I was out on my bi-yearly trek down to Orlando from Atlanta. The 1985 Jetta was fueled up, and I had a fresh pack of Marlboro Lights and a stack of CD's to hold me over on the 7+ hour ride. Typically, if I don't blast a big shit before heading out, I will always hold it until I reach Altamonte Springs, FL.

About three-and-a-half hours down 75 South, I felt the most absurd rumbling I had ever felt, emanating from high up in my esophagus all the way down to my sphincter. Being that I was only just getting through Valdosta, I began a holding ritual. I rolled down both windows and sped up to about 85 mph, chain-smoking the whole time as I tried to take my mind off of the imminent disaster that was approaching. By the time I had reached Lake Park, GA, I was in dire straits. The sweat was pouring down my forehead and my ass cheeks were puckered from trying to hold back the unholy forces that had plagued me now for about 100 miles. The pain was setting in.

Realizing I could hold back the swelling shit no more, I pulled off at the next exit, just across the Florida state line. The first stop was an abandoned gas station with four gas pumps out front that looked like they were from the Andy Griffith Show. I pulled around back and saw the door to paradise that was the sole bathroom on the premises.

I ran in and flicked on the light, but it didn't work. So I pushed a large rock into the doorway, giving myself about a four-inch crack of semi-usable light. I hauled to the one stall and noticed the door had been ripped off the hinges. I could also see that the blackened bowl -- which also had it's seat ripped off -- was decayed from hundreds of truck driver shits. I backed the ass up and dropped the shorts from a full standing position. I got soaked as my shorts, wallet and belt smacked into the inch of shit water that I was standing in.

I then attempted a Sumo-type squat position -- so my ass didn't have to go near the tainted bowl -- by bracing my left hand on the wall and my right hand on the (empty) toilet paper holder. The first load that sprayed the area made a gurgling sound akin to a young child drowning in a wading pool. I began the second wave of ass crud, but this is where the real problem started.

Being that I was at an almost semi-standing position about two feet above the bowl, I began to get a quiver in the leg. I quickly realized I was expending way too much energy holding myself up, so I tried to shift my position by putting my weight on my right hand. As I attempted to move my right hand forward on the stall wall, I lost balance and fell COMPLETELY into the shit-covered bowl, all the way in to my elbows. I pushed out of the Well of Souls as fast as possible, but I was still covered in enough stink to drop a bull elephant.

The worst casualties were the shorts and boxers I was wearing, and I gladly slung them into the corner of the shit hole for someone else's enjoyment. Luckily, I had an overnight bag with about three changes of clothes, as well as a container of wet wipes. There was no running water in the sink, so I bare-assed it back to the Jetta and wiped from head to toe with about 39 of the 40 Wet Ones. I then put on some shorts and headed back to the on-ramp. Needless to say, the last four hours of the ride to Orlando was smooth.

-- Rob