I'm a Shameful Shitter. I don't like to draw any attention to what goes on behind bathroom doors and strive hard to be considered an "average" kind of guy. Well I'm not! I move mass though my ass like a never-ending extrusion coming off a hot press. Topping that off, evolution has blessed my ass with the ability to pass diametric dimensions of 3 inches and over at times (and I'm not a big person}. So the story goes...

It was an ordinary evening with the family. My In-laws and various friends came over after dinner to talk and have a drink. Eating usually stimulates the bowels to make room for the food and I know we were all feeling the urge. I had just won first rights to the shitter after winning paper-rock-scissors with my Father-in-law.

I thought I'd be in and out like most evening stall visits -- but not tonight. How the hell could I have passed something that big through my ass? It was like someone stuffed a loaf of brown French bread in the pipe and gave it time to swell. Oh man, that sucker was goin' no where.

"No worries, I'll just use the plunger," I thought. As I began looking for the trusty tool which has saved my ass on more then one occasion, I suddenly remembered that my wife had thrown it away last week. I completely forgot to buy a new one only after being reminded several times.

It had already been five minutes. I knew there were many anxious people outside the door. I had no idea how to walk away from this situation with my dignity -- I was not going to leave the field of battle without burying the dead. No way could anyone find out that I'm a monster-sized sculptor.

It was time to think and think fast. "Hurry up in there," my father-in-law yelled. I hadn't even wiped yet -- I wouldn't dare make the situation worse by adding layers of tissue on top of the monstrous clog.

And then I saw the trash can. Thank God for the trash can.

Not only did the trash can provide me a place to deposit my death shrouds, but it also gave me an idea. The plastic trash bag was just about right for the job. But I cringed at the thought of what I had to do next.

I removed the trash and wore the bag as if I were a surgeon preparing for surgery. As I reached into the bowl, I quickly realized that I may have underestimated the size of my loaf -- it was clearly twice as long as the bag and I would surely have to modify its shape to make it fit.

"What the hell am I doing?" I thought as I backed off. Suddenly, there was knock on the door. "Honey, are you all right?" my wife asked. "Ya, I'm just taking a moment to gather up the trash" I yelled as I started to sweat.

No backing out now. I reached back in and grasped the huge, slimy leviathan. It was difficult to grasp firmly. It was a feeling like I've never felt before and my stomach started to turn. With some creative manipulation (which required washing my hands intensively afterwards), I managed to get the bloated patty in its entirety into the bag. Damn, what a smell I've created! I quickly stuffed the trash back into the bag and gave it a few twists.

Finally, it was time for the flush. And not a moment too soon. My father-in-law was pacing in the hallway just outside the bathroom door as I walked out with a precarious load in my right hand. "Sorry I took so long. I had to round up some trash and straighten up a bit," I said as wiped off my forehead and headed outside to the trash can.

-- CompressedAirSpecialist