not i, got it off of some board.... laughed my @$$ off.
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Friday, January 23, 2004, 8:58:12 AM, you wrote:
HT> damn dewd.
HT> I blew a gasket, or you did.
HT> --
HT> Timothy Heald
HT> Web Portfolio Manager
HT> Overseas Security Advisory Council
HT> U.S. Department of State
HT> 571.345.2319
HT> The opinions expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of the U.S.
HT> Department of State or any affiliated organization(s). Nor have these
HT> opinions been approved or sanctioned by these organizations. This e-mail is
HT> unclassified based on the definitions in E.O. 12958.
HT> -----Original Message-----
HT> From: Critter [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]
HT> Sent: Thursday, January 22, 2004 11:29 PM
HT> To: CF-Community
HT> Subject: He sharted!!!
HT> oi CF-Community,!!
HT> Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we
HT> decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday
HT> night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only
HT> night of the week that it is served.
HT> Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown
HT> wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards.
HT> It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those
HT> two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.
HT> We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot
HT> bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible
HT> in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to
HT> the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that
HT> evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian
HT> ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
HT> Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day,
HT> what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed
HT> plates of food, I was in real trouble.
HT> There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble
HT> breathing.
HT> At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it
HT> was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table
HT> without to much concern.
HT> Unfortunately, that was not to be.
HT> After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive
HT> diarrhoea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines
HT> far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I
HT> digress...
HT> I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I
HT> saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of
HT> the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall.
HT> One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to
HT> the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good
HT> shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate
HT> worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of
HT> diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a
HT> dump.
HT> I went to the normal stall.
HT> In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall
HT> even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making
HT> the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the
HT> time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my a$$ was
HT> reaching Biblical proportions.
HT> I began "The Move."
HT> For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain
HT> "The Move."
HT> Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when
HT> the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur
HT> that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make
HT> that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn
HT> to position ones a$$ toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones
HT> waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same
HT> time.
HT> It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in a
HT> flawless expulsion at the exact same second that ones a$$ is properly placed
HT> on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is
HT> properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the
HT> urine stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of
HT> coordination rivalling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
HT> I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw
HT> a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little
HT> bast*rds attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not
HT> notice it when I had first walked into the stall.
HT> Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so
HT> much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced
HT> gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure
HT> upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef
HT> started coming up for a rematch.
HT> What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit
HT> fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.
HT> In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted
HT> from the goings-on at the other end.
HT> To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the
HT> toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my
HT> oesophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over sh*t
HT> no matter what is about to come slamming out of your a$$. It is apparently
HT> an evolutionary thing since sh*tting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a
HT> presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the
HT> bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.
HT> At that very split second, my a$$ exploded in what can only be described as
HT> a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000
HT> Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be
HT> most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of sh*t the
HT> consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying
HT> out of my a$$. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that
HT> moment. The sh*t wave was of such force and of just such an angle in
HT> relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the
HT> back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to
HT> the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat.
HT> Then I sat down.
HT> Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting
HT> anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always
HT> considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get
HT> beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be.
HT> Needless to say, the sh*t wave, though of considerable force, was not so
HT> sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself
HT> on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a
HT> high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the
HT> puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a
HT> significant amount of sh*t remaining on about one-third of the seat rim
HT> which I had now just collapsed upon.
HT> Now, back to the vomit...
HT> While all the sh*tting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By
HT> the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with
HT> a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.
HT> OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?
HT> One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though.
HT> Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now
HT> slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also
HT> directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway
HT> between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not
HT> just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles?
HT> In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three
HT> Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on
HT> the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.
HT> In the next several seconds, there were a handful of f*rts, a couple of
HT> t*rds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full
HT> of vomit, my back covered in sh*t that had bounced off the toilet, spattered
HT> on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had
HT> enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets
HT> of liquid sh*t. All while thick sh*t was spread all over my a$$ in a ring
HT> curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.
HT> And there was no f*cking toilet paper.
HT> What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the
HT> guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since
HT> I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I
HT> calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him
HT> to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he
HT> brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what
HT> happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to
HT> explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet
HT> towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where
HT> we were sitting and he left.
HT> At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit
HT> in my pants or something similarly benign.
HT> About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was
HT> wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her
HT> (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight
HT> accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close
HT> calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small brick
HT> or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt
HT> immediately.
HT> Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across
HT> the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt,
HT> and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles
HT> thingies) new sneakers.
HT> And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began
HT> to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I
HT> would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for
HT> the time being.
HT> She left.
HT> The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry
HT> ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me
HT> that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.
HT> Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in
HT> that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to
HT> deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage
HT> of just slightly above.
HT> At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the
HT> situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will
HT> be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
HT> Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile
HT> floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up
HT> easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
HT> He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began
HT> cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got
HT> back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I
HT> stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the
HT> store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and
HT> carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured
HT> that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the
HT> event I happened to be standing there naked and some little b*stard kid
HT> walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a
HT> felony and intended to keep it that way.
HT> When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the
HT> entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the centre of the
HT> room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to
HT> go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out,
HT> three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing
HT> ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up
HT> again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to
HT> pick me up by the front door.
HT> The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's
HT> Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any
HT> restaurant in which I have eaten.
HT> Steve Crisp
HT> bahahhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaahaha
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