All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent co works, and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over fourty-eight hours since I'd taken my last dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. I was returning home from work, my insides letting me know with subtle rumbles and with 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 my fiancee. I completed this task, and 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 numbered 0 through 4(I write a lot of software) for your convenience.
0: Occupied
1. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use; as it's next to the occupied one
2. Poo on the seat
3. Poo and toilet paper in the bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on the seat
4. No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of the toilet
Clearly it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped my pants and sat down. I'm normally a fairly shameful shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but big things were afooI 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 8dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The insane conversation when on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs Shitter about the shitty day he had. I just 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, I had a crappy day, but I was too police to yak about in public. My bowels 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 magnitute - 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 heavy 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 asscheeks 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 chocking my poop-mate. The initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation 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 smount 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 actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side of 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 the sounds of surpressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold ones phone and wipe ones 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 in 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 stray. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown upon. 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 wou'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 remeained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty, unwashed hands? The world may never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me, but 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.
Just don't do it or do it. Plagerism is a hardcore thing for teachers (think someone stealing drugs from a Columbian drug lord) and you don't want to be involved.
Some of these +1's have invalid reasons, just pointing that out (ex: eric's post, uryuu's post and cookie's post) I always thought that you had to get 20 +1's and co-leader approval no matter what if you left xG and were re-applying, but if @@Rhododendron or @Forest could clarify this it would be appreciated.
Some of these +1's have invalid reasons, just pointing that out (ex: eric's post, uryuu's post and cookie's post) I always thought that you had to get 20 +1's and co-leader approval no matter what if you left xG and were re-applying, but if @@Rhododendron or @Forest could clarify this it would be appreciated.
I'm a fan of pretty much everything Fitz & The Tantrums put out, they really should be much bigger considering how superb a lot of their songs are. I personally find this video to be pretty damn funny, it's a great tune as well.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGBLlFMn9Xc
diabeetus got a reaction from Rhododendron in Why Never To Answer Your Phone When Shitting In Public
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