I just thought this photo was approproate for this post.
This is toooooo good not to share, but I warn you, go pee BEFORE reading this....
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a
seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it
had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd
tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of ass
cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at
work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning
home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the
emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be
happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order
for the wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the
stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign
proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon
informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that
everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms.
I surveyed the five stalls, which I have
numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:
1. Occupied.
2. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the
occupied one.
3. Poop smeared on seat.
4. Poop and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered
on seat.
5. No toilet paper, no stall door, something growing near base of
toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped
trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Pooper. I wasn't
happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were
afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet
sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and
then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for
a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it
needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The
inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Pooper was blathering to Mrs.
Pooper about the crapy day he had. I sat there, cramping and
miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation
dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had
a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My ass
let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping
soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no
longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand,
braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with
all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a
cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in
half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM
tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the
resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things
became apparent:
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued
seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom
was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma
quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate.
This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-
sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds
of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could
hear that (gag)??"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could
swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes,
poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The
amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl
with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that
liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run
down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang
on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of
conversation made
themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible...
throw up...
in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh
God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's
bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet
was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed
by string of swear words and gags. My shit-mate had dropped his
phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly
quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A
final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks
plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw.
I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door
was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming
the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the
damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with
this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the
world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a
floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in
the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and
left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never
know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking
around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that
somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my
Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time
before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll
ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends,
is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
**Note** I hope everyone gets a laugh out of this, if it offended
anyone, Im sorry. :)
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