no, not i. got it off of a board i am on.
--
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-[ Help me fight to keep my son in the US ]-=
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-[ http://keepmysoninthe.us ]-=
Friday, January 23, 2004, 2:51:26 PM, you wrote:
AT> Did that really happen to you criter or did you get it from somewhere? I
AT> mean I'd like to shake your hand but maybe I wouldnt?
AT> DRE
AT> -----Original Message-----
AT> From: Ben Braver [mailto:[EMAIL PROTECTED]
AT> Sent: Friday, January 23, 2004 10:11 AM
AT> To: CF-Community
AT> Subject: Re:He sharted!!!
AT> oi oi vay Critter
AT> I had to stop reading this part way through
AT> had just finished a late breakfast after sleeping in on a day off
AT> and between the laughing and the grossness
AT> was in grave danger of losing the grub
AT> have to say, though, up through the part I finished,
AT> this qualifies as a literary masterpiece.
AT> so good, in fact, it reminded me of some Letters to Penthouse in my youth,
AT> where you wondered if this was the luckiest damn guy who ever lived, or the
AT> wildest imagination ever to put pen to paper.
AT> But the phrase "truth is stranger than fiction" comes to mind, and there are
AT> some things that just cannot be fabricated.
AT> I plan to finish reading this later on an empty stomach.
AT> :-)
AT> Started to remind me of the story my first girlfriend's father told about
AT> the time he and his buddy were out looking for dates, he was wearing white
AT> trousers, and had an explosive ... ;-(
AT> -Ben
>> oi CF-Community,!!
>>
>> Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks
>> ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a
>> Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar,
>> indeed the only night of the week that it is served.
>>
>> Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the
>> Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards.
>>
>>
>> It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to
>> those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.
>>
>> We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat
>> hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as
>> possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I
>> started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef
>> were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates
>> of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
>>
>>
>> Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all
>> day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four
>> overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble.
>>
>> There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble
>> breathing.
>>
>> At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I
>> thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right
>> at the table without to much concern.
>>
>> Unfortunately, that was not to be.
>>
>> After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive
>> diarrhoea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your
>> intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin
>> with, but I digress...
>>
>> I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering,
>> I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the
>> right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall.
>>
>> One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have
>> gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I
>> take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the
>> only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my
>> toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk
>> in on me while I am taking a dump.
>>
>> I went to the normal stall.
>>
>> In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped
>> stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time
>> lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the
>> circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the
>> pressure on my a$$ was reaching Biblical proportions.
>>
>> I began "The Move."
>>
>> For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to
>> explain "The Move."
>>
>> Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And
>> when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological
>> events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is
>> a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet,
>> beginning the body turn to position ones a$$ toward said toilet,
>> hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants
>> while beginning the squat at the same time.
>>
>> It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in a
>> flawless expulsion at the exact same second that ones a$$ is properly
>> placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the
>> choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the
>> event that the urine stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a
>> picture of coordination rivalling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
>>
>> I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor
>> and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of
>> those little bast*rds attending kids night; it was mounded up in the
>> corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.
>>
>>
>> Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had
>> eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a
>> rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined
>> with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four
>> plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.
>>
>> What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are
>> a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.
>>
>> In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was
>> diverted from the goings-on at the other end.
>>
>> To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to
>> the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming
>> up my oesophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence
>> over sh*t no matter what is about to come slamming out of your a$$. It
>> is apparently an evolutionary thing since sh*tting will not kill you,
>> but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not
>> aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death.
>> My attention was thus diverted.
>>
>> At that very split second, my a$$ exploded in what can only be
>> described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the
>> lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar.
>> In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous
>> plug of sh*t the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of
>> greasy liquid came flying out of my a$$. But remember, I was only
>> half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The sh*t wave was of such
>> force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the
>> toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed
>> into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it
>> initially hit the toilet seat.
>>
>> Then I sat down.
>>
>> Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to
>> sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have
>> always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but
>> when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how
>> limber you may be. Needless to say, the sh*t wave, though of
>> considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance
>> off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you
>> would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even
>> though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no
>> water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of
>> sh*t remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just
>> collapsed upon.
>>
>> Now, back to the vomit...
>>
>> While all the sh*tting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up.
>> By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had
>> filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just
>> consumed.
>>
>> OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?
>>
>> One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet,
>> though.
>>
>> Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now
>> slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also
>> directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just
>> midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was
>> wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles?
>>
>> In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or
>> three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my
>> pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my
>> feet.
>>
>> In the next several seconds, there were a handful of f*rts, a couple
>> of t*rds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my
>> pants full of vomit, my back covered in sh*t that had bounced off the
>> toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about
>> five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the
>> back of my shirt with droplets of liquid sh*t. All while thick sh*t
>> was spread all over my a$$ in a ring curiously in the shape of a
>> toilet seat.
>>
>> And there was no f*cking toilet paper.
>>
>> What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac
>> to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I
>> was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was
>> crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would
>> get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet
>> paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with
>> him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told
>> him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in
>> the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go
>> ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he
>> left.
>>
>> At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just
>> a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.
>>
>> About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing
>> what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I
>> explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words)
>> that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had
>> experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I
>> had laid down a small brick or something and just needed to being the
>> car around so we could bolt immediately.
>>
>> Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go
>> across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants,
>> a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the
>> elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.
>>
>> And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She
>> began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I
>> promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to
>> handle damage control for the time being.
>>
>> She left.
>>
>> The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few
>> dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he
>> assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.
>>
>>
>> Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going
>> on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect
>> anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's
>> making minimum wage of just slightly above.
>>
>> At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the
>> situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I
>> will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
>>
>> Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and
>> tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to
>> make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
>>
>> He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began
>> cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my
>> wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall,
>> whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag
>> that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished
>> cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck
>> in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out
>> of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing
>> there naked and some little b*stard kid walked in. At that point, I
>> had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to
>> keep it that way.
>>
>> When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up
>> the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the
>> centre of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom.
>> I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done,
>> but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to
>> greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I
>> thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to
>> the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.
>>
>>
>> The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at
>> Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of
>> any restaurant in which I have eaten.
>>
>> Steve Crisp
>>
>> bahahhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaahaha
>>
>>
>> --
>>
>>
>> =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-[ Help me fight to keep my son in the US
>> ]-=
>> =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-[ http://keepmysoninthe.us
AT> <http://keepmysoninthe.us>
>> ]-=
>>
>>
>> ---
>> [This E-mail scanned for viruses by Declude Virus]
AT> _____
AT>
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