CAUTION: LONG POST

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 colon

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 back side 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

trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter.

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 insane conversation

went on and on. Mr. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the crappy

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 it in public.

My butt 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 butt 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, putrid stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened.

The foul stench of rotting excrement 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 a string of

swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into thetoilet.

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 crap in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the can.

And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom

so did you write this or copy/paste it from somewhere? it's pretty sick really...

so did you write this or copy/paste it from somewhere? it's pretty sick really...

Copy and Paste from USACi.....

had me rollin..... I was in tears laughing so hard.

Oh man, thats good stuff. Reminded me of a time that I actually did shut someone up one time when they were on the phone in the chitter at work. Not quite as gargantuan and sloppy as that story, but the foghorn fart that started it off ended the call similarly.

thank you, still laughing my ass off !!!

lol this made me laugh quite a bit.

Enough to cheer me up after a bad day.

Thanks

Drew I recommend Ex-Lax

Wow, that guy used dialoge just like a novel series writer. That was funny, just because of the un-ordinary use of vocabulary.

Now that was funny! Gross but funny!

I managed to hit the resonance

frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

LOL

High quality reading right there.

High quality reading right there.

Almost qualifies as something I would leave in the bathroom to read.

triumph of the human spirit and all that.

I have never laughed so loud at writing. Thank you sir.