Back in 1999, I was dating this oddity of a woman named Maureen, whose presence in my life inspired many things that I would consider to be "shitty" -- but the worst came on a steamy summer afternoon on the waterfront. Her family had won a Jet-Ski in a Subway promotion, and it was definitely going to waste. Luckily, I was more than happy to oblige in giving it some use.
Having decided that being hurled off of a moving vehicle at 50mph was simply not her idea of a good time, Maureen had already given up being a passenger. With no female influence to slow me down, I was in the zone, hopping waves at insane speeds, and generally acting like a fool.
I saw a speedboat go by, creating a wake that any adrenaline fiend would kill for. I revved up the engine to max power and headed into the wake with all reckless abandon. Mankind has often sought to be released from the binds of gravity, and indeed for a few fateful seconds I experienced the liberty of the bird. I cannot say my landing was as graceful, however, as the Jet-Ski and I met the water with a resounding thud. Given the angle of my departure from the water (nose up to the air), the landing was orientated in quite a similar fashion. As gravity fought to reclaim me, I slid off the rear end of the Jet-Ski.
Now, anyone familiar with Jet-Skis knows that there is an engine kill lanyard which you wear around your wrist. The idea is that if you become separated from the Jet-Ski, a length of stretchy plastic will yank a lanyard out from under the kill switch, causing the engine to shut off.
I discovered that the stretchtitude of this lanyard was of a length greater than the distance between the handlebars and the rear of the craft. With my legs spread apart the width of the Jet-Ski seat, my ass slipped off the end and entered the water; and my puckered starfish was thus directly subjected to the raging torrent of a jet-propelled high-colonic. While my swimsuit provided a small buffer, the lake water nevertheless attacked the insides of my ass with great fury.
That was quite enough. Calling it a day, Maureen and I headed to her house. I noticed that my lower half was feeling quite sore and distended, but I assumed that it was a muscular reaction to the battering my body received throughout the day. Eventually, cramping and aching hit me, and I felt it would be good to go to the bathroom. As I sat down on the toilet, a torrent of diarrheal nastiness exploded outwards with a force I had never known my ass to create. The toilet bowl half filled up with a mixture of lake water and shit.
Not expecting that I would be having a noisy encounter, I had entered the bathroom with utter disregard for Maureen's family on the other side of the door. Oh the relief my ass felt... but at the price of my dignity. The walk out of that bathroom was a walk of shame, with all eyes looking at me with complete disdain. Luckily, being an old Victorian house, it was not equipped with a ventilation fan, and eventually the smell dealt them all a blow of revenge.
-- Billious