So, as I do every other day at this time, I headed upstairs to the executive floor of the building, where the bathrooms are much cleaner and much more private. This is my quality time at the office, my golden 30 minutes, a place of quiet and comfort.

I knew right when I reached the door that something wasn't right. The bathroom smelled terrible and the sink had water all over the counter... telltale signs that someone had just been there. Not thinking much about it, I headed over to my favorite: the big handicapped stall. And this is where things got disturbing.

As I pushed open the stall and rounded the corner, I came across one of the most disgusting and disturbing sights my eyes have ever seen. The stall was totally and utterly covered in brown. The toilet had shit all over it -- the handle, the seat, the wall behind it, the stall walls. There were fingerprints, too -- prints of shit all over the handicapped bars and the walls.

I felt as thought I had just walked into a crime scene where shit was the body, the blood, and the murder weapon. I found myself backing out of the stall when I saw a turd that had been mashed up on the wall -- a giant handprint.

This handprint was no ordinary shit handprint. It resembled "Wilson," the volleyball with the handprint from the movie Castaway. I then realized that someone had left this mess on purpose, and left Wilson as his calling card.

At this point I just wanted to get out before someone came in. I left the bathroom, carefully avoiding the shit footprints the culprit left during his escape. I wondered whether I should say anything to anyone about this. Responsibility got the better of me, so I went to talk to the facilities manager.

I walked with him up to the restroom and stood outside while he went to assess the damage. He returned with his hand over his mouth and his face pale. "I will quit my job before I clean that mass!"

He explained to me that there were a few layoffs earlier in the week, and this was probably the work of someone in our Q.A. Department, which was made up of very low paid college students. This was not the first time this had happened -- people usually fuck with upper management by fucking up their nice restroom.

Later that day I saw some guys wearing tall rubber pants and white paper masks go into the bathrooms with a hose and brushes. I'm still horrified by the memory of that bathroom -- what kind of person would do such a thing?

God bless the janitorial crew that cleaned up that mess. Still, though, I haven't sat upon that throne to this day, and I never will again.

So, as I do every other day at this time, I headed upstairs to the executive floor of the building, where the bathrooms are much cleaner and much more private. This is my quality time at the office, my golden 30 minutes, a place of quiet and comfort.

I knew right when I reached the door that something wasn't right. The bathroom smelled terrible and the sink had water all over the counter... telltale signs that someone had just been there. Not thinking much about it, I headed over to my favorite: the big handicapped stall. And this is where things got disturbing.

As I pushed open the stall and rounded the corner, I came across one of the most disgusting and disturbing sights my eyes have ever seen. The stall was totally and utterly covered in brown. The toilet had shit all over it -- the handle, the seat, the wall behind it, the stall walls. There were fingerprints, too -- prints of shit all over the handicapped bars and the walls.

I felt as thought I had just walked into a crime scene where shit was the body, the blood, and the murder weapon. I found myself backing out of the stall when I saw a turd that had been mashed up on the wall -- a giant handprint.

This handprint was no ordinary shit handprint. It resembled "Wilson," the volleyball with the handprint from the movie Castaway. I then realized that someone had left this mess on purpose, and left Wilson as his calling card.

At this point I just wanted to get out before someone came in. I left the bathroom, carefully avoiding the shit footprints the culprit left during his escape. I wondered whether I should say anything to anyone about this. Responsibility got the better of me, so I went to talk to the facilities manager.

I walked with him up to the restroom and stood outside while he went to assess the damage. He returned with his hand over his mouth and his face pale. "I will quit my job before I clean that mass!"

He explained to me that there were a few layoffs earlier in the week, and this was probably the work of someone in our Q.A. Department, which was made up of very low paid college students. This was not the first time this had happened -- people usually fuck with upper management by fucking up their nice restroom.

Later that day I saw some guys wearing tall rubber pants and white paper masks go into the bathrooms with a hose and brushes. I'm still horrified by the memory of that bathroom -- what kind of person would do such a thing?

God bless the janitorial crew that cleaned up that mess. Still, though, I haven't sat upon that throne to this day, and I never will again.

I made my purchases and went to the car. As I was driving home, the pains returned in force. I could tell that this would be a spewing wet dump. I clenched tight and finished the drive.

By the time I arrived home the urge was coming in excruciating waves, and as I hurried out of the car, I needed manual restraint to prevent an accident. I opened the door, and this is where the shame hit me. Inside the living room were my wife and two children. I couldn't let them see me running through the house, literally holding my asscheeks together. So I dropped my hands and walked to the bathroom.

This was my undoing. As I opened the bathroom door, my bowels would not be denied and my O-ring began to leak. By the time I was safely enthroned, about a cup of brown goo had escaped, ruining my underpants and my favorite pair of shorts.

When I was done spewing, I took a shower to remove the filth from my ass, and laid my soiled garments to rest after securely encasing them in a large ziplock bag. When I was done, I reflected on the chorus of "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers: "You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, know when to run."

The next day, he awoke with a terrible hangover and his colon ready to explode with a beer dump. As he sat up and pushed his hungover body off the bed to go to the can, his bowels let loose, and a pile of poop landed on this girl's sheets.

My friend started to panic -- luckily, the girl was still sleeping. When you think about it, there is absolutely nothing one can do in this situation... except for one thing. Being the smart and clever guy that he is, my friend reached into the pile, scooped up a handful of his feces, then gently parted the ass cheeks of the slumbering girl. He wiped the poo inside her ass crack and smeared it all over the sheets by her back side.

Before he snuck out, he left a note on the bedside table: "You sick bitch. How could you shit on me? Don't ever talk to me again!"

A couple of years ago, Charmin Ultra tissue reduced each sheet by four-tenths of an inch. Doesn't sound like much, huh?

Well, on the regular roll (170 sheets per roll), you lost 68 inches -- or 5 2/3 feet! On the double roll (340 spr), you lost 136 inches -- or 11 1/3 feet! And no, they didn't add on more sheets.

If that's not enough, hold on because here we go again. The latest and greatest Charmin Ultra tissue is now "Softer and Thicker Than Ever!" The regular roll that used to have 170 sheets now has 132 sheets, which is 38 sheets less and is 152 inches or 12 2/3 feet shorter!

And the double roll that had 340 sheets now has 264 sheets, which is 76 sheets less and is 304 inches or 25 1/3 feet shorter! To make matters worse the tissues are flimsy and tear easily.

You can call Procter & Gamble with your comments at 1-800-777-1410.

Anyway, Ted told me about this horrifying problem that other inmates described to him: it befalls heroin addicts who are suddenly cut off from their drug of choice -- which happens when they land in the joint and cant get any, at least until they are in long enough to locate an in-house dealer...

"When you take narcotics, you're constipated all the time. You get this huge mass of fecal matter in your frozen bowels. When you're suddenly not taking narcotics, your intestines wake up and start to move. Only there's this horrific backlog of poop in your guts. It's like shitting out a baby, so the inmates call it 'Yin Shee Baby.' Sometimes its so bad that the person needs emergency surgery because their bowels rupture."

Anybody hear of this? In any case, if you know anyone dumb enough to consider experimenting with heroin, tell the person that this is literally the crap they'll be in for if they get addicted to the stuff.

I have discussed this subject on PoopReport. I have read the manifesto. I have taken advice from others. But after today, I know I will never become a Shameless Shitter. I also believe that bathrooms in which multiple people can shit, piss, snot, or whatever all together at the same time should be outlawed.

Today I walked into the men's room at work to take a leak. I started to piss at the urinal and I thought I was alone when all of a sudden I heard the sound of some guy grunting, farting loudly and dropping his mud. I was simply grossed out. It was twenty minutes before lunch, I don't need to hear that.

Call me a pussy, call me picky, but I don't want or need to hear, smell, or observe anyone elses bodily functions, nor do I want to expose mine to anyone. Fuck the Shameless Shitting Manifesto -- I believe all bathrooms should contain only one toilet and one sink.

-- posted 10.15.02002 by Doniker

Editor's note: is is possible to support the Shameless Shitting movement if you're grossed out by other people's nasty habits? Talk about it on the forums.

Recently, I caught a girl stealing prom dresses. I grabbed her, and as I was walking her to our detention area, she kept asking to go to the bathroom.

Now, I'm all for going potty when you gotta, but we're required to do a weapon pat down before allotting any potty breaks, so eighty "I haffta go to the bathrooms" and two minutes later, we made it to the detention room.

Per procedure, I began my pat down. Upper body, then midsection. It was at this point I realized she needed to go to the bathroom -- she was absolutely rank. I dunno if the adreneline spared my sense of smell on the walk down, but by now the whole office reeked of shit.

So I took her to the bathroom, where she spent about 30 minutes cleaning herself up. I now get to say I scared the shit out of someone, which I kind of enjoy. Though two cans of Glade and two days later, our office was still rank.

My question: when frightened, humans tend to revert instinctually to fight or flight. But poop??? Is it a common theme for us to shit when scared? i always thought it was just a phrase.
------ posted 10.7.02002 by Gumby Rox Pokey

Talk about this in the forums!

On the way over to the restaurant I felt a slight urge to dump hash, but the urge passed with a disgusting "deadly egg" fart that sent my wife into dry-heaves. Man, was she pissed! She snapped, "you could have done that before you got in the car, JACKASS."

I appologized through uncontrollable snickering which was met with "drop dead" side glances from my lovely bride. Any of you dudes been here before? Heh heh. It crossed my mind at that point to blame it on her Mom's cooking, but I knew that was a textbook way to ruin a good weekend.

About half way though our sweet buttery pancakes and near lethal doses of hot black coffee, it hit me. Suddenly I felt light-headed and perspiration broke out on my brow. My bowels went into painful contortions. I had to purge,and I mean like friggin yesterday!

I jumped out of my seat like someone who's been called to "COME ON DOWN" on The Price Is Right. When I flew through the men's room door, I never broke stride as I crashed into the first stall. Trying to undo my belt, however, literally became my undoing -- I accidentally cinched the belt tighter around my gut before I could get it off. This further bit of misfortune was like igniting gunpowder, with my asshole being the hot muzzle of this shit cannon.

As my pants slipped halfway past my ass cheeks the explosion went off. The waistband of my underwear got caught in the cross fire betwixt my ass and the back wall of the john. I never even got to sit down. I quickly kicked my shoes off so I could dispense of my shit-soaked briefs. Mopping my back-side up took valuable time, being that I was eager to flee the crime scene.

As a fitting farewell I draped my undies across the back of the toilet and got the hell out of there. There was molten feces sprayed every damn where and the stink was as vile as you can imagine. The only thing semi-recognizable in that toxic stew were the raisins from the bread pudding.

When I returned to the table my wife was ready to go. She asked me if I had gotten sick. I replied, '" thought that I was going to throw up from drinking all that coffee, but I didnt." My wife looked a little surprized when I left $5 for a tip, so I dismissed it by saying "maybe it will make somebody's day."
------ posted 9.16.02002 by Mexiblow

By late saturday afternoon a very voluptuous curly red haired beauty of about 25 began to complain quietly to a couple of her girlfriends about the lack of facilities. An older brunette just shrugged her off and pointed to the woods.

Late Saturday night I overheard her complain again. This time a blonde about her age suggested that they poop in the woods together. They took off in the dark carrying a flashlight and a roll of toilet paper.

The next day during a volleyball game in a clearing by the campsite the buxom redhead, who was the most attractive girl on the trip (but the snottiest and laziest as well) doubled over. The blonde informed the brunettte that the redhead had chickened out in the woods the previous night and hadn't moved her bowels in 5 days. Sure enough, she had waited too long. The redhead tried to run into the river, but tripped and when she stood up, 19 campers got a close-up view of a copper-brown smelly bulge slowly tent out her light blue one-piece swimsuit that hugged her buxom figure like a glove.

Slowly the bathing suit filled out as she cried in horror. After about five minutes of grunting, farting, and crying, a solid lump of about two grapefruits forced her swimsuit to swell out close to the bursting point, before she disappeared into the woods. She kept to herself the rest of the day and has not returned to our singles club -- but what an exit.

I did explore the woods before we left and spotted the huge copper-brown smelly BM on some dried up leaves. It was huge heavy and extremely solid.
------ posted 9.9.02002 by spandexman

During one of my stints on the shitter, straining and squirting, the toilet decided to malfunction. I guess it clogged up slightly during a mid-movement flush. I had to flush about every two squirts without leaving the toilet because the smell was really bad, like the inside of a yeast packet, but stronger. The excreta didn't smell like poo at all -- which was probably the most disturbing aspect of this flu.

Back to the malfunction, I flushed and kept on pushing and squirting. I failed to notice the malfunction and thus, the rapidly rising stool pool. Eventually the level rose so high that the water soaked my dangling beansack!

This may be hard to believe, but I didn't really notice it at first. The reasons are two-fold: first, I was really concentrating on expelling the waste and controlling the farts which caused the juice to splatter all over the place. Second, I guess the scalding heat and massive amount of the butt-spit heated up the toilet water to somewhere close to room temp. Thus, when it engulfed my sack I didn't feel it for a couple of seconds. By then it was too late -- my sack was covered in oily, snotty, yeasty-smelling butt-liquor and the john had overflowed, spilling the nasty mess all over the floor. It was pure joy choosing which to clean up first -- my bells or the floor.

Butt boils followed this flu, just to add insult to injury.
------ posted 8.26.02002 by Hotcarl

I began this crusade on Saturday afternoon. I visited a large (8 seat) public restroom to take a leak. Behind one of the stall doors, I noticed the feet of timid shitter. Since I had an incredibly beer-filled bladder it was taking me several minutes to relieve the pressure. During that time not a peep was heard from the stall. Not a fart, wipe, or shifting of the ass to be noted.

Maybe it was the beer that loosened my inhibitions and brought out the anger, but as I zipped up my fly I began the violent Brown Revolution. I walked past the cowering shitter and kicked the stall door as I yelled, "hey, let's hear some shitting in there buddy!" I then punched the metal wastepaper basket and again I screamed, "what the hell is wrong with you, you call that shitting?"

Look out world...
------ posted 8.19.02002 by Chip Brown

Go to your victim's house, preferably when they're not home or when there's a large group around. Make your way to the bathroom, and locate the water shutoff valve at the back of the toilet. Turn off the water supply and flush a few times, leaving the bowl completely dry. Then take a huge dump.

The best part is that, when they figure out what happened, they have to reach around to turn the water back on, putting their face dangerously close to the dry mound of shit. (If there's no one around when you do this, make sure to turn the heat up as high as possible.)
------ posted 8.12.02002 by Tim D.

Inside this butthole bunker were the shitters. It had room for eight people, four to a side, on a raised concrete platform. One sat on four holes in the concrete, each with a contempory toilet seat. You would sit back to back with the other four.

Every morning after breakfast, we would always race back to the Lolly from the dining hall to participate in our "group poops" as we called them. Eight boy scouts getting busy at a time. Wonderful memories.

As you can well imagine, those shit house enclaves would get pretty damn ripe. They only came to vacuum them out after each scouting session, so with the accumulated waste of 50+ people baking in the Missouri sun, the Lolly's took on a smell of their own.

Which brings us to one of our favorite pastime: the Lolly Bomb. We would take a huge rock, the size of a football at least, tie a piece of twine around it with about 18" of slack, and on the other end tie a 2" twig. The boulder would lowered into the shit hole and the twig placed between the toilet cover and the seat.

Eventually, somebody would raise that seat up... and then it would be SPLASH DOWN as the rock would drop about 6' into a pool of poo slurry and urine. Hopefully there would be people sitting down doing their business and get a nice ass splash as well as the dope that unleashed the bomb.

My summer camp memories...
------ posted 8.5.02002 by engorged starfish