Let me forewarn: this isn't much of a story in comparison to some of other gems on PoopReport. There's no dramatic climax, nor the unusual hijinks involving poo. It's just what happened to me yesterday at the office.
The night before, I had two hot dogs and a mountain of those fat-free potato chips made with Olestra. As you might already know, Olestra has the very notable side effect of being a stool softener. I eat these chips all the time without many problems, so I thought I had built up a tolerance. Apparently, I was wrong.
The next day at work, my stomach was rumbling and bubbling like a witch's brew. I had just returned from peeing in the public restroom and was sitting down at my cubicle when I was surprised by a turtlehead suddenly threatening to paint the inside of my jeans. I held perfectly still, knowing I could neither try to cut it off nor let it go. Slowly it retreated back, and I ever so carefully managed to stand up, using mostly my arms. I thought I had won the war. I made baby-steps toward the restroom, feeling that I had control of the situation. I felt so confident that I made my way to the farthest restroom, so as not to run into any of my coworkers.
I made it in. Success. Even better, no one else was in there, so I was already undoing my belt and pants as I waddled over to the stall and pushed the door open. I was literally only about three steps away from the throne when my eyes widened with the horrific knowledge that, in less than two seconds, what felt like a prairie dog on crack burrowing through my intestines was going to come out with or without my consent.
I could feel that no amount of clenching would stop it. It would be like trying to stop a freight train with a barricade of wet paper towels. I instinctively tore my pants down to my thighs with milliseconds to spare before assuming a sitting position over nothing more than the tile floor for my anal eruption.
Now, I knew I had to shit. What I didn't know was that it was going to be liquid, and that there was to be bucketfuls. Load after load of hot liquid butt mud kept spewing out, hitting the ground with a noise like hand claps. It may sound painful to the legs to squat so long with nothing to sit on, but that didn't even register in my mind. I was still shocked and bewildered by the anal lava I was producing. I dared not move, even though the toilet was almost in arm's reach. I just stared in disbelief down at the ground between my feet, watching it become painted with more and more splatters and shitty shrapnel. The calves of my pants and heels of my shoes were all spattered like painter's clothes. My lake of liquishit easily covered the majority of a three-foot diameter circle on the ground.
I was horrified that someone would walk in. Anyone entering the restroom would not only hear but immediately see the shitty pool growing from under the stall walls. I thought about what I would say, about how it was an emergency, but someone likes me... nobody came in. The ass assault finally ended.
I wiped very quickly and made my way out of there. I almost ran right into someone on the way out. "Oh shit," I thought, "the jig is up." Fortunately, it was a woman, and I was in the clear.
After making my way to another restroom to finish wiping and wash up, I returned to work. A few moments later, one of my coworkers came back from a break and told everyone in earshot what he found. "You know the restroom over by the vending machines? Someone took a shit on the floor! It looks like they hadn't gone in six months. I don't know how they're going to clean it up -- 'cause they're gonna need a hose. If I were the custodian, I'd fucking quit today. No way would I be cleaning that up!"
While it was an accident, I couldn't help my laugh silently as everyone discussed the cesspool I created. That restroom was closed the rest of the day. I do feel sorry for the cleanup crew, but I'd just as soon not fill my trousers with five pounds of poo goo.
-- Y K