Every morning before making the journey to school, I stop at Jack in the Box to grab a couple of breakfast sandwiches to munch on the way over. This morning I had my dad with me because he had to go to the dentist's office to get his dentures adjusted, so I got the rare luxury of sitting in the passenger's seat to eat my meal without the risk of wrecking his car. I thought the first sandwich tasted a little funny, but I thought nothing of it because the other sandwich tasted fine.

I arrived at school and sat in my class, working for an hour and a half before I had to depart so my dad could go to the dentist. Talking to my teacher before leaving, I felt gas pains in my colon and hoped that's all they were. I got out of class and was getting into the car when I realized they weren't just gas pains; but the pain was in the distance, so I figured I had a good hour or so before all hell broke loose. It usually took twenty minutes for my dad to get finished at the dentists and another twenty minutes to travel home. What could possibly go wrong?

My dad parked at the dentists and went into the office. I sat in the car trying to do some math homework, but my colon didn't want to cooperate. As if my intestines were attending a baseball game, they began doing the wave; the gas causing all my pain was shoving them forward. I realized that the hour I estimated had been cut to one-fourth of that time -- and I would be in grave danger if I tried to extend that deadline.

I'm not a Shameful Shitter. I lie right about in the middle between Shameful and Shameless, leaning slightly toward Shameless. I'm not one to announce that I've got a turd coming, and I don't feel the need to invite my friends or family to see what I just laid out in the bowl, although I do enjoy discussing it. Here is one of my Shameful qualities: I hate using toilets outside of the home unless it's to take a whiz, mainly because of the fact that strangers' asses have been seated on that toilet -- that's quite discomforting to me.

However, this was a situation in which I couldn't care less about who's ass touched what. I had to go and I had to go soon. I looked around from the car to examine my toiletry possibilities. There was a 7-11 about twenty feet from the car... I'd rather shit my pants before using a convenience store toilet. I realized that the only place I could go shit was in the dentist's office. I knew the staff of the office, and I feared having to take a vile dump in their presence, but I had no choice.

I got out of the car and power-walked into the office. I spotted the bathroom and quickly ran in and locked the door. I pulled down my drawers and practically fell onto the toilet; to my surprise, though, I actually I had to push to get the butt mud flowing. I realized that there was a log that was corking up my hole. I shoved it out of the way and then the anal fudge began pouring out into the toilet like soft serve ice cream piling out of the machine onto the cone. My poop was like a mysterious solid that also was a liquid. It baffled me.

As I was trying to wipe up, someone knocked on the door and said, "Are you okay? It sounded like you threw up!"

Even though there was a door between us, I blushed and replied, "I'm taking a crap, now do you mind?"

I finished up my business, sprayed some air freshener, washed my hands, ran out and ducked back into the car.

-- The Shit Pistol