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 To Flush A Blocking TurdPosted 12.30.2003 by Big Stinkie (10)
It was that night of mayhem and scenes missing known as Boys' Night Out. My friends and I did a bar tour. Seeing as how I had just completed another semester of college, I went all out. I had nothing else other to do than to drink massive amounts of Killian's Irish.
I awoke the next day at 3:30, seeing as how being a drunk lush the night before made me incapable of waking earlier. After stumbling to obtain some Gatorade from the fridge, I received a phone call. Turns out it was this very pretty girl whom I had started seeing a few weeks earlier. Being the sweet and surprising girl that she is, she informed me she was on her way over. After scampering to appear ready, I was soon riding back with her to her parents' house. I was a little panicked about this, because I feared the beer shits. However, I figured I would make up some excuse while at her house in order to get back to my place in case it happened. After being there for a while, everything was going well. The parents (who had met me once before) asked if I wanted to stay for dinner. Since my new girl and I were in the new, awkward, can't-take-shits-in-front-of-you-yet stage, I was nervous about the beer shits. However, I could not say no to them because my girlfriend knew I had nothing else to do. And I didn't have time to think of a logical and valid excuse anyway. Thirty minutes later, we ate. The steak dinner was nothing that would cause my anus to fear. I thought, "Hey, I'll have after-dinner conversation and then leave." It was me, my girlfriend, and her parents. They were doing exciting things that most middle-aged parents do, such as passing around baby pictures. When they came around to me, I dropped one. I bent over to pick it up and, to my anal horror, released an escapee. It was one of those inner-anus farts that feel as if they aren't actually released. I turned red, and attributed my blushing by saying, "My family has an embarrassing picture of me like this, too!" I did a test sniff and realized I was damn lucky! It did not smell (I was fearing a SBD!), and thus went undetected. Then my stomach started growling like it was at war with itself. I tried to cover it with generic laughter and fake coughs. But then, after that lower large intestine growl that is not a fart, but is not the same as your stomach growling, I realized the inevitable. I had to go. But I couldn't just leave yet! I started a spell of fake coughing and sniffling (it was valid -- it was cold the night before, and I hate bringing coats with me into bars), and excused myself to the bathroom. I was hoping for a nice, smooth, easy glider -- you know, the one that does not even really need a wipe to remove buttcheese and ass juice. But my colon had other plans. The Killian's was ready to charge out of my rectum like a Frenchman away from war. I only had one good thing going for me: the bathroom was situated at the OTHER end of the house. I would have had to fake blowing my nose raw if the throne had been closer to them. All hell broke loose as my ass exploded in anal glory. I tried to muffle the noises that are common with beer shits, but my sphincter was not strong enough to turn the tide of the anal tsunami. After the liquid-shit onslaught, the eye of my shit passed over, bringing with it a couple of solid chunks -- a return to normalcy. After a few more splashes, I realized the paperwork for this porcelain prince would have to be not only efficient, but tedious. I had to remove ass juice. As you know, ass juice is the most difficult fecal remnant to remove. At my apartment, I could care less if I have to do some repeat flushes. However, flushing the toilet here two or three times might make known my business. I also had to worry about not clogging the toilet. At home, I have a plunger next to my toilet; not so here. After using every square inch of the toilet paper, I had done the best to wipe away the buttcheese and ass juice. I knew I could not use any more toilet paper because I did not want to clog this sucker. I was almost safe! Other than worrying about them using the throne after me, I was in the clear. I turned around to salute my porcelain prince, and then flushed. I was removing all the buttcheese and ass hairs from the toilet seat when, to my utter horror, I realized the toilet could not endure the full load. Some went down and some came back, leaving shredded toilet papers and the rest. I was careful to not use much paper, but I guess the water pressure at her house was different than at my apartment. Now what would you do if you had a toilet that looked like Michael Jackson's asshole and would not flush completely? I couldn't just leave it there -- but flushing again was a gamble. Hoping to have the luck of the Killian's Irish with me, I flushed again. Shit was spewing from the toilet. It had clogged completely and the water level was slowly rising. I knew it would soon spill over. I just stood there waiting, waiting for the cold, shitty water to hit the nice white rug hugging the toilet. So I did the only thing possible. I left the situation, locking the door first and then shutting it. That way, it would give me enough time to leave. I knew they would find out what anal massacre awaited them in their bathroom, but I did not care as long as I was gone first. I just wanted to leave. So I returned to the table and, after ten more minutes, stated that I had to return home because I had to go to my Grandmother's house later that evening. To make matters worse, the whole ten minutes that I was sitting there I had the ass jiggles -- the problem of not being able to sit down comfortably after a huge shit. The next day, my girlfriend and I hung out. I was scared to see her at first. But the only allusion that she made to me about the anal fiasco was, "Hee hee, don't worry." -- Big Stinkie Post new comment
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