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 The OktobermessPosted 10.03.2005 by Poopy Brewster (10)
I recently had a business trip to Europe. We started out in Northern Germany, made our way to Frankfurt, and made our last stop in Munich. I don't know if it was nerves or just a change of foods, but I started having gas almost the moment we arrived. Not the oh-I-have-to-fart gas -- oh, no. We've all watched films of bombs dropping over some sad place. You know the second it hits the ground, how it seems to suck in all the air around it and then explode into a mushroom? Well, that air-sucking experience happened between my cheeks. I felt like I was vacuum-sealed to every chair I sat on, like a reverse fart suction cup.
My stomach wouldn't relent, creating more and more turbulent air. The weird part was that I didn't have diarrhea at all. Usually when this kind of gas happens, I crap chocolate milkshake for like two days. But this time, except for the intense gas, all seemed normal. Now, for the average guy, this isn't all that embarrassing. However, I am not of the male persuasion. I am twenty-five and a female. So in all my meetings I would excuse myself to squeak in the bathroom, as quietly as possible, tempering the sound by holding toilet tissue over my bunghole like it was about to sneeze. No problem. No one was the wiser. We finally made it to Munich, coincidentally on the same weekend that Oktoberfest began. I had previously spent a summer in Munich, so I was familiar with the place and with the fest, but I had never attended. Everyone who has been to Oktoberfest knows it's NOT what you expect. We decided to go on a Sunday -- one of the only days we didn't have to work. We got there around two PM. Now, I can drink. I can hold my liquor well enough to make any man proud. So I knew I wouldn't have to worry about being sick. But there's a key thing to remember here, folks: they don't serve you bottles of beer, or even mugs of beer. They serve you LITERS of beer. As the night began, we were all enjoying a liter, then two, then three... I peed a lot, but no gas or anything at the time. I was officially wasted by my fifth liter. (Probably more like the third, but I wouldn't have known the difference). But I was resilient. As long as everyone around me was still drinking, I would, too. Ha! I can handle it. Sure. By the end of the night I had consumed six liters of beer. That's TWO GALLONS of liquor. Imagine drinking three two-liters of soda. That's almost the entire amount of blood in your body. I was shitfaced. We got on the train with some of the cool people we met while drinking and headed back to the hotel. I remember getting the bubblies in my stomach while I sat there rocking with the train, but since it had been like that for a week, I didn't think much of it. We said goodbye and walked to the hotel. I remember having the shoe farts: each step a little louder. When we got to the hotel, I wanted to go up to my room to clean up a little; after that, I was planning to meet some people in the bar, of course. I pushed the button for the elevator. It was about midnight, so there weren't many people around at all. Suddenly, the urge to fart hit. I looked around. No one was coming toward the elevator. I just had to hold it till I got on. Bing! The door opened and, as I stepped inside, I let it rip. I've read enough stories on this site about people sharting, but I never believed it was as terrible as people made it out to be. Let me just say: it is. Lord Jesus, it is. As I let the air go, all I felt was hot fudge fill my underwear. Not to mention I was wearing my expensive jeans. My face froze. I waddled to my room, hoping against all hope that it was only a drop. I ran to the bathroom and dropped my pants to see what looked like a completely melted Nestle Crunch bar lying in my pants. Oh, and how it exploded as soon as my ass hit the seat -- up the side of the toilet and, somehow, on the seat itself. I thought I was going to pass out from the smell; but I didn't want to let the shit dry. I had to rinse out my underwear in the sink, touching my own filth, then wrap it in toilet paper and drop it in the trashcan. I lost my Superwoman underwear that day. I was stunned; but I was also somewhat proud that I had had my first shart -- and my first story to share with my poop-loving comrades. Post new comment
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