it. The tomato patch. I hopped the little fence into their garden, dropped trou, and let loose a forceful stream of loose stool all over the plants.

OK, crisis averted. Now what?

The hose. I waddle-stepped my way over to the yard hose and stepped out of my pants/underwear/socks/shoes and started blasting myself with the hose. I felt I did a sufficient job, but was now wet from the waist down.

I dried myself off with my socks, threw them over the fence, and redressed, content that no one had been woken up in my backyard scramble. I walked back to the car, shrugged my shoulders, and said, "The prick won't answer his door."

She was none the wiser, everything else went according to plan, and I refused salads at my friend's house for the next few months.

[RevDan]

This happened quite a few years ago nowwhen i was much younger and inexperianced in the way of festivals.
I originally posted this 3 years ago on the poopreport.com website (yes i know its silly and disgusting but i was young, i found stories about poo funny, but i have grown up now, kind of).
Its a bit long but hopefully you'll find it at least midly amusing.


It was the 2002 Leeds festival -- an entire weekend devoted to music. As the festival started on Friday and ended on Sunday, me and a few friends went down on Thursday to secure a great camping spot.
Those unfamiliar with rock festivals don't know about the poor state of toilets. They are bad. Imagine the worse shit you have ever seen -- not just in a toilet, but all over it; the smell of matured feces and chemicals thick in the air, and no running water to clean your hands -- only some 'cleanser,' a mixture of cheap soap and dirty water. With something like 50,000 people on the festival grounds for the entire weekend, and maybe only a few hundred toilets at most, things only get worse from there.

Now, since I was prepared for the poor sanitary standards, I figured I'd better clean out my system before I went to Leeds. And I thought I did. On Thursday I was fine -- I had a massive breakfast (which now seems like a bad idea), and at the coach station had a Double Whopper meal (once again, a mistake of grand proportions). We made it to the campsite quite early, so we were able to set up only a few hundred feet away from the toilets. Good news. I could relax -- I could go for a piss without having to trek miles and miles over other people's tents.

The toilets the first night were beautiful. The chemical smell was intoxicating. I was astounded at how clean they were, and, even better, there were copious amounts of toilet paper -- hell, it was even quilted!

The day ended problem-free, with a lovely meal of pasta and some serious bong love. The second day, however, was slightly different.

After a stupidly large breakfast. We made our way to the festival arena, and watched some bands -- The Dillinger Escape Plan, Amento name a few. After over three hours of jumping around and getting crushed, I felt a pain like no other. It was like something large was trying to force its way out of my body every direction at once. I felt bad... and I knew it was only going to get worse.

My friend and I left the main stage and made our way towards another stage to see some random band. On the way, it felt like I got punched in the gut... and it felt like something was going to escape. "I gotta really go," I said, with a bit of panic.

I made my way quickly to the toilet block -- about 20 toilets, with about 100 people in the line. I was feeling bad. You know it's going to be bad when your legs go weak and you haven't even gone yet. I was too scared to fart in case something extra came out...

After what seemed like an hour, a toilet became free. I ran like a girl towards the little Porta-Potty, only to find that the toilet seemed to be built of feces. There was feces on the walls, on the seats, on the door --- even on the outside of the door! Shit was everywhere except in the bowl. No matter how bad I needed to go, I couldn't go there.

I left that toilet alone. By some miracle, the toilet next to me opened up. I quickly entered to find it in a state so good, so beautiful, it brought a tear to my eye. It was so clean, so lovely... but I had more pressing things at hand than basking in the beauty of a bathroom. I pulled down my pants, found no brown marks in my boxers -- which brought me much happiness -- and sat on the seat and let it rip.

The toilet never knew what hit it. So many textures... I had squirty, thick, thin, hard, soft... you name it, I shat it. Out came my large breakfast from that morning, the Burger King I enjoyed the day before, another 1/2 pound cheeseburger, a lot of chips and chocolate...

I never felt so relieved in my life. And then -- I realized the fatal flaw. There was no toilet paper.

Shit... shit indeed.

There was no toilet paper, and I had a lot of shit still attached to my arse. I couldn't use my hand... I had to improvise.

I searched my wallet. All I could find was a £20, some coins, and some credit cards. Was it worth using a 20?

I was tempted. But then -- salvation, in the guise of an absurdly large receipt from Burger King.

I knew I had kept it for a reason. I proceeded to wipe my battered, molested ass with that flimsy receipt. When that was spent, well, I wasn't clean enough to pass any sort of standard... but at least I wouldn't leave too many stains in my new boxers.

I washed my hands in the 'cleanser' and made a sharp exit. I made it back to the stage to see the end of Sparta's set. My friend asked, "What took you so long?" Me, being ashamed of my shit and my lack of wiping, said, "Just had a piss."

"But you were gone 30 minutes."

"Yeah, err, I couldn't go." Hell, that was bad -- of all the excuses, that was the best I could come up with? I was more ashamed of my excuse than my shit... I just hoped he couldn't smell my work. Anyway, I made it back to my tent, changed my slightly-browned boxers, vigorously wiped clean my ass, and went back to the main stage to enjoy Guns N Roses.

[J. Galt]

Long have I been trying to tell my story of grief, but ne'er the thread came about.

While visiting my friend, Nel's, family in Costa Rica I was offered a surprise opportunity. Nel and his family are all non-drinkers, non-smokers, non-partiers, and just general good Catholics but no fun. They do have thier reason, but thats saved for the Lifetime channel. Anyhow, Nel's sister had a friend, Mariela, who I found very attractive, and apparently she fancied me as well. Mariela asked if myself and Nel would like to go to a beach for a night with her and some friends. Well, Nel did not want to go, but said he would not mind if I went. So I did.

The beach was a 4 hour bus ride from where we were staying in San Juan and it was gorgeous. It was the perfect beach town; people were walking in the grocery store barefoot, with surfboards, the cashier girls were wearing bikini tops, and the smell of weed was in the air.

We spent all day at the beach drinking and smoking. We tried getting a hotel, but they were all booked. Mariela's friends mentioned that there is a camp site along the beach that is like $5 a night per person, but we have to get a tent. We did, we paid, and I was pretty happy with the money saved.

We still have a few hours of drinking left when it hits me. It is the serious, knife stabbing feeling in your gut. I could not talk when the pain hit, I just grimaced and tried to act like nothing is wrong. I ask where the bathrooms are, and they point me in the direction. I walk to the restroom facilities and open a stall door. I look in horror as I see just a toilet with no rim, no toilet paper, a lightbulb with a pull string, and everything is wet. I pull the string, no light. Great. I run out the camp site and find a restaurant with a bathroom, I go in, squat, and push. Nothing came out. Maybe a little squirting action, but nothing worth the pain I was going through. For some reason I was constantly thinking that Mariela and her friends were wondering why I was taking so long and talking about me. So I closed up shop and went back.

I stopped drinking and took a walk. Mariela came along and asked if everything was okay. We fool around on the beach and she starts getting serious. She has her hand on my dick and the pain comes back. I told this girl to stop and wait til we get back. I was almost in tears it hurt so bad. When we got back, I went to the campsite stalls with the TP I bought. I had to squat, it was dark, and I let loose. Not a damn thing. I was praying to God to let out the demon that was inside me. I could barely move.

Back at the tent. Mariela wants to bone. I want to bone, but I would much rather take a shit. She wins and we are going at it missionary and what would you know, the pain comes back. First off, let me say inside a closed tent in Costa Rica on a hot night is a sauna. I was dripping sweat like I never have before and she had a puddle on her stomach of my sweat. I was overheating and I knew this was it. I was about to reach orgasm and the shits started to surface. I knew if I came, I would shit. Well, I sqeezed my asscheeks as hard as I could and I came. I threw on my boxers and shorts, ran to the restroom and unleashed. Shit was splashing all over the place since there was no proper cover. I didnt care, I could shower. I was making all kinds of noise and finally I thought I was done. I wiped, alot, all over, even my stomach. I pulled up my shorts to see they were covered in splatter. What the fuck do I do now? The shower stalls were outdoors and anyone can see you, so i kept my clothes on and took a shower. I had a soap bar in my pocket for some reason, and i cleaned myself and my shorts. But obviously, the khaki shorts still showed brown speckles all over, and they smelled pretty bad.

I was embarassed, but I dont think Mariela really knew what the fuck was going on. Anyway, we head back to San Juan on the busses with leather seats and no bathroom. It was torture. Small pains came back throughout the trip and I knew Nel and his sister would not be home. So I would have the house alone to have my own mini exorcism to get the rest of the demon out of me. Obviously, Mariela wanted to stay and wait. At this point, I was so fucking exhausted I did not give a shit. I went in the bathroom and let loose, even though the door is hollow and it is close to the couch she was sitting on. I brought some new clothes in the bathroom and changed out of the shit stained ones and threw them in the trash. She was smiling when i came out, but didnt say anything. I tried to fool around with her again, but she said she was not in the mood. I guess shit will do that to a girl.

Although that is my worst shit/travel experience, it was also the only time I got laid while down there, so it wasn't all bad.

Damn, thats long. Sorry.

[Sterling]

As I type this I am constipated. It fucking sucks. I need to be better by Sunday because I'm going to the Seahawks/Panthers game and will be eating as many hotdogs as I possibly can.

[artificial]

I hade shit stories coming out of my ass. Pun intended.

1. I went for Mexican food late one evening and woke up to head out on my daily jog. (You can see where this is going.) My stomach hurt, but running always makes me feel better so I decided to venture out anyway. I walk out my door only to be greeted by a herd of decent looking construction workers on my front lawn. They start cat calling at me in my oh-so-sweet looking spandex, and I take off for my run.

I get half way along the block and all of a sudden my tummy is telling me that the run wasn't such a good decision. Surprise! I need to shit! Like, right fucking now! I get into a full out sprint trying to make it back to the house, end up prairie dogging the whole way and eventually my ass tells me who is boss. I let out (what I think is going to be) a fart, and suddenly it's all over. Yes! I had an accident! Suddenly, my door is in sight and I'm holding my ass while running through the construction boys to try to make it without anyone noticing. Game over! Worst run ever.

2. As a teenager my parents sent me away for "being a terrible kid." It was like boot camp... with no toilet paper. For a full fucking month, I wiped my ass with snow and leaves. Now maybe to most of you that's no feat-- but I was a city girl who hadn't ever shit anywhere but a toilet. I got home and my parents expected me to have some wonderful revelations about all the things I'd learned, but the only thing I could talk about was how much I missed toilet paper. Worst month ever.

I am a dirty, dirty girl.

[Bastardized]

I've only shit myself once in my adult life.

In 1999 I was on a detachment with my squadron to NAF El Centro, Ca. My body has always been a little independent of my desires when it comes to dropping a deuce. Sometimes I'll have an hour's notice, sometimes I have 30 seconds.

This was a day where I had a one minute notice and a five minute walk. I had eaten dinner at the galley and began my trek back to the barracks. For some reason, this was the one time they decided to stick our squadron on the other side of the base. I was crossing a wide expanse of sand when that familiar feeling hit me. I quickened my pace and prayed I would make it. The pressure built more and more, my bowels began to feel like they were prolapsing. My feverish walk turned into a brisk trot. At this point I realized it was a damned if I do, damned if I don't situation. My trot turned into a dead sprint. As I was scrambling the last 100 yards to the barracks I began to feel the first bit of fecal matter in between my ass cheeks. I prayed to a god I don't believe in to let me just make it the last 25 yards. He decided he'd had enough of my fair-weather faith and made the load come faster. By now, there was nothing I could do to stop the inevitable storm in my boxers. There I was, 20 years old, sprinting across the desert with my hand on my ass crack trying to stem the tide. All my efforts were for not, at that point there was no amount of clinching that would stop my colon from purging itself. I stopped my dash with only 10 yards to go and began the shameful waddle into the head.

In the head I assessed the damage: 1 ruined pair of boxers, 1 ruined pair of dungaree trousers, 1 ruined pair of socks, 1 pair of ruined flight deck boots. I threw everything but the boxers in the trash. The boxers I tried to flush, big mistake. Luckily I was above the task of cleaning the bathroom. I just feel sorry for the poor airman who had to clean up the mess.

It would be another 5 years before I was "diagnosed" with IBS. What a bitch.

edit: The urge hit me at 1st and B streets. I was heading to the barracks on the southwest end of J street.
NAF El Centro (http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&hl=en&q=Naval+El+Centro,+Ca&btnG=Search&ll=32.814672,-115.670435&spn=0.009125,0.016608&t=h)

[John The Ripper]

When I was 13 I came down with a fucking nasty stomach virus. It struck me out of nowhere, the churning sensation in my lower abdomen a clear warning. Luckily I was at home and rushed to the bathroom. As I let loose on my poor, poor toliet, I suddenly became VERY nauseous. I was now met with a horrifying choice: Vomit in the toliet and shit all over the floor, or continue to blast my toliet whilst yelling at the ground. I came to the conclusion that neither would do. With all my might I closed the flood gates long enough to switch and vomit all over the toliet, or so I thought. I spent the next five minutes exploding from both ends before passing out. My parents found me naked asleep in the running shower, the entire bathroom covered in shit and vomit.

[TheGC]

(From a few years ago) I arrived at the Newark Airport still drunk and an hour or so early for a flight to Vegas. The bachelor party started the night before at Flash Dancers and continued until the sun came up and our transportation had arrived. At the airport I figured the best thing to do was get some breakfast, have a breakfast cocktail and get ready to pass out on the plane. Well the plan backfired when the substance passing for a bacon, egg and cheese sandwich started fighting back.

I went to the airport bathroom to find three stalls: the far right stall was occupied, the far left stall was stuffed and out of order, and the middle stall was open for my business. I put my backpack on the ground and went at it. As soon as I was relaxed and got down to business, the guy in the occupied stall left and a janitor came in to fix the stuffed stall.

How did the janitor attempt to fix the toilet you ask? By flushing it twice. I could hear the water not flushing down and new what was about to happen. Right before the shit water started flowing on the ground, I snatched up my backpack and lifted my legs. I then proceeded to finish the most uncomfortable shit of my life. Finishing took careful balance of a backpack behind the stall and me standing on the seat.

Getting out of the stall was an adventure as well. I opened the door and saw some unsoiled floor a few feet ahead of me by the sink. I tossed my backpack and it landed on the sink counter. After testing the strength of the stall unit, I used the top of the door stop to swing to safe ground. Picture a fully clothed, straight male gymnast using the uneven bars at the Special Olympics. It wasn't pretty, but it got the job done.

I then found another bathroom to make sure everything was o.k. It was.

[Howie F]

The following took place about 7 years ago while partying at my girlfriend's house while her parents were out of town.

For a pre-party meal, Rally-Burgers from Rally's (similar to a Whopper from BurgerKing, only much greasier) were on sale for $1 apiece. So I ate 3 of them.

Everything was fine for a while. I had a half dozen beers in me and I was fine until we were playing cards and it was my turn to deal. Then all hell broke loose, or damn near broke loose.

My gut instantly felt like someone had injected battery acid into my stomach. I knew the bathroom downstairs was no match for the stench that was about to be unleashed, so I ran upstairs to the bathroom off her parent's bedroom. The bedroom and bathroom were both spotless, and both were covered with a thick, lavender plush carpet.

After unleashing a death-star fart that reverberated in the porcelin, the levvy broke, an anal explosion of simmering grease and cheap beer, certainly echoeing throughout the entire house as I swore I could hear a collective gasp from downstairs. Anxious to assess the damage, I stood up and gazed upon a fecality of brown murky toilet water, topped off with little remnants of sesame seeds floating on top. I flushed and walked around the corner to the sink. After washing my hands and turning the sink faucet off, I was alarmed to still hear water running. I peeked around the corner and there was that poor excuse of a shitter billowing my soft serve job right up and over the sides of the can!!

So I panicked. I looked everwhere for anything to to sop this up before it stained the carpet. Inside the bathroom vanity there were no towels, not even a damn plunger. Apparently this shitter wannabe was just for decorative purposes. I managed to turn the water off, but all I could find to clean the carpet were 2 light pink towels with his and her initials hanging neatly on the towelbar. I had no choice. I took the towels and sopped the mess up, then I threw the towels in the bathtub and went downstairs like nothing had happened.

The next morning I ventured into the bathroom to assess the damage. Good news. The carpet was still damp but no stains. By now the water in the can had gone down and there surprisingly weren't any skidmarks. So I turned the water back on and hoped for the best. When I opened the shower curtain, the odor and sight of those feekey towels combined with a particularly bad case of rotgut almost caused me to hork, which would have put me back at square one. I composed myself, and devised a way to dispose of the evidence.
After getting the bathroom as close as I could remember to it's original condition it from the night before, I took the towels and put them in a plastic garbage bag and stuffed it in my overnight bag. Once safely back to campus the tainted items were permanently disposed of in an on campus trash recepticle.

My GF and I dated for about 1 1/2 years, and I never told her of the debauchery that took place in her parents picture perfect but apparently non-functional bathroom. The only aftermath I am aware of is once home her parents quizzed her about the missing his and her towels, which apparently were a gift to them of some sort. And of course, she was totally clueless.

[hi5]

A few years back, I went to a Dodgers game with my friend (we were on summer break from college at the time) and his dad and sister. The game was a good time, and we're leaving afterwards. We get on the 5 to drive home and after a couple miles, the Dodger dogs and popcorn and assorted other crap I ate at the stadium catch up to me. At first I thought I could make it 45 minutes because it didn't feel so tough, but after another minute or two I realize we're going to need to stop because I'm really not gonna make it.

No problem. We're in the middle of a major metropolitan area, there's bound to be gas stations and fast food diners with restrooms no matter where we are right? wrong. Somehow we ended up getting off the freeway at an exit that had nothing going for a half mile in one direction. At this point, there was no more waiting. We pulled over and I hustled behind some bushes and ended up taking a dump at the top of one of those huge banked cement canals, like the one where they race the cars in 'grease.' I did the best job I could with the leaves, but after that I don't know if you can feel like you did a good job wiping your ass.

Two weeks later, I received 2 rolls of TP for my birthday.

[cfs]

This is embarrassing as hell, but here it goes:

It was my sophomore year in college, and I was relaxing in my dorm room before having to go to work. As I'm sitting at my computer, the urge to fart comes on, so without regard for the greasy lunch from the school cafeteria that was sitting on my stomach, I proceeded to rip ass.

Unfortunately, that magic sense that differentiates between liquid and solid failed me, and I got a decent amount of liquid shit in my pants before I could clamp my sphincter shut. I strip to see the damage, and it's already soaked through my boxers to my shorts.

I have to be at work in less than 30 minutes, so washing the pants is out of the question. I decide to cut my losses and throw the fuckers away. So I clean myself up, throw the shitty paper towel in with the shitty pants, double-bag it, and head to the trash chute. Not one of my finer moments, but there were no witnesses, so it could have been worse.

That sense of relief died very quickly when I got back to my room, though. I started to hunt for my wallet, and then realized that I had left it in the shitty pair of shorts, which was now beyond reach in the trash chute.

I had over $200 in there, so there was no fucking way I was going to just write it off. I head downstairs and ask for the key to the trash room, making up some bullshit excuse for the desk lady.

Key in hand, I went to the trash room, and unlocked the chute door. It had been almost a week since the chute had been emptied, so it was piled up 3 floors, and my fucking wallet was at the very top. This was some of the foulest smelling garbage I'd ever had the misfortune to root through. Some asshole had poured milk down the chute, and it had soured.

I ended up filling 3 of the bins that the garbage people use to transport the shit before reaching the prize. I smelled like a mix of unwashed immigrant and poor person, but I had my wallet back. Of course, I only had 5 minutes to get to work, but I had an understanding boss, so I showered before heading off.

[Angelfart]

Lake enemas suck when you're trying to get a job.

I was a summer associate at a law firm and part of the program involved a weekend retreat at a lakeside resort that was designed to let you get to know everyone. The bar served Jagermeister on tap. We all drank and did water sports and generally had a pretty good time. But our mentors at the firm had told us the tales of people who ruined their chances of getting an offer by being stupid on this weekend trip. I was terrified of a having no job at graduation under the crushing weight of student loans, so I was determined not to offend.

I'd never been water skiing before, but after some practice I managed to stay upright and I was feeling pretty cool. Then a big boat-induced wave knocks me on my ass. Hard. I could feel the lake water shoot straight up all of my lower orifices. I recovered, the boat picked me up, and we went back to shore.

An hour later, all the summers and all the lawyers there for the weekend were sitting in the bar having beers. That's when the enema kicked in. I felt a violent rumble in my stomach. I had to stand up and run to the little bathroom in the corner. The bathroom was tiny, with thin walls and only a flimsy door between me and the crowd outside. But I had no choice. It was long and unbelievably loud. In between bursts, I could hear that the crowd outside had stopped talking. They knew. I knew they knew.

I opened the door and walked to the table while they watched me. There was a pregnant pause (it felt much longer than it probably was) while they stared at me and then they laughed their asses off.

[Lester]

Previously posted bt still valid:

Grand Central

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Its been awhile since I lived in NY, but remember one specific time that I was nearly paralyzed by GI flu. Net net is I left work abruptly, took the subway from 59th to Grand Central instead of walking, butt cheeks can only handle so much motion during rough times. First stop, I am in agony, second stop we're at Grand Central and I am sprinting and uh oh! I stop and sit on the steps of the concourse hoping this will help, it seems to so I get up to move forward. Again, uh oh, I need to fart. Can't trust the sphincter anymore.... I sprint to the public restroom, dart into a stall and see it is overflowing with crap and tampons! Tampons what f'in woman would go into the men's head in Grand Central. Ok I brace and hold myself up and release. Sheer pleasure....

No toilet paper...

I use my tie, its silk and is bound to feel better than anything else I have. Add it to the rest of the contaminants in the toilet and go on my way.

Last thing I need now is someone to give me attention, so of course some homeless person has set up shop and has set up shop "selling" paper towels to patrons of the stalls. I have no small bills and he won't budge on donations. I give him my pack of smokes and go on my way.

If I ever smell a Grand Central Station bathroom again, I swear I will shit myself, from some sort of psychological stain that I left on my mind and Escher tie.

[Maldrick]

Ah, man. I still get hell about this from my friends about this to this day....

Freshman year of college a bunch of us roadtripped to another school for their spring party weekend. Having been wasted the night before, a couple of us ditched class the friday we were leaving and started drinking at some ungodly hour...Like 9 or 10 am and kept it up all day, totally drinking whatever we could get our hands on, not worrying about what all we were mixing (this detail has always been my weak defense for this foul story.)

I honestly only remember brief flashes from this entire day......Beers at one guy's apartment....Long Island Iced Teas at a bar.....Shots of tequila.....Jello shots with a bunch of girls at one point...Some fruity shit with 151 in it....An afternoon keg at the frat house. There were definately tubes pulled in there at some point and God only knows what all we ate.

The 10 or so of us wind up heading out around 6 pm for the 3 hour drive, now drinking jugs of leftover keg from the afternoon. I think I made it to about 30 mins away before I finally passed out in the back seat of my buddy's bronco.

After that, all I know is I wake up and it's morning. And it's goddam hot. And my head hurts. Bad. And it's goddam hot. I sit up to figure out where the hell I am and I realize that I'm sitting on more than the seat. In my totally comatose state I apparently managed to shit my pants in the back of my friend's truck. This isn't just some nasty shart.....I'm sitting on a fucking loaf.

(side note: yes this is really fucking disgusting and it still freaks me out 15 years later. I've not crapped for 2 or 3 days on end at camp-out music festivals not wanting to use porta-johns and been more fucked up than this and not had this "problem" crop up again. Not to mention countless blackout drunks. I guess that's what's so disturbing about it.....In the back of my mind I just know history could repeat itself at the worst possible time.)

I start to try to figure out how I'm going to deal with this situation. It's only 7 am, so I figure if I do this right I might be able to sneak my way out of this. No way anybody's going to be up at 7 am on Saturday. I grab my stuff and climb out of the truck, get my bearings and make my way into the frat house we were staying at, happy to find that nobody is up. I hit the can and clean up, take a shower, change etc, and find a couch to crash out on. Home-fucking-free.

About 3 hours later one of the guys comes rolling in from his girlfriend's place and we go get some early lunch, and start drinking again, which is good because if I wasn't half-wasted again by the time we got back to the house, I'm not sure how I would have handled the total hell I had to endure for the next couple hours.....

The guy who's bronco I shit in was not happy that I dropped a load in the back seat of his ride. So he made sure to send everybody out to "get his extra cooler" or whatever from his bronco. Fucker. He probably sent 50 people out there during the course of the night, I found out. Apparently the stench alone was a total laugh riot.

But what could I say, really? I shit in his truck. Totally passed out....Considering what he could have done to me.....what he would have done to me had I been anyone besides one of his best friends....I figure I got off easy. So I caught some shit from my friends and didn't get laid that weekend. Big deal. The worst is that he still insists on whipping this tale out at the worst times, now complete with a complement of bullshit embellishments. Like at dinner with my parents. Like at weddings. Like the first time he meets a new girlfriend of mine. Dick.

All I say is this.....If chicks can get away with rationalizing screwing a basketball team while trashed, then I get a pass on the one time I shit my pants after 12 hours of drinking (and smoking and eating) everything I could get my hands on as a freshman.

[darken]

I have suffered for years from a very bad case of enterocolitis. Basically due to long years in the realm of eating disorders, my body can only process certain foods. Eating complex foods at the same time (protein +carbs +fat) is a disaster-my body cannot handle fats. Eating mayo, butter, anything made with hydrogenated oils will render Armaggedon on my bowels. A teaspoon of mayo- even low fat mayo is the stuff bad dreams are made of, and do not even mention chocolate.

Last fall, I was at work (actually in the office instead of being out dealing with the clients) doing some freaking bureaucratic shit. It's a pretty cool enbironment and no one will raise a brow if wearing jeans to work, so I take advantage of this...

So there I am in my office rummaging through papers and trying to put in acceptable words experiences that could be summarized with " I met with the nutjob, gave him his jab and fucked off because he fucking stinks" ( a lot of mental health patients have hygiene problems). It's like 3 PM, all warm... and one of my colleagues decides to let me know there are somekind of sweets in the kitchen.
Everybody eats in that department. The kitchen at work is better ecquipped than the one I have at home, and every day someone will bring something very unhealthy for lunch... for the whole department.
I normally stay out of it for the reasons mentioned above...until that day.
I had forgotten to eat breakfast and lunch, so I am pretty ravenous. I go to the kitchen, and there is a large box of some tart thingiescalled Bakewell tarts- foul like most English pastry. A pathetic attempt of pastry covered with some kind of vomit coloured frosting thing.
It looked like green fresh vomit. My stomach curls in a pointy ball and sends me a "no way" message. Do I listen? Nope. I ate one of the thingies. Heavy and of a synthetic taste.

Ok... one hour later I feel a rumble in my stomach, a loud noise and a bad cramp. I think I yelped in pain. Felt like there was a cat clawing at my innards. Then... the next sensation is ... "Oh my God I pissed myself". There is somethign warm and liquid in my jeans.

Except for the fact it was not piss. I had just shit in my jeans. My pretty light gray work jeans are covered in a black liquid.

It's September. Warm. I was wearing jeans and a cropped t shirt. No jacket.Nothing to conceal that
MY JEANS ARE COVERED IN LIQUID SHIT

AND MY CHAIR.

I closed my office's door ( which is the universally accepted code for "leave me the fuck alone"). I waited until everyone left. I waited some more until it got dark( around 9 PM). Then,I walked home( I do not have a car). 4 miles, trying to pick the darkest streets, through one of the most colourful areas of the town.

[RileyAZ]

Having to shit while flying a light aircraft sucks!

About a year or so ago, after a weekend filled with beer, tequila, street tacos and mexican whores, my partner and I were flying our plane back from a trip to San Carlos Mexico I had this littlke adventure.

We had quit drinking early the night befpre and both had a decent nights sleep. Woke up feeling great and on the way to the airport stopped for some breakfast burritos.

Got to the airport, used the restroom, did our pre-flight and we were off. Smooth flight across Mexico, got clearence into Tucson (Customs) and landed. Customs was fast and smooth, used the restroom again and we were off.

About 10 minutes after departing Tucson it hit, cramps, pain, the need to shit and shit soon. I made mention of this little problem and parnet just laughed.

I knew I was not going to make it all the way home so I start looking around the plane (in a six seat airplane your options are limited). I was strting to think about climbing in the back and emptying a duffel bag when partner says "No fucking way!" as he realizes the seriusness of what we are dealing with.

He checks and sees we are very close to a tiny little airport that is supposed to have facilities - dolwn we go.

By this time, I really need to go and the stomach tightening you get as part of a short-field approach is not helping, nor is the fact we almost bones the landing.

We are on the ground and rolling...AWAY FROM ANYHTING RESEMBLING A SHITTER. I finally just tell him, stop the fucking plane now!

We ended up pulling off the taxiway at the far end of the field where I jumped out and dropped my Mexican breakfast behind some bushes in the fencline.

When I got back in ThePartner was laughing his ass off and the airport was contacting us asking what the problem was.

[strawberryjesus]

After drinking with a couple of my buddies pretty consistently for three or four hours, we all found ourselves reaching that "I can barely see" drunk. None of us are driving, and the party we are at starts to slow down, so we decide to walk over to another.

First mistake.

The second mistake was made just before starting to drink that night. It's name was an exboritant amount of Taco Bell.

About halfway through this walk, we all decide we have to shit something awful. I am with 3 other guys, one of who decides, "I can't go a step further without shitting myself," and drops his pants, next to a tree on a fairly well lit street, Friday Night, 11 pm. The three of us decide we can make it to the nearby elementary school, where we can at least shit in the dark, I surprise myself by making it all the way to a nearby restaurant before unleashing the fires of hell.

In my post-traumatic daze, I walk back to where I left my two buddies, who are watching in shock as two police cars have pulled up to the tree that was the recipient of a hell-load of taco shit from my friend.

Needless to say, he got ticketed for underage drinking, but I'm a little surprised he didn't get more. The shit was all over the sidewalk and tree.

[ccc]

One cold November night I was staying in a small motel in small northern Canadian town with a buddy of mine. We were shitface drunk that night. Upon returning to the room I passed out face down on the bed. A few minutes later I awoke with my stomach churning. I sprint to the bathroom, aim my face at the toilet, and proceed to vomit. I was rather pleased with myself for making it to the toilet until my eyes focused on what I had done. It seems I only managed to get about 50% of the vomit in the toilet. The rest was divided up evenly between the back of the toilet, the wall, and the floor. Apparently, vomit does not exit ones mouth perpendicular to ones face. It seems to have a higher trajectory.

Knowing I must clean it up a bit or face the wrath of my friend in the morning, I begin to scoop up the vomit using wads of toilet paper. After about 90% was cleaned up, I flush the toilet. I am horrified as I watch the water level rise to the top of the bowl. It seems I should have flushed much more often as the toilet was now plugged. Luckily the water stopped rising mere millimeters from the top of the bowl.

I checked under the sink for a plunger and found none. I sat on the edge of the tub with my head in my hands and thought. I remember thinking that things cannot possibly get worse when it happened. I had to shit. Now. Bad.

I began to sweat and was hoping this would just go away. However, the turtle was trying to stick its head out already and I knew I was in trouble. I scanned the bathroom and evaluated my options:

1. I could shit in the toilet and worry about the mess later. I dismissed this because the mere volume of my shit would overflow the toilet and it would make cleanup infinitely worse.

2. I could shit in the garbage can. Nope, didn't see one in there. Why the hell wouldn't they have a garbage can?

3. I could shit in the bathtub. I didn't think this was a good idea either unless I left town before anyone woke up and never showed my face again.

I was beginning to think I was going to shit my pants for the first time in my adult life. With moments to spare, I come upon a solution. I grab about 5 squares of toilet paper and run outside.

Shoeless, I run out into the cold Canadian night. The fresh snow felt soft under my feet as I turn toward the back of the building. My intention was to run into the trees behind the building but I couldn't make it that far. I went around the corner at the back of the building, backed up to the wall, and left a steaming pile that an average sized bear would have been lucky to pass. After a quick wipe I returned to my room and passed out on the bed.

I managed to wake up the next morning before my buddy, and I thought it would be best to survey the damage in the bathroom. In there I found the remaining vomit was dried to the wall, floor, and toilet. The water in the bowl had seeped down to a normal level. I pressed the flush lever and hoped like hell my problem had simply gone away. Nope. The water rose again and stopped at the same level it did the night before. "Why me?", I thought.

Next I had to make the arduous journey to the front desk to ask for a plunger and some extra towels. I did not look, smell, or feel very good at this point. The look on the lady's face at the front desk will forever be burned into my mind... it was a combination of pity and disgust. She complied and gave me a plunger, two towels, and a handfull of rags that I hadn't even asked for.

I managed to unclog the toilet and clean up most of the puke from around the toilet. The only evidence of the incident was a bit of dried puke in around the toilet and the massive ball of sopping wet, puke infested towels I left in the corner.

I'm pretty sure that someone must have seen the pile of poo that I left next to the building that night. To this day I wonder what the a person must have thought if they saw it. Did they think it was an animal? Were my tracks identifyable as human? I haven't been back to that town since.

[Mike Gill]

My girlfriend was on top and just about to cum. She picks up the pace, bears down and has great orgasm. We are changing positions and I am getting behind her when I look down and see SHIT on my fucking thigh.

Aprrently all he muscles were really pushing hard and 3 tiny drops of poo came out. I went soft. She asked what was wrong. I said, Im not sure how to tell you this, but I think you just shit on me. I tried to get back into it after cleaning up but I couldn't.

[D-Matt]

One of the worst shit times when was i was little and was really deathly ill....I woke up in the middle of the night, having to not only throw up, but have explosive shits. I start the charade by throwing up profusely, turning around, shitting, throwing up, shitting, etc. you get the idea.

Hey, I'm only five years old, but i hate making messes.

My mom comes in, sees me with no shirt on, my pajamas around my ankles, around my ankles, and says

"Coming out both ends, huh?"


Thanks for the help mom.

[abbalish]

Mine definitely pales in comparison to some of these...

A few months ago, I had dinner at a Mexican restaurant with my friend and her mom. Driving my friend back to her place, I realized that I had to take a shit. When I was dropping her off, she offered to let me come in and use her bathroom, but I declined; I didn't have to go that badly, and it was only a 10-minute drive home.

Bad decision. Almost immediately after I pulled away, it hit me BAD. I thought about turning back but it was a busy street, so I forged on ahead. I was literally squeezing my sphincter closed to the point where I was probably raised up two inches higher than normal on my seat. Of course, I hit every red light imaginable on my way home, and I was smacking the steering wheel and screaming "FUCK!" each time I hit another light. I was almost crying, the pain was so bad. I contemplated just crapping in my car but I wanted to avoid that at all costs, because that'd be a bitch to clean up.

Somehow, I made it home. I left all my stuff in the car and ran inside, holding my ass shut with my hand. Sweet relief was mine. I think I lost about three pounds, and I felt like a million bucks afterwards.

An aside: I'd take pissing or shitting when I REALLY have to go over an orgasm any day. There's just nothing like that feeling of relief.

[Sharts]

I posted this on a similar thread a long time ago ...

"Early Friday evening I was at a free booze and food happy hours put on by a client. It was generally a shitty time, and I left a half-hour before the open bar closed. For those who know me, that says what a terrible time it was.

But, I still remained excited. One of my good friends had a free food and drink at a bar I like quite a bit running from 8 to 11 p.m. that is just steps from my apartment.

I was largely sober in the cab on the 10-minute ride home to my apartment to change before heading to my second open bar. I had about six or seven drinks at the first open bar. But one thing I DID NOT have at the first bar was a piss break. Two minutes into the cab ride home, I had to piss.

Finally the cab driver dropped me off in front of my apartment. I reached into my pocket to fish out my door keys and realized I was out of smokes. So I backtracked two blocks to the trusty 7-11 and picked up some P-funk Lights.

I start walking back towards my place. Then it hit me. Again. My bladder felt like it was going to explode. I half jogged back towards my place before I realized something else. Fuck! I forgot to pick up deodorant that I had run out of the day before.

I backtracked another block to the 7-11. There is no deodorant. The pains in my bladder were killing me. But I was focused on getting deodorant. I crossed over another half a block to the Walgreens. I picked up deodorant. Thankfully, there were no fucking annoying coupon people in front of me in the check-out line.

So it’s three blocks back to my apartment. I am in the clear. I will be able to piss soon. I start to relax. I make a cell phone call. Two blocks to go. I hang up the phone. My bladder is just killing me. I am going to piss this very second.

One block to go. And then it happens. I completely shat myself.

Diarrhea had exploded into the back of my boxer briefs. I stopped dead in the middle of my walk. I was stunned. And then I just started laughing. My need to piss was so bad that I didn’t realize how much I needed to shit.
I waddled/half ran back the one block to my apartment and up two flights of stairs into my apartment before I shat myself again or had any of it really run down my legs.

I relieved myself in the toilet, took a long shower, tossed the boxer briefs out, changed clothes and went out for the night. All while still laughing at the fact I had just shat myself for the first time in almost 20 years."

[Skiing Drunk]

Two years ago, I led a class on a geological field trip into south-central Turkey. While they have regular toilets in most hotels in Istanbul, most of the country just uses squatters (porcelain hole in the floor, places to strategically put your feet, small hose attached to a faucet on the wall for clean-up duty). Hell, they even display squatters in home furnishing stores throughout the country like they're the plumbing department at Home Depot.

We stayed for three nights in a shithole hotel (literally) in a crappy little town, appropriately named Mut. It was the Otel Koselugleu, or some other fucked up randomly associated letters of a name. We called it "The Gulag." It was nicely situated above a muffler shop, and next to Shitfloater Creek. Seriously, the stream "flowing" past the hotel/muffler complex was a river of human offal. This does not bode well for the town's drinking water supply. Our hosts cheerily prepared food for us for hotel breakfasts and field lunches, dutifully washing the vegetables (tomatoes and cucumbers) from the tap at the sink in the lobby/kitchen/smoking room/dining room/television room. Noting this, I decided to avoid any of the washed vegetables and stayed with bread, cheese, and the bag of Bugles that I actually found at a store in Mut.

The students were dropping like flies. We frequently had to stop the vans so someone could hustle behind a bush and evacuate, coming back looking green. I was somehow not being affected by the shit-bug.

Until. I wake up about 4 o'clock on the morning that we're leaving Mut, sweating profusely on the nasty scratchy Gulag sheets, and stumble to the squatter in the corner of my room. Complete bombastic buttsneeze in the dark, trying to somehow focus the splatter cone into the impossibly small squatter hole. My guts are convulsing and my lower legs have taken shit shrapnel hits, with more to come.

I spent close to 45 minutes cleaning up with that ridiculous litttle hose after the explosions quit.

I only ate candy bars and drank Coke for the rest of the trip.

[bytor2112]

I can't believe I'm actually re-living this but during a little league baseball game when I was 7-8 I was playing third base and out of NOWHERE an unbelievably strong urge to shit came over me. I was a chubby kid too so third base was the obvious choice of a position for me.....right??

Anyways there was one out so I figured if I just stood there and held it with all my might, surely some kids would strike out or something in the next 10-15 minutes and I could go relieve my pain. Well lo and fucking behold the asshole at bat decides to rip a line drive right at me within the next couple pitches. I didn't even move or attempt to field it, so the ball just blew by my right foot, leading to a huge chew out from my awesome father in the bleachers (another great result of playing the corners...closer to the fucking parents). The kid ended up with a triple due to typical little league defensive breakdowns, so he had to sit there at 3rd and smell/listen to my ungodly gas for the next few minutes. How I was making it stink that bad outside I will never know.

Next kid up strikes out in about 4 pitches or so. Thank GOD. One more quick out and we're home free.

Douchebag lefty at bat next hits a weak ass dribbler right at me, so I had to move out of my anti-shit position and actually try to field it. As I was running up to the ball, my sphincter completely collapsed under the pressure and my ass essentially exploded in my pants. It felt like something alive was inside me and was desperately trying to get out. I tried throwing the ball to first mid-shit but I threw it over the first baseman, over the fence, and into the woods. At this point I was close to the pitcher, who looked at me lying on my stomach still farting loudly and shitting a little bit...(I figured at that point my young life was over anyways and I mine as well just go all out), goes "oh my god dude did you shit yourself?". I sprinted off the field and into the bathroom nearby to begin the lengthy clean up process. I think this is a good place to stop. I'd rather not describe what I saw in my pants.

[Johnny Dangerously]

Quick little story


More of a funny experiance then anything, because it didnt involve me directly. My unit here in Iraq built our own base up out of nothing, unlike a lot of units that go to bases that are already established. So this means about 200 dudes building stuff pretty much all day, and also conducting missions and establishing security and all that good stuff.

So it was my day on guard, and we recently had a company of Iraqi Army guys on the base with us. So each guard tower has one American soldier and one Iraqi soldier. Being a relatively new base at the time, the only thing we had was burn shitters, and they were only on one side of the base (about 1/4 a mile away). The iraqi with me uses hand signals to tell me has to shit. This is involves squatting, making a fist, and pumping down so it looks like shit is exploding out of his ass. So I say "ok dude". So he hobbles down the stairs and being a dirty Iraqi starts to take his pants down like hes gunna shit right under the tower. Being the highly observant and vigilant soldier I am, I quickly prevent this from happening, because if you think American shit smells bad, you havent visited the middle east. At this point he looks like hes about to cry, but I'm not gunna have some dirty Iraqi shit under my tower, not happenin'. So he starts shit hobbling as fast as he can to the burn shitters. You know, you want to run because you have to shit so bad, but you cant because if you do, your ass will explode.

He made it pretty far, and Im watching him the whole way (clear line of site to the shitters from the tower I was at). Then he stops and puts his head down, and from 150 yards I can see the resigned sigh "..man, i just shit myself...". So he comes back up to the tower and says "Jundi iraq bad...." (jundi is soldier, im probably not spelling it right). Definitely a big load in his pants, oh jesus did it smell. But he toughed it out though, and pulled his 3 hour guard shift (this happened right at the beginning of his shift) with a what had to be 2 pounds of shit in his pants.

[RowdyReptile]

Pamplona, Spain.

The running of the Bulls is one of the biggest clusterfucks I have ever witnessed. It is also one of the best times you will ever have, that is if you don't get the sharp end of the bull up your ass. Everyone stays up all night drinking and then the bulls run first in the morning. We survived all of that but what I was not prepared for was the euro-shitholes at the bus station. I walked in and my heart just sank. I needed a duece like none other and one look at that shrine to splattered feces and I knew that it just wasnt going to happen anytime soon. I was very disappointed.

[Mike Gill]

Oldie but a goodie:

I was making the road trip from Durham, NC to Charleston, SC alone. About three quarters of the way there I got the feeling in my stomach that what ever I had eaten earlier was going to come out, sooner than later. I broke out into a cold sweat and raced to the closest rest area about 2 miles ahead.

I pull into the parking lot and race to the men’s room. It is now a race against the clock and I was about to lose. I winced and grabbed my stomach in pain as I but open the bathroom door. Holy shit. There must have been 20 guys in there and there was only one open commode. I go in. To my horror, the thing had not been disinfected since the Regan Era.

No time left. I couldn’t properly paper the seat, so I pulled the old squat and hover. Ahhhhh… sweet relief. The beast was freed, and I was not long inhabited, I cleaned my self up and turned around to flush. Oh my god. I missed. About 50% made it into the bowl the rest was on the floor, wall, plumbing, and surrounding areas.

I backed away from it like it was a mugger holding me at gunpoint. I then turned and ran out of there, because the sight of what I had just done was triggering my gag reflex. On the way out I pass the poor janitor and exclaim to him, “Don’t go in there! Man down, call for back up”.

[death_metal_animal]

From an email:



FOCUS What is your worst shitting experience? What is an awful place, you lose it in your pants, anything like that?


dude you were at a beach. why not just shit in the water?

[DDM231]

dude you were at a beach. why not just shit in the water?
1. Tucker didn't write that. Don't address the question to him.
2. He had to shit then, so he went into the bathroom. If he could hold it until the water, he could probably hold it until later.

[gasshole]

A lot of good stories come from long roado trips. This was one of my finest revenge moments ever.

I was driving from Albany, NY to Kansas City, about an 18 or 19 hour drive. I constantly go well over the speed limit, so the majority of my driving time is spent in the left lane. Road rage being something that comes to me often, nothing pisses me off more than slow people in the left lane. Somewhere around St. Louis I encountered one of these dickweeds, going the exact same speed as the 18 wheeler next to him. It was dark by this time, so I rode his ass, flashed my lights, honked my horn, all the usual tricks to let someone know they should immediately pull over and die.

After about 10 minutes of being behind this fuck, he finally got the point and pulled in front of the truck, allowing me to blow by him. Then the little prick starts riding my ass, with his brights on, not 5 feet behind me. Wouldn't pass, just being a dingleberry. I flick him off out my rear window, adjust my rear view mirror and continue. He pulls up next to me a couple minutes later, flicks me off and speeds off up the road. Fuck him.

About a half hour later, I pass one of those rest stops with gas pumps and a McDonald's in it, and low and behold, dickfuck's car is parked there. I get off at the next exit, turn around, and pull in next to his car. I take a quick check of it, and lo and behold, the fucker was unlocked. Beautiful. I try to think of something to steal, or break, and quickly reject these. I kind of have to poo, and my mental lightbulb goes off. I get in his back seat, lift up the floor mat, and let loose. I wipe with a paper towel out of my car, squish the floor mat back into place, and continue on my way. The gift that keeps on giving.

Another good shit story: In high school, one of my friend's sister was a huge bitch, and they always had prank wars. I was over there once all drunk, and my friend talked me into pooping in a box, and we put it down the back of her pants while she was asleep. Too bad she's smoking hot now; she's hated me ever since.

[yeshiveh]

I was sitting at the computer a year or so ago, in my underwear, checking email, when it hit me. It felt like a bullet, or better yet, a train had nailed me at full force, knocking the wind out of my lungs. It happened in a split second, turtle-heading like a ravenous reptile or angry mole.

I had never had to take a dump so badly in my life.

My girlfriend at the time was in the shower, and to be honest, I had gone from patient to feral in a matter of seconds and there was no time to act. I jolted up and ran to the middle of the living room, trying to think, contemplating a plan. I attempted a little dance and clenched my butt cheeks to buy myself more restraint, but alas, it did not work. My legs were shaking, sweat collecting on my brow, I didn't have time to knock on the bathroom door and explain why I needed her to get out of the shower immediately and let me use the toilet. I had also moved from civilized discourse complete with comprehensible speech to animalistic grunts, so my pleas of bathroom mercy would have been lost in translation.

Time was of the essence.

I ran through the kitchen to the storage closet, cursing the bottle of Stubbs Spicy BBQ Sauce on the counter (surely, two nights of Stubbs chicken will wreck havoc on your bowels), and ripped open a new package of toilet paper, pulling sheets upon sheets off in a feverish haste. I had a handful of toilet paper and the Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse trying to ram their steeds of Armageddon through my butt, my eyes darting to the bathroom door. I knew that she would dry off, brush her teeth, get ready for bed, and I didn't have time to wait. A ticking time bomb was resting in my stomach and I had to take action.

Darting to the back door, I threw on my Birkenstocks and leapt like a gazelle in chase across my back yard. The moonlight acting as my only guide, I rounded my pool and ran like a Kenyan Olympic sprinter towards the tree covered brush. My feet aching as my calves pushed with all their might.

I was moving in slow motion. All that was needed to complete the scene was a backing track of Chariots Of Fire.

"The wave is coming, I'm not going to make it. Should I just leap into my pool and let it go, cleaning myself in the process? No time to think, time to act!" My thought process had gone from panic stricken to maniacal. Logical thinking and forethought was not my forte at the moment.

I decided to go for it. I pushed myself to the limits, pumping my legs as hard as I could with a clenched ass and curled toes. I kicked off my boxers, sending them into mid air, where I caught them as I made it into the brush. I braked hard and placed my chonies on my head in a quick attempt to not get them dirty in the all-too-likely case of bad "butt aim". Bending my knees and staring into the dark trees, I let it go.

A true fecal monsoon.

It was majestic, a bowel movement to behold. Orgasmic in the discharge. I honestly think I lost a couple of pounds along with some vital organs. With a serene tranquility of relief washing over me, I suddenly felt in tune with nature, my thoughts going to a time when such an act was common and Neanderthals who would of dropped a deuce in the open air without a second though. As I stood slightly hunched, completely naked, and with a pair of boxers placed upon my head like a crown, I felt like I had just stepped back into a time when technology and modern plumbing was not as prominent as it is today. A simpler age.

Instead, while I was trying to bury the used toilet paper like a cat in a sand box, I stepped back into a butt dollop equal to a malmack dinner plate in circumference. In the dark, I had over shot my footing and my sandaled foot landed squarely in the middle of a crap patty. I felt like I had just regressed from Neanderthal to complete moron. At least primitive man could avoid stepping in their droppings. I had obviously been spoiled by septic serenity.

With a sigh, I put on my underwear and hobbled over to the pool, splashing and cleaning off the sandal to the best of my abilities. It smelt like a mixture of death, barbeque chicken and Quickie Mart Coffee. This was a new low.

Making my way back to my apartment, complete with the one sandal limp, I tossed the ruined Birkenstocks on the porch and entered my house short a pair of German footwear and a lot of dignity.

[Insomniac]

I shit in my grandpa's car when I was about six years old. We went out to get ice cream and I waited in the car while he got the ice cream cones. As I'm waiting there I realized I had to shit. I didn't even have to go that bad. I definitely could have held it until we got home, but I was such a dumbass when I was little. I dropped trou right there and shit on the floor of his car. I wiped my ass with a Juicy Fruit gum wrapper and some other trash that was under the passenger seat.

The funny part was when my grandpa got back in the car, handed me my ice cream cone, and then goes, "What the hell is that smell?" He figured out what happened on the ride home and instead of going back to his house he dropped me off at my parents. He had enough of my shit.

[Misanthropic]

Driving down to D.C. to vist a buddy of mine, I made the mistake of stopping at a rest area on I-95 about an hour from his house and having a nice greasy helping of Popeye's chicken for dinner. Not 15 minutes further down the road the agony began. First the rumbling, then the uncontrollable flatulence, then the sharp abdominal pains. I was brown-capping 20 minutes from his house but held it in through sheer force of will. I pulled in his driveway and ran to the door. He opened it to see me there pale and sweating, and in obvious pain. I knocked him aside and spent the next 15 minutes in his bathroom destroying the porcelain.

Word to the hungry traveler - avoid the Popeye's.

[Bookie]

My buddy and I did an early morning hike up to Delicate Arch in Arches National Park located in Moab, Utah. As soon as we started back down the 2 mile trail my stomach started curdling. I knew right then and there I was in trouble. I am not one for shitting outdoors and shitting in the desert sounds even less appealing (rattle snakes and no proper leaves...)

Half way down I had to let my buddy in on my problem. I really did not want to let him in on it as I knew all he was going to do was to fuck with me. I am the guy in my group of friend's that has the farting and shitting problem. If there is a smell in the room I am blamed immediately--innocent until proven guilty just does not apply.

My ass had a mind of its own. The closer we got to the parking lot, the more my stomach curdled and the harder it was to hold in. This was compounded by the fact that the closer you get to the parking lot, the more of a down hill slope it is and the more banging my body took by my legs hitting the ground. With the parking lot in site, which also held the toilets, I began an all out sprint. Of course my buddy is yelling all sorts of crap as I was running. It was a big blur and I cannot say for sure what he said. I enter the "bathroom". More or less it was a pernament porta potty. Plastic walls cemented into the ground and the toilet was nothing but a pit. I would normally pull a Finch and line up the seat with paper but there was just no time. I yanked down my shorts and let loose. It was the loudest shit I have ever taken and was multiplied ten fold by the pit I was shitting into. My buddy is still a good 200 yards away and just starts laughing his ass off as he ducks for cover. Hearing him I went into a fit of laughing as well which caused me to shit with force multiple times causing even more noise and thus more laughter. Eventually I composed myself and left the bathroom. My buddy has his tripod setup and takes a shot as I exit the bathroom--a wonderful conversation piece. Behind him are two families looking at me like I was a mental patient.

[lawzm]

When i was 11, i had once such experience. God it fucking sucks. It was..yep, of all places, in fucking class. It was those I-think-I'm-gonna-fart situation. I let loose, not only fart came out, a truckload of shit came out as well. What did i do next?




I fucking cried, made the relief teacher called my mother, who brought me home, and laughed her fucking ass off whilst she cleaned me up. That was the worst day of my elementary school life, period.

[SaucyLilMinx]

Jesus, Girl Scout cookies, murdering whores and now tales of shitting, this board never ceases to amaze me. I know that some of you (men) refuse to believe that women fart or shit, sorry to burst the bubble.

I was around twelve and it was the early eighties. Twisted Sister and Quiet Riot were tops in my music rotation. The styles consisted of metal studded belts, big hair and fake leather pants. The eighties rocked.

I was with my mom and brother and we were driving home when I felt the rumble, volcanic burn. I told my mother that I had to stop at a store NOW, but since we lived in east bum fuck. I was literally shit out of luck since the closest store was miles away.

I begged and pleaded for her to stop, to the point where I was crying. I was twelve, my pre-pubescent hormones were crazy and there was not a chance in hell that I wanted to shit myself in the front seat of my mothers Trans-Am. Too late. Mission accomplished. This made me cry even more. There I am, bracing myself up against the side of the door to hold myself up off of the seat. My fake leather pants full and my rock star makeup streaming down my face. I was mortified while my mother and brother were laughing hysterically. Assholes.

We finally get to the house and I waddled my way up to the door, shit running down my legs as I shuffled into the bathroom. For anyone who has ever worn leather pants, fake or not, when you even have the least bit of moisture, the things suction cup to your skin. My mother ended up cutting them off of me because I was flipping out at the thought of having crap all over me.

She likes to bring that story up from time to time, especially when I’m dating someone new. I’m 33 now mom, let it go.

[PacificPhi]

Only once has this happen to me, and unfortunately it wasn't all that long ago (couple years). I had taken up running to get into shape and I had intended to get into marathons/tri-athalons.

I had spoken with a few experienced runners and I thought it was crazy how runners will just stop and piss wherever they are at the time (men and women, probably due to the amount of water they drink throughout the day). What no one told me was what to do about 'ole number 2.

The run started off normally, I was about 3 miles from my home and it was very early in the morning. Then, out of the blue there was a rumble whose sound register was unlike anything I had ever heard produced from my stomach. I foolishly brushed it aside thinking it was the powerbar digesting as I ran. Four more blocks and I realize this is a powerbar, only not the one I had just eaten. Knowing that nothing was open at this hour (and wouldn't be for some time), I knew my best bet was to make a break for the ocean and hope for the best. Stupid, stupid, stupid. By speeding up my pace, I just increased the regular pounding in my bowels as well as the intensity.

I immediately went from a full sprint (thinking I could make those last 10 blocks) to a screeching halt and I knew desperation was soon to set it. I penguin-walked my enraged colon to the beach's restroom only to find it was locked as well. That's when the demon decided to rear its ugly head. In my last act of desperation, I waddled down the cliff to the water, kicked off my shoes and shit what was left into the beautiful Pacific Ocean. Before God and the world. It would have been quite the spiritual moment had I not just shit myself.

What REALLY sucked about the whole ordeal was I had to run the entire way back in some seriously nasty shorts and I couldn't get my morning coffee due to my salty, wet, sweaty and shit-covered state.

[D-Matt]

Got another one.

A few years ago, my parents re-did the ceiling the kitchen in my house, nd the bathroom was directly above the kitchen on the second floor. Two days after the ceiling had been redone, I had to take a gargantuan crap so I ran up to the bathroom, dd my thing, and flushed the toilet.

Toilets normally flush down, today mine decided to rebel against the laws of physics, and started to overflow. I watched in horror as the water started pouring out of the john to the floor. Since most of the shit had gone down, it was only browinsh water that was on the floor. I cleaned it up and thought crisis had been averted.

I went to the kitchen and screamed in horror: A brown water stain on the new ceiling. I got a verbal ass-kicking from the parents.

Now I always make sure there is a trusty plunger behind the toilet.

[Toddus]

When I was about seven I was staying in a hotel with my family, being responsible parents they left me in the hotel room and went out to dinner. I started jumping up and down on the bed when I farted. The fart was followed by a stream of runny shit sliding down my leg.

My legs as well at the entire bed were now covered in the most putrid smelling shit I have ever encountered let alone produced. I rushed into the showers were I stripped and washed the shit off myself. After this I ripped all of the sheets off the bed and along with my boxer shorts, threw the lot off the 22nd floor balcony.

My parents came back and for whatever reason never questioned why one bed was now without sheets. I was too embarrassed to ever tell them.

[GcDiaz]

About 11 years ago, my mother was visiting from overseas. We were at my sister-in-law's place in the Bronx, and she decided she wanted to visit some friends out in Queens. So we pile into the car and head out. We had just finished a big dinner (damn I missed her cooking) and it never occurred to me to launch a preemptive strike on my bowels before we left. Well, we picked the best possible time to leave (4:40PM), and so we ultimately found ourselves inching along on the Grand Central Parkway with the rest of the commuters. Right after the Van Wyck exit, I start to get that feeling. It's not too bad at first, but soon enough I'm thankful that I'm sitting down. We reach the destination, and it's a 5-story building. I yell at my mother,"What's their apartment number?".

"4E"

"FUCK!" I run in the building, sprint up the stairs (miraculously, my buttcheek sphincter seal held) and find the place. I bang on their door, and as this lady opens it I push past her into the apartment and make a dash for the bathroom, yelling back "I'm with (mother), she's right behind me!" as I go. Good thing she and her husband were expecting us. By the time I came out everyone was in the apartment looking at me. I just sat down and drank my soda. I'm happy to say that I didn't shit on myself, but the pressure build up led to some interesting Rorschach patterns on their porcelain.

[Disgustipated]

A couple of years back I had really bad gastro. I'm talking sitting on the toilet praying for death while it feels like rusty hooks remove my small intestive through my belly button type gastro. I tried everything I could get from the drug store, and none of that stuff worked. I don't think it stayed in me long enough to take an effect.

So, I manned up and clenched my butt cheeks long enough to get to the doc. He took one look at my haggard, dehydrated form and prescribed me the strongest thing he could. It had belladonna extract in it which is a powerful poison and an intestinal relaxant to stop the violent convulsing I was doing.

Unfortunately, my timing sucked. I was on the cusp of getting better naturally. That, plus my new wonderful drugs equalled major constipation. I swung from one extreme to the next in 12 hours. I was too scared to take anything to fix that situation so I waited it out.

There's nothing like trying to work out constipation with a colon already bruised to hell.

[fangboner]

One time I went out and inexplicably forgot to take a pre-game dump. After a couple hours of 10 cent drafts, my intestines start telling me that something is wrong. Now, the bar I am at is an absolute dive so I tell myself there is no way I am shitting there. Problem is its only about 11 o'clock and there is no way I am going to make until 2. So I take a deep breath and head downstairs to do my business. I get into the bathroom and discover there is no stall door. No problem.

Except there is another problem: there is no toilet paper in the bathroom. Apparently no one else has ever been desperate enough to take a dump in this place. After briefly contemplating stealing toilet paper from the women's room, I walk upstairs, grab a stack of napkins from the bar and proceed to do my thing.

So there I am sitting on this disgusting toilet, people walking in and out and looking at me as if I had some sort of disease. The look of disbelief on their faces was absolutely priceless.

[thetrox]

I was camping once with some friends and we had been grilling wonderfully greasy burgers and hotdogs; after a couple of each washed down with a few beers, my stomach was feeling great. I had that wonderful full feeling that makes you want to lean back and relax, too bad that only lasted for a couple of hours or so , then I felt the need to get it all out. Being in the middle of nowhere, I waddled off into the woods to shit.

Upon finding a suitable location, I squatted down with one hand on a log behind me to help support some of my weight and began to let loose. The shit in itself was nothing spectacular, however, I did feel wonderfully relieved from it. As I was standing up to find some wiping materials, the log my hand was resting on began rolling away from me. Realizing I was about to fall into my own pile of shit, I instinctively put my other hand behind me to catch myself. I misjudged my placement and stuck my hand straight into the shit pile. I don't know if you've ever done the same, but shit isn't exactly a stable foundation. My hand slid backwards and I ended up sitting in my own shit, my friends give me hell about it to this day.

[Quality]

I had taken a golf trip with 3 buddies (because it snows here during the winter). We were gone 6 days, and through 5 days, strangely enough, I hadn't taken one shit. I didn't feel bad, I wasn't eating anything out of the ordinary...it was pretty weird.

When I woke up on the 5th night at 2am, my asshole was actually quavering, as if under a huge amount of stress. I quickly waddled to the bathroom and unloaded the most ridiculous amount of shit I've ever seen. There was seriously enough for 4 normal sized logs, plus some more liquid, sludgy debris. Since there was so much shit in the bowl, I decieded to not risk plugging the toilet, so I flushed before wiping my ass. So I'm in the process of wiping my ass as the toilets flushing, but little do I know that one of my friends had plugged it beforehand. So I open the toilet-lid to throw the shitty paper in, and all the sudden brown water gurgles over the lid and spills onto the floor. The smell is so rancid, I actually start dry-heaving and eventually vomit. Since there was no plunger, I crept outside and got myself a small, thick branch, and began poking it down the toilet hole to dislodge and break up the blockage.

After I've sucessfully unplugged the toilet, I am carrying a shit-covered branch across the room when my friends all wake up.....kinda awkward.

[mikester]

A few years ago in highschool I was training to play with the local rugby team for one of their bigger monthly tournaments. Learning proper tackling, passing, formation and all that wasn't too difficult for someone looking to play about 15 minutes the whole tourney.

First game, coach puts me in to close the last few minutes. I do my job well enough, get clobbered twice, and realize my stomach feels like its been kicked sideways. It hadn't (that time), but I needed to go like nothing else. Problem was that game ahead of me kept going, since my team captain wanted another try before time ran out. Sure enough, the ball comes my way. I catch it, cradle it, and run like mad. Before getting smashed to the ground, I pass it back and hit the dirt. The two guys who hit me must have done something to my bowels, because no sooner had I hit the grass had I squeezed out some breakfast in my shorts. Having realized this, I weighed my options. A) stand up, take it like a man, let the guys rip me apart and have a shower as soon as possible. B) run off the field like a dork and change. C) figure out a way to distract everyone from the pant-predicament.

So I grab a large handful of mud, shove it down my pants, and smear it all over my shorts and legs. I stand up, nonchalant, finish the run, and head off the field.

Luckily for me, rugby is so dirty that I got off scot-free. Until I realized I had to carry my shorts around all day until I could wash them, since I had no other pairs for the team uniform. Smell was terrible.

[TheBillyHale]

My sophmore year of high school, this kid on the wrestling team was taking laxatives to help cut weight. He made it, but during one of his matches, he shit himself. We had yellow singlets, so the whore gym saw the large, brown spot on the back of him singlet.

[logane]

My first time in India, I got quite a scare coming home. Now keep in mind the total trip time was about 56 hours from Vijayawada to Birmingham, AL. I woke up in the morning at the hotel for the normal buffet of hot curry before my trip home. The food in this part of India is known for the very hot spice. Conscious of this fact and the travel home, I minimized my exposure to the food this day. The train from Vijayawada to Hyderabad was an uneventful 7 hours. I made my way from the train station to the airport in Hyderabad to fly home which included 3 stops(Delhi, Paris, and Detriot).

I checked my bags and was waiting in the first class lounge. The lounge was very nice and the airport had some very modern features like plasma TV's. I was relaxing, and then I heard a rumble in my tummy.

I quickly made my way to the restroom, which quickly reverted back to third world accommodations. I opened the door to the stall, but the toilet was not of western design. The stall consisted of an 8" diameter hole, flush with the ground, and a flush handle on the back wall. I only noticed this temporarily since there was no time to spare. My carry on bag was placed on the hook and I squatted over the hole in one motion. Hitting the target was not a problem, but now I took inventory of my resources. The bathroom resources included a faucet and bucket. The trip home included 45 more hours without access to clothes, shower, etc.. I was in panic mode and still squatting over a hole in the ground. Luckily, my carry on bag had a couple packages of Kleenex and a ace bandage. I made the best of the situation and continued on with my trip.

Next time I went back, I carried two rolls of TP in my carry on, the entire time.

[Durbanite]

Ok, well, this happened when I had just started high school. At my old school, there was a compulsory orientation and team-building class, with different classes being thrown together away from school at a dam about 45 minutes away on the highway. 2 other classes went with mine (so +- 90 guys). So, 1st day was ok, weather was warm, communal tents / structures for sleeping in weren't too terrible. 2nd day, temperature went up. We all had to go abseiling off a rock face (not cool for me, I have issues with heights). We get back from this task and lunch was prepared. Thankfully for me, I didn't eat it, since it was some form of cold meat and rolls. Some asshole who worked there had left all this lot out FOR 3 HOURS IN MIDDAY HEAT. Everyone who ate it had exploding diarrhoea for like 3 days (since it was a 4 day course), from the heat and the flies. Man I felt bad for those guys. After that trip, I made sure I got a doctor's note to miss those courses for the next 2 years...

[villagebicycle]

Warning: somewhat graphic.

After a filling dinner, I decided to go shopping with some buddies. We head over to the local mall, which is a 5 minute drive down a freeway. We get there, and the smell of Cinnabon is overwhelming. I cave in and stuff a delicious cinnamon roll in my already full stomach. This is when a chemical reaction between 2 things i ate occured, I just didn't know about it. After wandering around the mall, I get the urge to shit.

"I'll hold it in, I don't want to keep my buddies waiting." I think to myself. So the urge goes away. It comes back when I sprint outside to yell "Shotgun!". This time, it was more difficult to supress.

After we leave the parking lot, I am putting all my effort into containing my shit inside my bowels. I am squirming around, trying to position my butt cheeks to act as a dam, when my buddy Add cracks one of his retarded adderall fueled jokes. I can't help but laugh, and I let out a little squeaker.

IT SMELLED LIKE DEATH.

My buddies laugh, and ask me if i shit my pants. This was some kind of foreshadowing in the novel of my awful life. In the middle of the freeway, I yell "DUDE PULL OVER" My buddy asks if he is being pulled over by a cop. "No! I am about to shit my pants." It felt like my bowels were filled with so much shit it was either gonna explode out of my ass or come out of my nose and ears like soft serve.

He quickly pulls over, I sprint off the highway, hop a small fence, and drop trou.

I sure wish it was light out, because I created a masterpiece that night. I regret not coming back the next day with a camera. It felt like I just shit out multiple canteloupes. I wiped with my boxers, since there were no large leaves around, and tossed them. I grabbed a can of body spray from my buddy's car and hosed my self down before entering.

They were in tears. 2 days later, everyone knew about it, and I haven't eaten cinnabon since.

[munch4037]

This occured when I was in a hospital receiving treatment for bacterial colitis. So this meant I hadn't eaten anything for four days and was consistently loaded up with morphine to dull the crippling pain of having my large intestine inflated to the size of a cantelope. Of course, I still had to shit all the time despite the obvious lack of food, it was a little disturbing.

It was right after I received my first morphine injection and realized I had to shit. This shouldn't have shocked me as I had been shitting bloody bacterial soup every hour for the past fifteen or so. But morphine does strange things, as any opiate addict can tell you. So suddenly I jumped out of my bed and made a dash (well, rapid hobbling really, I was very sick) for the bathroom, one problem though. I'M HOOKED UP TO AN IV!

As my hand comes forward the whole damn thing pulls taught, and with the massive pole, the flow control machine, and the fifteen bags of antibiotics, the damn thing must've weighed twenty pounds. The IV tears out my hand as I clumsily snap backwards, bumping into the machine as it rolls towards me.

I collide with it, tripping over backwards onto the ground. But that's not the worst, in my shock, I let the fairly angry shit storm that has been brewing go, staining my hospital pajamas a healthy red.

After laying on the floor for a few minutes, I climb up the bed and as for a new IV and a change of pants...and perhaps another shot of morphine. They were happy to oblige on two of my requests.

[G string]

This happened when I was quite a lot younger--not more than pre-pubescent. I was taking my morning shower and felt a bit of pressure down below. Assuming I had to fart, as I am wont to do when I wake up, I started pushing, since it wasn't right about to come out. (You can probably see where this is going.) I squeezed and pushed and expelled with all my might until, finally, relief. Then, perhaps a second later, a dull thud behind me.

I just dropped a shit on the bathtub floor.

This wasn't a spurt of shit along with a fart, either, but an honest-to-God log. There was a pyramid eight inches across or so on the floor of the tub, and rapidly widening. I still can't remember what I did about it, though I think it involved a lot of toilet paper. Nobody else ever found out.

[powersexkitten]

Usually my bowels are very cooperative; I will always be able to wait if there's no place to go. But one day while I was in Guinea, West Africa

- Week-end hiking trip in the countryside
- Diner the night before: bbq beef brochette picked on the side of the road, prepared by a dirty but dedicated African boy
- Night before: lotsa beers
- Breakfast: Mango, coffee, mango, coffee, bread.
- Snack (at the top of the mountain): Another mango

So yes, basically my digestive system was processing laxative food, laxative drinks and probably a lot of micro-organism not encountered before. I just went between two rocks to hide. The view was great though, it was the first time I took a dump staring at such a nice tropical landscape.

Also (Africa make great shit stories) when I was bored during the week-end I would go to the UN building, where I had air conditioning and Internet access. Problem is, during the week end they shut the water off. So sometimes my diarrhea would basically spend two days in dry toilets.

[DuraCraft]

Sunday afternoon. I’m at Penn Station after a long weekend of partying with my younger brother who goes to school in the city. We are eating at some sports bar/TGI Fridays type place and I’m hammering a bacon triple cheeseburger with fries combo. My train is leaving for Boston in about a half hour so we are just hanging out. Suddenly it hits me. I have to shit immediately. I have the weakest stomach ever. Like most people I have an unexceptional fear of public bathrooms. I’m not at just any public bathroom. It is the sports bar bathroom in Penn Station for fucks sake. I’m fucked. I go in and to my delight the bathroom is empty. I’m wearing shorts and sandals. I muscle up to the shitter and explode like a party favor filled with mud. I’m beyond a normal ass wipe; I need to soak in liquid disinfectant for two hours. At this point I look down and what do I see? Cockroaches. Lots of them. They are crawling all over the floor and a couple even make their way to my feet. I freak out and hop up from the shitter. I hop/waddle to the sink area and I am a mess, literally. Two old guys walk into the bathroom at this exact moment. My shorts and boxers are at my ankles and I’m sitting there with shit all over my ass. Do they turn around in disgust and walk out giving me the necessary two minutes to figure out how to clean myself? NO. They walk in and look at me then proceed to take pisses in the urinal. I am unable to get back over to the toilets where the TP is because I’m completely freaked out by the roaches. I grab a couple of those sand paper sheets they call paper towels and do my best to wipe myself down. These fucking guys finish their pisses and wash their hands right next to me in the sink. I AM WIPING MY ASS TWO FEET FROM ONE OF THEM.

I ended up speed walking past my brother and his friends and waiting outside the restaurant for them.

[Mask]

During my first week living in a dorm, I had the worst case of diarrhea ever imagined. The cause of it was a spicy chicken sandwich that I insisted on eating regardless of the impact it was having on my raw ass. I ate that sandwich day and night until probably five days into my stay. It was on that fifth day that I pretty much lost it.

I was in the shower when I felt like my ass would literally explode. I knew I could not make it to the toilet even though it was probably 20 ft. away. So I just let loose in the dorm showers. It went everywhere including the curtains and in between the cracks. This led to me spending the better part of the hour trying to get the smell and the bits of partially digested chicken sandwich out of the shower. I did stop eating the sandwich though so I guess it wasn't all that bad.

[Hawaiian Samurai]

A couple of months ago, I suffered from a nasty bout of food poisoning that sent me to the hospital.

I started the day at about 6 AM with horrible cramping that actually woke me the fuck up. I managed to get to the bathroom and commence to taking the nastiest wateriest shit I've ever taken. I believe that every man is immune to the smell of his own shit, but this stench should have been bottled and used as a nerve agent. After I wiped myself, I spend about 3 minutes trying to get the toilet to flush down the nuclear stockpile my colon ejected from me. I go back to sleep.

At about 9, I wake up to go to work, when the cramps hit me again. Again, I make it to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet in vain for about 15 minutes, desperately trying to evacuate. No dice. I clean myself up and upon standing up, I projectile vomit. Luckily, I have the wherewithal to get it into the john.

It's now 10 AM. I'm at my workplace. Another round of cramping buckles my knees, and I clench my asscheeks with enough force to crush a walnut. I waddle to the bathroom, and I am pushing my ass together with my hands. The 5 seconds that it takes to unlock the bathroom door are the longest five seconds in recorded history. I spend another 10 fruitless minutes of sitting on the toilet. I decide to call it a day and go to the hospital.

11 AM. I'm becoming delirious from the pain in my lower abdomin. Every time I try to eat or drink something, it comes back up after a 5-10 minute span. I still feel the desperate need to shit, but I'm afraid that if I strain any harder, I'll pop a blood vessel in my brain. The doctor takes one look at me and tells me that I need fluids. Now. They force me to give a urine sample. I nearly blackout from the effort, but managed to get the job done. It's not the healthy yellow I'm accustomed to seeing. It's brown.

12 PM - 3 PM. I've gone through 2 liters of fluid. They say they'll release me when I feel the need to go. 4 minutes later, I feel a rumbling in my stomach. My sphincter, deciding that it's having no more of this, stops fighting the inevitable. I shit myself. It wasn't too bad, now that I think about it. It was enough to ruin the underwear I'm wearing, but not enough to completely soak the bed I'm laying in. After bleating for help like lost lamb, I shuffle my way into the bathroom and literally leap assfirst towards the toilet. The nurse is kind enough to shut the door.

The ensuing smell was enough to make my eyes water. The first shit of this particular day set my personal record for nastiest shit smell ever. This shit took that record, ran over it with a semi, set it on fire, then pissed on it to put out the blaze. It is the first time I've ever had to supress my gag reflex from one of my own turds. I felt a combination of pride and disgust.

After I passed that fecal miscarriage, I surveyed the damage that my traitorous cornhole has caused. My underwear is no longer wearable. I leave it on the floor and fling it behind the toilet with a TP covered hand. I wipe the tears from my eyes with a paper towel and commence to cleaning myself that would have been classified as an environmental disaster had this happened outdoors.

When I finished up, I pulled the gown around me as best as I could and made my way back to my bed. 30 minutes later, I'm released and sent on my way home, a new man.

I will never, ever, eat at a McDonald's again.

[Copter]

#1

Very recently the army invented a post-commissioning course to develop the leadership skills of brand new 2nd Lieutenants. Part of the key ingredient of this course, as with every army course trying to “create” leadership skills, is a land navigation course. As the name implies, it’s basically you with a 1/50,000 map, a protractor, some string and a compass trying to find some random points in the woods. Both a day and night iteration are par for the course, usually preceded by one or two days of practice runs.

Well, this takes place on day 3 of the actual night test portion. To date, I have had 3 days worth of MREs, sans the 3 days worth of bowel movements. So, after being given the GO from our instructors I sit down with my map and pencil. Because this is a timed event, I have decided to forgo the nagging of my bowels for the moment.

After plotting my first point and fighting back “the urge” one or two times I set off to find my first point. 500 meters into my first leg it begins to become painfully obvious that the port-o-johns I left behind at our bivouac was not a “good” idea. No problem, suck it up (literally) and drive on.

I then arrive at my first point’s suspected location (it’s night and I’m using a map that hasn’t been updated since 1973 – the point marker may take a minute to locate). Suddenly, the point I’m looking for becomes priority #2. At this juncture in my life I have heard the expression “doubled over in pain” but have never quite come to respect it’s meaning in such a personal and poignant way. Something in my intestine shifts and I almost fall over. Only because I am an “adult” coupled with the notion of trudging around for 3 more hours in soiled BDUs do I not immediately yell uncle, and let loose in my pants. However, something needs to be done, and done quickly.

I stand back up and begin ripping off all my shit (LBE, BDU top, etc.) all the while doing the poopy dance. Being the conscientious person I am, mid disrobing my mind starts racing in an effort to locate something I might have that even remotely resembles toilet paper. Too late, I double over again and actually hit the ground this time.

After the pain momentarily subsides I jump to my feet, drop my pants, rip off my underwear, grab a tree, and let loose. Describing what followed is completely unnecessary, except to mention that underwear works quite well if toilet paper is not immediately available. I am also certain that point X was more easily identified by smell than sight for the rest of that evening.

#2

Ok, there I was... (How every tall tale in aviation begins)

…brand new pilot straight out of the UH-60 qual course. I am hot shit.

Not so much.

So me and a resident IP (instructor pilot) were out doing basic maneuvers at a local podunk county airport in Ohio. As a beginner peter-pilot or even as an aviator with master wings, one of the standard things you do for training and/or evaluations is fly traffic pattern after traffic pattern while the IP fucks shit up and evaluates how well, or not-so-well, you diagnose/fix the fucked up shit. So that is what we were doing.

After two hours of this I realized that I needed to pee. Well, one of the beauties of helicopters and army regulations is, you can actually be standing outside of the helicopter pissing and/or contemplating Aristotle’s influence on the modern education curriculum and simultaneously logging flight time. So after completion of another one of my typical perfect* landings, and upon becoming stationary, I stated that I would like to jump out and piss.

Per usual I walked just outside the rotor disk and began relieving myself. Well, because I’d been holding it for so long I had an extraordinary amount of urine being held in the reservoir that is my bladder. The time it was taking me to empty said reservoir began to seem like an eternity. Again, being the conscientious person that I am I decided to speed-up this process in order to avoid making the IP wait much longer. So brilliantly, I began to use whatever-muscles-it-is-you-use to apply a bit of added pressure to my bladder. Send that bit of genius to SNL for another “Bad Idea Jeans” commercial.

Of course, the pressure causes what feels like a fart to develop. Of course it isn’t, but of course, I don’t take the time to squeeze gently. Shart happens. Not a viscous, running-down-your-leg-out-of-control-time-to-take-a-bath shart, but a shart nonetheless.

Now I’m faced with basically 3 options:

a) Get back in the helicopter and go, “Holy shit myself.”

If any of you know the aviation community… or military in general, to do this would inevitably be the end of my real name as I know it. Not an option.

b) Remove my underwear before re-entering helicopter.

This would require taking off my gloves, vest, and flight suit in the middle of a runway at a public airport. Plus, in order to justify any of this added effort, I would also want to use the unsoiled parts of my underwear for clean-up. This in-and-of-itself is not a big deal. However, two crew chiefs and a pilot would be watching this entire debacle in complete disbelief. This brings us back to the downside of option “a”. Option “b” is no longer an option.

c) Finish pissing, CAREFULLY, and get back into helicopter like nothing happened.

Yeah, I chose “c”.

On the long, wet, slimy walk back to the helicopter I begin clenching my ass cheeks in effort to control any possible drip and possibly hold whatever came out, in. As I sat back down in my seat I began trying to smash and/or seal my ass to the seat, in a feeble attempt to prevent any odor from escaping. It seemed successful. Victory is mine!

Then I closed the door.

Even with the little sliding window open, 120 knots on the airspeed indicator, and the Hawk purposely out of trim, the smell lingered thicker than an English fog. I smelled it, he smelled it, I knew he smelled it, he knew I knew he smelled it; yet neither of us said a word. The thing is, if it was a fart he would’ve said something. The smell was so conspicuously notafart that he obviously knew what had happened. I guess maybe he thought I was nervous and he didn’t mention anything in an attempt to keep me as a functioning co-pilot.

In any event, whatever “didn’t happen” in my pants brought an immediate end to training that day.

Just in case this post wasn’t long enough, here’s a side note:

One of my crazy ground school instructors was a former SOAR pilot and had tons of great stories. One of ‘em was about his buddy, a.k.a. him, who, in the middle of executing a multi-ship air assault mission, landed to take a shit in the woods. Thing is, he didn’t get his flight suit all the way off and subsequently shit IN it. SO, he flew the rest of the mission with shit all in his flight suit. I’m sure he smelled worse than me.

[phoenixonfire]

Excerpt from something I wrote back in October:

Most days, I really don't mind my job. Sure, it has its ups and downs but, all in all, I couldn't do much better at this point. Great staff, more than fair pay, all the internet I can get my hands on, and quite a bit of free food. I answer the phone when it occasionally decides to ring, sign for packages, update the inventory spreadsheets on the network, talk to the employees.

However.

The past three days have been a massive headache. The government contractor-suits come piling in at 7:30 (before I get in, thankfully) for their meeting and are in and out all day until around 5pm or so. Yeah, it's irritating that they all stand in front of my desk so I can't see the door while the rest of them outside buzz the door incessently to be let in. Yeah, they all want to wander around the building --- "just to go visit [some person]," of course --- unescorted when they don't have the clearance to. Now, with this many guests, the facilities are seemingly perpetually occupied. The bathrooms are around the corner and down some distance from my desk. On an average day, I hear nothing more than the doors creaking open, a toilet flushing, and one of our more annoying residents hacking up phlegm and coughing his lungs up, sounding much like a duck hocking a loogie.

Today, sometime after our fire alarm drill, when peace and quiet had once again been restored to the front desk, I hear the wettest, nastiest expulsion of gas I have ever been privilaged to hear --- even after a lifetime of being around men. This guy must have had the worst case of diarrhea known to mankind. And it went on for a few solid minutes before petering out into sputtering gasps and ending in a heaven-sent flush. To make matters worse, as he waddled back to the conference room, a most unpleasant odor wafted behind him.

Oh. My. God.

[Diwali]

My worst shitting experience was this weekend. I was eating dinner Friday night, and after dinner, I laid down to watch HBO. My whole body started to ache with the worst pain I've ever had in my life. I started to sweat, bad, and I was worried. I went to the bathroom and all the color was gone in my face. I had a fever, I felt like I had the bends, so I did my best to go to sleep. Terrible tossing and turning, cold sweats, weird dreams about Irish pride, I woke at about 7:30 A.M, God was done playing his cruel game.

I remember looking down at my stomach, and it was distended like an Ethiopian. My stomach started gurgling, not a "teehee! giggle gurgle, it was full on Gregorian chant. My head was pounding with the worst headache I ever had, I couldn't look up or down without wanting to die. So I did what was natural:I read the RZA's Wu tang clan manual. Then it hit me, I had to go to the bathroom: NOW. I almost fell down running to the toilet.

As soon as I'm down, it's on. And it was bad. It looked like somebody put a Latino baby in a blender and poured it in the toilet. I nearly puked from the smell, used about half the toilet paper and washed my hands in the hottest the water would go. I was done. Or so I thought.

Everytime was worse. Everytime was 10-20 minutes apart. I was amazed at how much. . .Stuff I had in my body. I thought for sure if I just drank water and didn't eat anything I'd be fine. Right? Well, after 15-20 times of going to the bathroom saturday, I was watching T.V. again, when I felt a terrible rumble and I ran as fast as I could. Why is this stuff still coming? I am not empty yet?

I collapse and wake up dazed on Sunday. I need food, badly. I eat 2 pieces of buttered toast, and in what seems like 20 minutes, the toast has been digested and liquidized into the toilet. I'm supposed to go my aunt's, but I can't, I can't even go 15 minutes at this point without running to the bathroom. Ok, well, it's late Sunday, I've dealt with this shit for 2 days straight, and I think it's over with. Then my stomach hurts so bad I almost collapse, and I make a run for the bathroom.

It was like I ran in slow motion in a war movie;The toilet like some capture point, and I was being shot at. Almost there. . .Until I have some gas, and it was just an utter point of defeat. It was like I was getting shot in the back and slowly collapsing in dramatic defeat as Gerber baby food exploded into my Hanes and pajama pants. I was livid; I was covered in shit and I wasn't about to throw it on the floor, so I looked around and found a newspaper on the ground. I threw the underwear and pants on the paper, while round 42 battled on. After that, I took the shit