Yeah, be glad it was you and not your woman who had the shits at the time of birth. When our second child was born, DungMommy crapped all over herself, and the doctor, and the nurse. She pooped on the baby too. I still call that kid "Little Shit Head" for that very reason.
This is a good short story. I like the description of the poop attack and the Mormons.
You know how you had a friend in high school who had a mom that was on-fire hot? That friends-mom was named Felicia. After high school my friend's parents divorced and I went the extra step of asking Felicia out about two years later. She gave me that look of disapointed pity. The one that causes your dick to suck up inside you for two weeks. I am both aroused and ashamed by that memory. We didn't date.
When I read this story, I imagine the old Felicia, but back in 1968, 20 years old, cavorting amidst the horny longhairs. Oh Felicia.
There once was an Iowan named Shoff,
Upon hearing his tale you will scoff,
Then write a limerick,
Because you are so sick,
That's how PoopReporters get off.
BBS, sorry about your trip. If all you were after was some hot nuts-slapping-bellybutton sex, then that's too bad. If you were looking for a relationship, then this is a good thing. You don't want a woman who would treat you like that.
Though, you have to admit, its a bit weird from her viewpoint: slamming on the brakes and bounding through the brush, then screeming "don't come down here!"
That is kinda funny. She might have thought you caught a glimpse of one of your previous victims' foot sticking out of the sand and had to stop for a quick re-burial.
Good discussion. In my younger years, I could've said 24 hours, but nowdays I have lost most of my clenchability. I don't like to be more than four hours from toilet facilities.
Having said that, I have the ability to drop trou anytime, anywhere. If they put me on a plane for nine hours with no shitter, it wouldn't bother me to bust a loaf in the isle if the only other option was shitting my pants or dying of an ingrown turd.
When somebody does this to me, I like to say something real stupid, such as "Come on in! I'm just getting started." or "Julio, is that you, man? You got da junk, man?"
Or start having a conversation as if there were two of you already in there: "He's right outside." "Shhhhht, be quiet or he'll know we're in here." "Look.Look!" "Shut up..."
This story is fake, but don't underestimate the deterioration of order in public schools. Nowdays, it's perfectly plausible that if a teacher reprimanded a student for farting, the kid would knife the teacher in the hallway. The kid's parents would go assault the recouperating teacher in the hospital. And then the ACLU would sue the teacher and the school district for violating his "digestive rights." The teacher would be fired (but get full benefits). All the school employees would have to spend two days in sensitivity training. Then, John Stossel would tell us how wrong it all is.
Durojaiye has done more for for the continent of Africa than the UN and U2 combined in the last 14 years. His costs are alot lower and he's alot less smug too.
AC, the Little boy pooping in the urinal did produce some serious laughter. He was dancing and whining and gripping his bum. It was in a restaurant with only one stall and one urinal. When they guy who was taking up the stall toilet came out, and saw me holding the farting, wriggling cub in an overhand grip, he busted out laughing. I was able to swing him around and plop him onto the sit-down toilet without incident, and made some whitty remark - that I don't remember - and picked his little green turd out of the urinal with the plunger. It was great fun.
When we walked back to the table, the little dude announced, much to the horror of an older dining couple, "I pooped in the yoo-ree-nal."
I'm not alot like you in most aspects. I'm male, I'm fat, I read on the pot. I do get alot of excercise, and I eat healthy food in general. I have been making fun of rhoid sufferers for years.
About three years ago, I got one. Category 3. Not very pleasant. A friend of mine gave me a sure-fire (you'll see) cure:
Buy a 16 Oz bottle of hot peppers. I prefer Mezzetta or Giuliano yellow peppers, they are hotter than jalepenos and have more flavor. Eat as many as you can without losing consciousness. The resultant ring-sting will kill your uninvited passenger.
I did this. I found that eating some mild cheese helps to put out the fire on the top end. My mouth watered, nose ran, I hallucinated sounds, and I shook like a leaf.
The movement next day sent me into another realm of consciousness. My little rhoid felt like Satan was pouring boiling battery acid into a bunghole-paper-cut the size of Arizona. Ten minutes later I felt like a million bucks. But guess what: It works.
Now, whenever I feel the twinge, I go straight for the hot stuff. Its happend twice since. It hurts, but a one-day cure is better than the pain and humiliation of a hemmy.
RB, don't get all wadded up about Doniker. That's his opinion and his input. Just imagine a balding and hygienically inept shut-in, mouth-breathing while he rattles away at his keyboard. What else does he probably have?
Most of us have come not just to tolerate him, but to appreciate and even love him.
Boomerang. I put the times in there to indicate I had to get to work and that's why I was hurrying. Interesting that you should mention the X-Files though. I've been fantasizing about agent Scully's ruby lips and firm *ahem* all day long.
Why don't you submit a story and then I can see how it's done?
Joe. Sorry to hear you're going to die. This is my advice:
Move out West where there is plenty of room (ei. someplace where an object can go to ground at 3000 mph and not hit anybody). Start building a 20,000 horse-power rocket sled. When you get sick enough, strap yourself on and set the thing off. If you live, start over again with a bigger design.
Its called "science" and it will save you from a humiliating and slow death by ass.
Don't feel bad. Since you were gone, the plumber walked all around your place, rubbing his balls on your stuff. Drinking glasses, toothbrush, pillow. He took food out of your fridge and put it down his voluminous pants while working and then replaced it before leaving.
I'm with SamDamnit. Dave will become poop, but he will not actually sodomize an elephant with his noggin (Good Gravy! The first Human suppository!). He will be eaten by a large carnivore and deposited between clumps of grass in a peaceful meadow.
I guess it doesn't matter any more after all the above wisdom, but...
If its a roomy toilet seat, my little buddy just sits there looking around, maybe reading the newspaper with me. If its a small seat, I will tuck the little-lizzard-of-love down and my chubby thighs hold it in place, there's no danger of it coming in contact with the water - believe me.
This is an interesting story. After the poop on the tampon string comment, I think I'll have to become a monk.
Does anybody get the feeling this story sounds like one of those stories translated from Japanese into English by someone who is not a native speaker of English?
Also it sounds like Pooptastic could actually be pooptarded. Miss P., Its clear you can't handle the rosponsibility of defecating. In order to avoid this you should either quit eating altogether or wear a diaper to work.
The real ugly Americans are those who feel that disrespecting their country in deference to inferior nations somehow places them - the disrespectors - above the rest of their countrymen.
Everett, this story is gross, but you shouldn't fault Doniker for wood. This woman could be perfect:
1) She has the potential to be alot of fun.
2) She said "snuck it out of the hand that was not groping."
3) And my favorite - She's not "good at sizes"!
You Bolsheviks have no idea what you're talking about. I am the manager (80 employees), and I can tell you that very few of the people here work harder than I do. Almost none of them can speak with reliable knowledge about the manager's job, and I'm betting all the whining about managers in the above comments is exactly that.
I manage a mine, not a bookstore, so I'm sure the management-employee relationship is quite different. But there are only two types of employees 1) Those who take responsibility for the quality of their work, and are valuable during their entire shift. and 2) Those worthless oxygen-thieves, who just do the minimum to maintain employment. I can't even look at them.
I have never heard "that's not in my job description," from somebody in category #1. When I'm paying you $24 and hour plus benefits for your whole family and you say "that's not in my job description," It makes me want to feed you your teeth.
I started out at $3.35 an hour and have never said that. The day I do, I'll go home and cut my dick off so I can be just like the other people who say that.
I know this is late in the game, but I'd have to say sharting counts as pooping your pants. Its important to define. But Its pretty clear if the action results in poop material touching your pants, then it counts as pooping your pants, be it a shart, a squirt, or a full-fledged dump. As a scientist and engineer I think and equation is in order:
FECAL MATTER + FABRIC CONTACT = POOPED PANTS
With regard to Kam's comment above, the line is clearly drawn. If the shart hangs up in your crack or bung hair, then it is a simple shart. If the shart material makes it to your garment, it is a shart that resulted in pooped pants.
Correct me if I'm wrong.
This definition also allows for delayed contact. For example: If I shart a teaspoon or so of buttgoo and it bogs down in my bung-jungle, then its a simple shart. Later on, having not wiped, if I sit down or dig at my ass and the offending poop-like stuff touches my skivvies, then it is a shart that results it shit pants.
Pill Pooper, Have you got your ass-crack tattooed yet (if you mentioned it, it I didn't read the whole story. poor attention span)? If not, you should get a tattoo of something real cool coming out of your butt, like fire or Elvis or a battleship or a bunch of corn.
I used to poop sparingly at scout camp for some reason too.
This is a good, funny story and has the best subtitle of any one I've seen yet, but completely untrue. Let me demonstrate:
1) When you're in fourth grade, you are about 10 years old. Boy Scouts start at the age of 12 or 13. A fourth grader is a Cub Scout (or has been held back two or three years), and any one in scouting would know this and differentiate it.
2)If you had ever laid such heavy cable ("like pooping a flagpole" - very good line)you would know that the turd couldn't be that rigid. Anything longer than about ten inches HAS to go around at least one corner to even fit in your body.
3) Nobody in the family would go in there for a week? Horseshit. Unless you got it on the floor, the poop smell would dissipate in hours at most unless the room was in vaccuum, or hermetically sealed.
3) A big, hard, shiny shit requires less toilet paper than normal, so either you normally use two rolls or are grossly exagerating.
4) A singularity, by definition, cannot extend up your colon and into your small intestine. It occupies a single point, such as your bunghole or duodenum. Hawking would have classified you as a dork.
Oh that's right, the "mature and responsible person" became a retard fuck lying ripoff mechanic who screws people and is comfortable enough about it to brag. The fat girl just took the poop, it was the sitter who wronged you.
You are lower than scum. Turd terrorists and skat eaters are better than you
This report is great. I feel like a second grader watching the 1960's animated science films. Thank you, Motherload.
Interesting comment by anomolous coward. You have it only partly right though. This is how it works: If your production of BULLSHIT goes up, you become a liberal pee-head and mention George W Bush in the second post on a poop website. The only clear reason is you can't help yourself.
Did they leave golf balls on your sandwich too?