Untold Stories

2007-01-30T06:54:00.000-08:00

TLME Bathroom

2006-12-26T13:22:00.000-08:00

It was December 2001. I had begun dating a female comic who we’ll call Jen (not her real name) a few weeks earlier that just so happened to be the roommate of Liam M. This was a little bit weird at first, simply due to his stealthily ninja like way about him. For a big guy he was able to move through the apartment unnoticed, we were never quite sure if he was there or not. We would enter and he would be hidden in his room away from the common rooms of the apartment, then there would be a door closing and locking. He would be gone.

It was a weeknight, Jen and I were out doing some show together, we had decided to get some type of cheap food and then head over to her place. We were both feeling healthy at this point. It was around 9 or 10PM when we swung on by the Ray’s pizza on 7th Avenue and 53rd Street. I ordered two slices and a soda. We got our food and went up the few steps to the seating area to eat.

I ate a few bites, and had all of a sudden been consumed by stomach pains. I excused myself to find a restroom at which point I would contemplate what I should do, a one or a two. The restroom was down a long narrow staircase, it was small, with just enough room for one person to do business while three people waited outside the stall, and the entire floor was wet from some unknown liquid.

After impatiently waiting for my turn to use the head I was up to the plate and decided to lay a punt by just peeing. It was a number one. I felt good about this, because the restroom was drenched, smelled awful, and it my body felt slightly better.

I headed upstairs to finish my food. I sat there and attempted to finish my pizza and couldn’t. For those who are not in the know, I am a huge fan of pizza, and to not finish my pizza would mean that something is wrong. Jen and I had decided to head off to her place where I could rest.

Not thinking clearly due to my body feeling as though a dead mouse was rotting inside of it my mind didn’t make good decisions, and we ended up taking the subway to her place. Not only did we take the subway, but when we were at the Queens bound 49th Street N/R stop, we got on the N train instead of the R.

Thankfully on the N train I was able to get a seat. I sat there feeling and thinking my body would explode. My guts were tight as can be, and my throat felt as though it was two centimeters short from giving birth.

I was definitely going to be sick.

I looked at Jen and informed her of my dire situation, she suggested that I drink come ginger ale when we got to her place, and that her place would not have any ginger ale, so we better stop off along the way and pick some up.

The subway ride just got worse, and by the time we got to Queensboro Plaza we were not only on the wrong line, but I could no longer withstand the movement of the subway.

We got off the subway and I was breathing heavily, which is a sure shot sign that I had immanent sickness on the way. We asked a strange guy standing on the street how to get back to the Queens Blvd subway lines, and he informed us that it was a hike over to the subway entrance that would get us home. I wasn’t going to make it.

We stopped in a bodega and bought a ginger ale. I have never been a fan of ginger ale, and I sipped it with utter disgust. Nothing was happening to my stomach, it was supposed to calm my stomach. My stomach wasn’t supposed to still be in knots.

We decided that a cab back to her place would be a good idea. We got in, and said, “Rego Park”.

I sat in the back seat with the window down as far as it could go, and fought off the desires my body was telling me to just let go and be sick all over the cab.

I don’t know if this cabbie knew that I was going to be sick, or if he just knew how to get there fast, but it seemed as though we were flying along to her place. Although it was bumpy and unstable, I knew that the faster we got there, the quicker I would have a toilet if needed and a bed to rest my body.

When we got to her place there was no sign of Liam. This did not mean he was not there, and as a fellow comic he held very odd hours as it were, so we assumed he wasn’t there and that he was on his way home. I took off my jacket, and carefully sprawled out across Jen’s bed.

My stomach was in pains that I had never felt before. I wasn’t sure if I needed to poop, or barf, and I sure as heck didn’t want to find out. I kept sipping the ginger ale hoping that it would magically make my body feel normal again.

Then I decided that I needed to get my clothes off because I was feeling hot. I stripped off my shirt, socks, and jeans. This left me butt naked, as this was a time in my life when I rarely ever wore underwear.

Knowing that I might poop, Jen didn’t want to risk my pooping on her bed and had me put on a pair of her sweatpants. I did as she wished and now lay there in sweatpants that were eight inches too short.

I tried to sleep and was unable to just pass out.

Then I felt it. I still wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew that I had to get to the restroom. I walked very carefully over to the restroom, opened the toilet, pulled down the sweats and sat on the toilet seat.

It would all be soon over, with my body releasing the inner foul that hurt my insides, or so I thought.

Pains wracked my abdomen. Then I could feel that I was definitely going to have some kind of number two. Then, with a painful tiny push whatever was inside that felt like rotting rats came out my butt with a fiery sensation and fell into the water.

I looked down and saw a brown rod. It kind of looked like the rod that save Homer Simpson and the shuttle crew when they were in space on the Simpsons. Only this one was brown and it was dissolving.

My poop had apparently gone effervescent on me. I could see the brown liquid cloud begin to consume all of the water and then it hit the top, which allowed it to breathe, and then I smelled the awful truth.

My poop was liquid and it was the rankiest of all ranky poop that I have ever smelled – either mine or that from some others butt.

I flushed the toilet immediately. More came out. More of the same liquid poop rod came out, and more smell of death came out of the bowl. I flushed and flushed.

Then I thought that I was done. I cleaned up, then went back to bed, and attempted to rest.

Not more than five minutes later I found myself hobbling over to the restroom again. I crumpled to my knees and was dry heaving over the bowl. Then I felt the need to poop again, I sat up on the bowl and immediately had the very same liquid poop rod diarrhea squirts.

With each new batch of liquid rod that hit the water my head was getting lighter and lighter. I was extremely nauseous, and felt as though I was going to pass out. I got up and walked with the sweatpants around my ankles as fast as I could to Jen’s bedroom door. I couldn’t speak, so I just banged on the door and motioned for her to follow me in the same way that Lassie would do if Timmy were in trouble.

She followed me to the restroom, where I sat on the toilet and had even more liquid diarrhea rods drop into the water, I informed her that I felt like I might pass out, and I just wanted her there to call an ambulance right away if I did pass out.

I couldn’t take the smell anymore, so I kept flushing the toilet with each stinky squirt. It was my only defense from the smell. I flushed the bowl so many times that Jen started to scream at me thinking that I was going to break the toilet bowl, which would have been awful, since it would have left a huge bowl of fully liquid diarrhea in the bowl.

I pleaded with her to let me keep flushing due to the smell of death that my body was releasing. She ran to her bedroom and lit a bunch of incense, then brought it all into the restroom in an attempt to make it smell normal again.

The incense was not working. My butt kept shooting loads of liquid brown poop out and the room quickly became overfilled with too many smells. I was going to barf.

I could feel the heaves coming, and when I thought my butt closed up for a moment from the liquid poops I quickly turned around to vomit when it happened.

As my butt was lifted off of the seat and my head going down to the seat to barf, I prematurely barfed. Spewing vomit all across the side of the tub, and behind the toilet, while this was happening my butt opened up, and shot out a load of liquid rod diarrhea. This landed on the floor and inside my Jen’s sweatpants.

I dropped to the floor and barfed some more into the bowl. Then flushed, I sat back up on the bowl and continued the parade of liquid rod poop.

Jen stood in the doorway with a mortified look on her face and looked white as a ghost, and asked, “Did you…just…the floor…my pants?”

I looked and did not want to believe what had just happened. I said, “I don’t think it’s poop.” I’ll clean up the vomit though.

Jen walked away, got some paper towels, handed them to me and I cleaned up while I sat on the toilet continuing my sickness.

When I felt as though I was done completely, I cleaned up, through out the sweatpants, gave the look around, and made sure that no more diarrhea and vomit was anywhere, and went to bed.

The next morning Jen and I took a cab back to my place in Brooklyn. I was broke, and had to go inside for cash. When I got three steps in I could feel it wanting to happen again.

I took my jacket off and crouched down at the toilet barfing. Jen asked about the cab. I told her where she could find $50, and told her to just give it all to the driver. I continued to be sick like this for the next day or so, barfing and vomiting.

At the time I was working at a store in Brooklyn, and had to take nearly a week off due to the sickness. When I was feeling better I stopped by the store to show my face, and buy some much needed toilet paper, since I went through a ton of it in the previous couple of days.

While there one of the cashiers came up to me and gave me a bug hug saying, “Beehive, I’ve missed you so much.”

I didn’t hug her back and warned, “Amy, you really don’t want whatever virus I just had. You might not want to hug me.”

She quickly unhugged me, and said, “Eww, you had a stomach virus. Gross.”

A day or two later I was feeling strong enough to work again, and when I went back to work Amy was out sick. A week went by and Amy came back to work shocked.

She went on to explain that it first started when she was at school, and that she had to go home sick. Then how she was shooting out liquid diarrhea and barfing for a few days,. She also went on to say that more than half of the senior class at her high school was out sick, and that she was pretty sure that they all had the same nasty virus, from her, who got it from me.

All in all it was one filthy virus in more ways that one, I don’t want to ever be so sick like that again in my life, I’m kind of nauseous having written this whole thing, and to this day I still wonder, does Liam know what happened?

Love knows no bounds…

2006-09-15T13:38:00.000-07:00

Today Has Been One Of Those Days

I just can’t find something I want to write about. Every time I write some I end up deleting it for being far to boring, even to my boring standards. Maybe it’s the rain, or maybe it’s how the day began. It began in a way I would not have predicted, ever.

This true story begins last night. I worked out, ate dinner, showered, and went on over to the Cheese’s place. We had a glass of wine, did our thing, ended up going to sleep.

While sleeping I woke up a few times. Once from her snoring loudly, once from cat meowing like there was no tomorrow, once to take a leak, and one time I woke for a split second and had a thought of what was that? Then went back to sleep.

When the alarm finally woke us up for good I had come out of a dream in which I was walking around with Mayor Mike Bloomberg and Donald Trump. We were going through art museums and I kept screaming at the top of my lungs with a fake German/Irish accent “that is the greatest piece of artwork I have ever seen!” I told my Cheese about the dream, and we decided that I would do this in her presence one night at MoMa.

Then I remembered that moment from the middle of the night that I woke up for a split second. I remembered that I was lying on my left side and it felt as though something ran down my butt cheek. I felt my left cheek and it was dry. I thought that it was odd for me to have had that sensation in the middle of the night. Then I felt the need to drop a deuce.

I headed to the bathroom, while my Cheese went to make us goat cheese omelets. I sat down and only had a minimal fart. Nothing came out. I went to wipe anyways and my butt was fully swamp ass. This didn’t seem logical from such a tiny fart.

Confused and worried about my swamp ass I went back to the bed. I needed to double check with the light on that the entire situation was all in my head, and that I did not feel anything last night, and that my ass was not all swampy.

I looked at the bed sheet on my side of the bed, and saw it was all purple. Whew! I sighed, since purple is what the sheets are supposed to be colored on this set. Then I took a look at the white comforter, and it was still white.

Then I thought, coast is clear. It’s all in my head. So I decided I would make my Cheese’s bed for her while she cooked. As I straightened the sheets and comforter out I saw something. It was it. It was what I felt in the middle of the night, and it was what logically would have left me with a swamp ass. It was a patch of wet fart poop!

That’s right, I somehow shit my girlfriends bed last night. She didn’t notice it either. I thought what should I do about this. The only option I could think of was honesty. So I sadly went to the kitchen, hugged my girlfriend from behind while she cooked and had this conversation.

Beehive: Baby, I need to tell you something.
Cheese: What’s the matter?
Beehive: I just came out of the bathroom and had swamp ass. I think I farted in the middle of the night and did something to the bed.
Cheese: Why do you think that? (laughing)
Beehive: Cause I saw what I did.
Cheese: What did you? (laughing harder)
Beehive: I sort of shit on your bed.
Cheese: How do you know for sure?
Beehive: Cause it’s all right there in bed.
(Cheese laughing so hard she would have fallen onto the floor if I hadn’t held her in my hug)
Cheese: I need to go see this. Can I go see this?
Beehive: If you really want to.

Cheese ran to the bedroom, she pulled all the sheets back and saw a stain on her bed sheet that I hadn’t even seen. She said, “That looks like nothing.” I pulled the regular sheet down to show the actual innards of me splattered out across her lovely purple sheets.

Cheese: Oh my God! (laughing)
Beehive: I know…
Cheese: Oh my God you did not do that. Oh my God tell me you did not do that. (laughing)
Beehive: I did do that.
Cheese: You need to go in the shower right now. Go in the shower. Seriously go.
Beehive: Shall I go wash them for you quick?
Cheese: No, Just get in the shower!

I went and showered. She went and finished cooking breakfast. After my shower I stripped the bed. Ate breakfast, dressed, and left for work.

Love knows no bounds…

The Bug On A Reporter Video

2006-09-07T12:25:00.000-07:00

I had watched this video off of gawker, which was off of youtube at my desktop. Since my desktop has no volume, I forwarded it to my coworker, KG. She watched it, and called me immediately.

This video needed the justice of sound, so I watched it on KG's desktop, and well...I laughed so hard that I farted, loudly.

Thankfully she didn't notice, or chose to just ignore it.

I Enjoy Learning New Things

2006-09-07T07:16:00.000-07:00

Jack Black referenced this at the end of the VMA show last week. It kept ringing in my head, and I just had to find out what a Rusty Trombone is. I had guessed correct in that it is a sexual phrase, and had no clue that that is what those actions are called.

Rusty Trombone

In a side note, I played trombone while in Junior High. It was part of the "you are forced to play in band, only because your older sister was in band" unwritten rule of the Public School system in NYC. I'd like to maybe pick it up one day, since I have no time right now for such things.

Laughing My Ass Off!!!

2006-09-06T12:41:00.000-07:00

I just got out of the mens room. I was in the last stall, number 3. I was zipping up my pants when I heard the door open. The pitter-patter of the footsteps was hurried. I heard the first stall door close. The toilet paper was being pulled and ripped in a rush. I went and washed my hands, while I heard what I thought to be an excessive amount of toilet paper being pulled to use as a seat guard, especially considering that there are plenty of seat guards in each stall. I wondered who was in there. A heard the flush of the toilet.

This usually done when someone is under the impression that they are about to let out a loud fart or disgusting smelling turd, the flush will do two things, first it will make enough noise to overpower most butt sounds, and two, it gives a lesser amount of time for things to stink up a room. I am not a fan of this guise. It usually ends up with water being sprayed on my bottom, to which I am not fond of.

After I dried my hands I walked to the door, opened the door using the paper towel that I had in my hand from drying my hands, went to lean back to toss the paper towel in the garbage can, and then I heard some sounds.

These sounds consisted of a grunt, gasp, and then really really really loud gas. It echoed in the bowl, which in turn echoed into throughout the bathroom, which since I had the door open, echoed throughout the hallway, and in turn echoed to about 5 or 6 cubes away from the hallway entrance. I immediately grinned, and just needed to get back to my desk. I didn’t want anyone to see me laughing to myself, and ask why, for if they did I would have told them the truth, and then they would have lost a little bit of respect for me.

I was most certainly not expecting those sounds to be so loud, and when I first heard it, I thought that sounds like the CIO. I got back to my desk, and saw that the CIO was no in his office. He arrived about 5 minutes later, while I was writing this blog. I am 99% sure it was he who did those jolly things in the bathroom this afternoon.

I’ll also let you know that part of me wishes that someone was passing as I opened the door and heard the grunt, gasp, and gas, this way I could be laughing about it with someone right now.

Did I Flush The Bowl?

2006-08-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

I just went to the restroom at my office, and had gone to go into the last stall, which is the handicapped accessible high seated thrown which I enjoy doing my business on. When I opened the door I saw that the bowl was clogged. This is the second time this week that I’ve found my favorite bowl clogged. Right now I am under the assumption that one of the new men on the floor is using way too much tp, or it is someone who on their way out and hates the company and is just clogging to bowl on purpose.

Anyways, I was about to go into the middle stall, but decided to go for the first stall instead. I just had a bad feeling about that middle one. I did my business, and was about to wrap things up when I heard someone scamper into the restroom, go into the last stall, flush the clogged bowl, and then run into the middle stall. I proceeded to wrap up, and pull up my pants while the guy was setting up in the middle stall that was right next to the one I was in. At the same time yet another man enters this restroom, went for the last stall, and he saw it was clogged. Instead of leaving he did the “I’ll just pee at the urinal” thing and hope my inside don’t pop out my butt.

All this commotion around me while I was zipping and putting together my belt left my head spinning. I left the stall, walked fast past the urinals as to not been seen leaving the stalls – which if spotted would have meant that I was caught red handed having just taken a dump. As I washed my hands my mind suddenly thought, “Did I flush?” And for the life of me I couldn’t remember if I had flushed. I hope I did flush, but I wasn’t sure.

I thought that maybe I should go back and check, but couldn’t actually do that because then I would definitely have been caught having just taken a dump, or worse having just checked the bowl to which I just too a dump in, or even worse I could have walked into the guy that was at the urinal about to enter the stall to which I may or may not have flushed. In either case this most likely would have resulted in some sort of small talk, which I did not wish to get into after I just took a dump, and would have led me to a life of embarrassment, forever.

14 Inches Of Poo

2006-08-14T09:53:00.000-07:00

I just took a dump, and I swear it must have been about 14 inches or so long, at least! It was broken up into two seperate pieces, but from what I can see, 14 inches plus is a safe bet.

I had been sitting at my desk, feeling the urge that I might have to go before I left at 1pm. I pondered if it was necessary, and thought about actually having to go at the Hunter College bathrooms and it gave me the notion that I should just try, as my mother used to tell me when I was little and going to go out somewhere that did not have an ideal restroom.

While I was awaiting word that my other blog had successfully been pulblished I farted. It was a long gassy one, and I was able to feel something go up my buttcrack and out my pants. What was that?, I thought. Concerned I may have just shit myself I sat, frozen. I then proceeded to put my left index finger down my crack to see if I was able to draw out a smell, no smell. I then turned my light blue shirt around to see if poop flew up and out of my pants onto my nice light blue shirt. I then deemed it safe to walk to the Men's room. I went, put the cool liner down, sat, and then WHAM! All of a sudden this huge turd decided to pop out of my butt.

I sure wasn't expecting such a big surprise, but was fascinated by its length. I did the old spread hand technique to get the size of turds. While it might not be fully accurate, it is way better than going on a "I need to borrow your ruler" run about the 24th floor.

The restrooms also has a new automatic papertowel dispensor, which doesn't seem to want to give adequate amounts of towels to dry my hands, so I need to keep waving my hands liek a cool in the bathroom in order to fool it into giving out more paper towels.

Such a productive way to spend time.

Lately I've Had Alot of Gas

2006-07-20T18:13:00.000-07:00

I think it may be due to my bigger appetite, and higher protein intake. I just let farts rip left and right for the most, but when I am in class I need to withhold my ambiguous farting. I sit in the half of the classroom that is less full with seated students. Today I had painful rolling inside my tummy, and tried my best not to let loud ones off. I also sit in class and worry that one of my farts will be too smelly for the entire room to take, and have to clear it out, or have the teacher get annoyed at the "mystery farter".

Today after class I thought of dropping a duece in the mens room at college, but thought better of it and hoped that I could make it home. I sat with my head in my hands the entire way home, thinking that if I were to let even one fart go that I would poop my pants. Thankfully I made it. No accident scene to relive over and over and over, but I will get to replay the loud airy gas that I let loose in the bowl today. I will gladly replay this internally.

One Weekend I Shit My Pants In Canada

2006-07-14T09:29:00.000-07:00

It was July 2000. I was at the end of taking antibiotics for strep throat, and was at the end of a weeklong improv class; there was a performance on Saturday night, and a brunch on Sunday morning. I had been staying in a local college dorm in Toronto. There were a bunch of us from the weeklong program staying there, and there were also a bunch of Canadian locals there too. I found myself hanging out with two Canadians named Patrick and Trevor during the down time. That last Saturday afternoon we went to the local Hooters restaurant with a bunch of other dudes. On the way, Patrick and I got a lift from another Canadian guy named Mike. Mike worked was in his 30s, divorced, and worked the line at a car factory. They both liked getting high, and at the time I was still experimenting. So we smoked up on the way to Hooters, we parked in a parking lot two blocks away, and walked towards Trevor’s flat, which was literally around the corner from Hooters. Patrick and I noticed Mike wasn’t with us; I turned and saw him standing outside the driver side door of his car with a confused look on his face. I went back to see what was up. He informed me that he locked his keys in the car. Since he worked at a car factory he knew how to open the door without a key, but needed my help. He pulled back the door from the window, had me hold it, and then stuck his hand inside and unlocked the door, keys in hand we went into Trevor’s flat to meet up with the other guys. Then off we were to the Hooters.

There was about a dozen or so guys in total at our table, and by this time I was really high, so I ordered a cheeseburger, and we all ordered Buffalo wings. Buffalo wings always sound like a good idea, and they absolutely tasted great. We lied and said that it was one of the guys birthday and got the waitress to do a jumping dance. Then I tried to lie and say that it was my birthday. The waitress turned to me and said, “Wasn’t one birthday dance based on a lie good enough for you?” I didn’t say a word. She found out that I lied. I wasn’t thinking clearly and couldn’t figure out how did she find out we lied and that I had lied to her? We got to the performance space early, and I layed down on the floor and passed out. I slept like a baby. The improv went pretty good, no blocking, and afterwards we proceeded to drink the Saturday night away.

I’m from NYC originally, and bars officially close her at 4am, but most are still serving until 5 or 6. At 1:58am I went to order another round, and the bartender huffed, looked at her watch and said, “It’s 1:58!” I looked at my watch and replied with, “Yes it is”. She served me my order, and went over to Patrick to inform him that the bartender was mean; he informed me that bars stop serving at 2am. We were going to go back to a guy’s apartment that we did improv with, and on the way everyone got really tired, so I just got in a cab and went to sleep in my dorm room bed.

I had forgotten to pack comfy shorts to sleep in, and July 2000 fell into the timeframe of when I never wore underwear so I sleeping naked that week. Even though it was summer, Toronto gets much colder at night than NYC does. There was no blanket, and I sure didn’t think to bring one up for a weeklong stay. All that I had to keep warm was a thin sheet and my towel, and each morning I would wake up around 6am shivering. That Sunday morning I had a different shiver. I was freezing cold, but also had knots in my stomach a bowel movement that needed to exit ASAP. I had wished that I was able to run to the bathroom, but I was naked, the floor was co-ed, there was also a youth hockey team on part of the floor, and the bathroom was on the complete opposite end of a long high-rise dormitory, so a run to the bathroom didn’t seem like it would have been a good thing.

I put a shirt and a pair of shorts on as quickly as I could. I didn’t even zip or button. I ran down the hall holding my shorts up, got to the unisex bathroom and blew up the toilet. I had at least half a dozen flushes of full bowls of shit. It wasn’t a full turd poop. It was a turd ball mixed in with ass juices, and it was tearing my bowels apart. I wiped my butt until there was nothing left to wipe, washed up and walked calmly back to my dorm room. I layed down and went back to sleep. I woke up somewhere around 9am, and had the same aches and pans in my intestines. I put on a shirt and ran down the hall to the bathrooms; which were no longer empty like they were at 6am. People were showering, in the toilet stalls, and brushing their teeth. I didn’t care who was around. I sat down and went to town again on that bowl. It was all the same. Just more turd balls and liquid ass juices. I was keeled over in pain. By the time I cleaned up and got back to the dorm room I needed to get ready for the big brunch with everyone that took part in the weeklong classes. I showered, brushed my teeth, put on jeans and headed over to the brunch.

A few of the people were missing from this brunch, particularly the guy and gal who had the late night drunken hook up, and few others that I was out with the night before. Throughout the brunch I kept getting bad cramps and had to go into the bathrooms that where in the main campus building. It was down two flights of stairs and near the cafeteria – not an ounce of privacy. I don’t recall how many times I got up to go and had the same thing happen, but it was at least a handful. I eventually pooped everything out, or so I thought. I had gotten up to go three times and had nothing but gases come out of my butt hole. I thought I had won the war.

After the brunch, I was going to the car with Canadian Mike, and a guy from Florida named Rob. Rob was going to be dropped off at the airport, and I was going to a BBQ at Mike’s house. On the way to the car I farted. I missed the shotgun call, and sat in the back passenger seat. As I sat down in the back, I felt a warm sensation on my right ankle. I immediately thought I was bleeding. I lifted my right pant leg and worriedly looked down at my leg, and a bird had somehow pooped on my ankle. I racked my brain trying to figure out how this happened and how I didn’t see the bird poop hit me. Once I realized that a bird could not have pooped on my ankle underneath my clothing, I was confused as to what was on my ankle. I could feel that it was warm on my skin, and went down for the sniff test. WE HAVE CONFIRMATION! It’s poop. But whose was it and how did it end up on my ankle?

Then the thought finally crossed my mind. I had somehow pooped my pants! I felt my butt over my pants, and felt that my ass was a complete swamp ass. Then the thought entered my mind that I’m in a car that has all of its windows closed and the AC on. The guys are sitting only two feet away, and I guessed they would eventually turn around and asked what smelled like shit in the car. I had to tell them. I had to embrace the shitting of my pants. It’s not as if I was the first man to ever crap his own pants before. This guy Anthony that worked in the same office as me was 35 years old, stepped off a LIRR train from his morning commute, farted, shit his pants, and had to call in sick – even though he really called in and he just stepped in and accidentally shit himself. My brother in law who was in his mid 30s bent over to pull the start plug on a lawnmower and shit himself in my sisters front yard. I knew I had nothing to be embarrassed about. I just leaned forward and said, “Hey guys, I don’t know how to tell you this so I’m just coming to come out with it. I think I just shit my pants.” Think? What’s that on you ankle, and what’s on your swamp ass? I totally shit myself. Mike and Rob said, “Oh hey, don’t worry. It happens all the time.” All the time? I know it can happen, but not all the time. Not even 10% of the people that I know have admitted to shitting themselves. Mike informed me that I could use his bathroom after we dropped off Rob at the airport.

I sat shotgun from the airport to Mike’s place. Mike was in the middle of a nasty divorce and was living in his friend’s basement. It was a big beautiful house that was home to Mike’s friend, the friend’s brother, and their dog. All three worked the line at the car factory. Mike brought me down to his basement apartment. I am about 5’11” in shoes, Mike was about the same height, and I had to duck down the entire time I was down there. He went into the bathroom and I could hear him cursing. He came out and said, “I’m out of toilet paper, but here’s a box of Kleenex, made in Canada.” This only contributed to the worsening of events to come. The box had about five tissues left, and it was the box that is about 4”x4”x1” deep. The entire box wouldn’t have been sufficient to clean my leg, swamp ass and whatever else was screwed up. I kindly accepted the box, entered the bathroom, and was finally able to see for myself what the damage was.

Turns out it could have been worse. Only my butt crack, and my right ankle had real pieces of shit that needed cleaning. I did the best that I could. In hindsight a shower or going back to the dorms to wallow in self-pity might have been better. I wet some tissues and tried to get it all, but I have major dingle berries. I exited out of the basement apartment and was finally able to meet everyone properly. There ended up being about 15 or so people at the BBQ. Good food, and good people. The only problem for me was that the dog kept going to sniff my ass and ankle. Besides myself, and Mike, the dog was the only being at the BBQ that new what happened to me. I didn’t want everyone to know my ass was still dirty, so I sat down on the porch my ass facing a corner that was impossible for the dog to sniff at. He did stay and constantly sniff my right ankle though, and I played it off by lots of petting and trying to make believe that I just made a new friend.

After the BBQ it was just Mike, his friend whose house it was, the dog, and myself. We then listened to the Flaming Lips and smoked up. We all began to get really paranoid. Mike’s friend kept thinking that I was making too much eye contact with his dog, Mike kept thinking that the F. Scott Fitzgerald (a big ship that sank in Lake Erie) was plucked out of the water by aliens, and I kept thinking that the Canadian Mounties were going to open up the porch door any minute arrest me, and have me deported for smoking weed.

Later on in the evening Mike drove me back to the campus, and I showered immediately. I walked down the road to a Tim Horton’s, had myself a poutin (French fries with cheese and gravy), and played the Spice Girls on the jukebox. All in all, it was a good day. The next day I hopped on Amtrak and I returned to NYC. When people would ask me how Toronto was, I always told them this story first. Never once was I embarrassed about it. I’ve crapped myself since, had a couple of missed calls, but this one, this one I will always remember with joy.

Update: In this link you will see the picture of the spot where the "fart" occured. It is the photo in the top left of the screen.
http://prospectivestudents.humber.ca/north_campus.htm

Battleshit

2006-07-13T12:24:00.000-07:00

I’ve had a fascination with poop, farts, pee, basically any bodily function or action that makes a noise or smell for as long at I can remember.

Every office that I’ve worked in that had multi person bathrooms has been mainly the same. Men push and squeeze really loud and smelly objects from their behinds. I’m not sure how they do it on such the consistent basis. I admit that every now and then my butt makes loud raging farts, and has explosive diarrhea. Whose butt hasn’t? What I’m curious about is how these men do it all the time? What do they eat or drink that makes them so prone to such humorous multi-person bathroom occupancy acts? Yes, I do laugh out loud, and sometimes bite my tongue to not laugh so loud.

I was taking care of business earlier. * I had planned this out sine my morning commute, when I felt the urge to go but I couldn’t since I was on the subway. About a half an hour into my day, I’m on the phone with my girlfriend, who asked, “Did you take care of business?” my reply, “nope, I need to look forward to something to do later on in the day”. Around 2:15pm I hurried myself from my cube to the Men’s room. I had farted enough in my cube, and my butt had begun to toot itself quite loud, rather than get caught red handed with a Trombone butt I figured that I would take care of business. I went towards the back, where the beloved 4th stall is, the door was ajar, but I could see a shadow, looked down and saw feet in my prized stall. The German heritage in me made me follow proper rules and etiquette so I skipped the 3rd stall, and utilized the 2nd stall. It was my first time in the second stall and liked the overall comfy atmosphere it had. The overhead light was out, so it was dark and shadowy. I set my toilet seat butt protector paper down and I hear the 4th stall door lock, and someone sit back down on their butt protector paper. Has someone been pooping with the door open again? Yes, I think so. I let go some low sounding bursts of gas, nothing too loud. Then out of left field this guy hits me with a barrage of farts. I mean it sounded like he was lost in a cave and screaming for help. I wasn’t afraid of his aggressive butt tactics and counterattacked with my poop. Yeah, that’s right I just come right out with it. No gas needed. Just poop! It made a splashing sound, but the man in the 4th stall kept his battery of farts going. Batteshit was under way. I release a second counter attack with the same splashing sound. This one got the 4th stall to cease fire. I thought I was done with the poop. I pulled off a good patch of tp, and then waited. I was in no hurry to get back to my desk. No more than five seconds after I tore off the tp, I hear Mr. Poops in the 4th Stall with the Door Open rip of his own piece of tp. I held my ground, and I could hear the man in the 4th stall feverishly wipe his butt, flush, pull up his pants, and tuck. I won. I outlasted the demon shitter. As the unknown man passed my stall I tried to get a look at him, but he was unrecognizable. He was camouflaged up in his suit. As he washed his hands, I felt something. A third turd wanted to make an exit. It made a good splashing sound, and the mystery man left. I then proceeded to fart amongst myself, peed, wiped, flushed, washed up.

The question still remains, why do most men take care of business so loudly?

*Taking Care Of Business: definition: to take a dumb, to squat on a toilet and remove ones feces.