from this entry and some of the others i have posted here, you can probably draw the conclusion that i have a bit of a weak stomach. this is perhaps true, but i never allow it to limit my culinary adventures.
several years ago i had an overnight where we arrived in torreon, mexico about 11:30pm. by the time we made it to the hotel, it was well past midnight. i was hungry as hell and in the mood for street tacos. unfortunately, the rest of my crew was tired and wanted to go to sleep. its not a very safe city to say the least, especially for a white bread fucker like me. since i have been going down there for years, "i ain't skeert". there are some amazingly fantastic restaurants in this city. however, since it was pretty close to 1am, my choices were really limited. the folks working the hotel front desk suggested a place called "tacos tao" which was about 4 or 5 miles from where we were staying. the van drove me down there and dropped me off to fend for myself, which is normally no big deal. i speak a good bit of spanish and planned to catch a taxi on the way back.
unfortunately, they had just had a torrential rain storm a few hours before i arrived and the streets were flooded in that area. in some places the water was about 2 feet deep. we are talking about high desert mexico here. there aren't any drainage facilities. the water will just pool in the low areas(roads) until it evaporates or soaks into the ground. the hotel van driver was playing u-boat commander the entire way there.
i hadn't considered any of this and to what extent if any, it would cause a problem with my plan.
i went into the taco joint and ordered: a negro modelo, a big plate of el pastor meat, and a stack of corn tortillas. i sat down to eat and i was happier than a pig in shit. the food there wasn't awesome by any means. the meat tasted a little rancid in retrospect. after midnight, it is illegal to sell beer in restaurants in mexico, so they served it to me in a metal cup(who knows if it was even washed since the last time it was used). in addition to this, there was an open condiment bar with salsas, limes, pico, onions, etc that i ate from liberally. in spite of all these pit falls, i paid my bill and walked out of there feeling just groovy.
as i stepped out to the street to hail a cab, i realized there were no cars anywhere as far as the eye could see. the road in front of the taco place was completely flooded. no big deal....i just started walking toward the hotel(yes....at 2am, all by my white ass cracker self, in the middle of the night, in shit hole mexico) i would say that i walked perhaps 600 yards and i started feeling that rumble in my tummy. shit! i know myself, and from this, i can say that it will never go away, but only get worse until i blast ass. i was still in denial so i just kept walking. after a short while i had to clench my ass every so often to keep it in. still a little further down the road, my large intestine started to turn itself inside out. by now there are no restaurants to duck into or anywhere else to go for that matter. this is the point where i had to start looking for alternatives. i was trying to walk briskly but every 2 minutes or so a big contraction would come and i would actually have to stop, clench my ass, close my eyes and concentrate to not shit myself.
finally, in the next block there was an open air mechanic's shop under a car port. it didn't look very appealing but at this point there were no other options. i ducked in there looking for a trash can or something. the rubbish was overflowing with used car parts and i wasn't in any condition to dump it out. since i was to the point of approximately 30 seconds until volcanic eruption, i had to just make a quick decision and go with it.
this place had a pit (or a hole in the ground) where they would just drive a car over and work from underneath rather than a lift. the hole was completely filled with water from the rains. i am still conflicted about this today.....i ripped off my jeans and underwear, grabbed the door handle of a 58 ford pickup that was parked next to the pit, spread my legs out and squatted my ass as far over the hole as i possibly could. just at that very moment a geyser of chocholate syrup started spewing out of my butt nozzle as though someone had just set off a claymore. most of it wound up in the water. some hit the wall on the other side of the hole. i wiped off my ass with my boxers as well as i could and threw them on top of the overflowing garbage can. it was just awful. i couldn't get out of there fast enough.
to this day, i still feel really bad for the mechanics when the showed up for work the next morning. that had to have just royally sucked!
anyway, finishing up my dirty business, i walked another block and finally caught a damn cab back to the hotel. (i had already walked 2/3rds of the way on my own). the driver was probably thinking that i smelled like poopy butt and couldn't wait to get me the hell out of his taxi. first thing i did when i was in my room was strip off my clothes and jump in the shower. i chucked that pair of jeans in the trash.
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i tend to have my morning dumps at work. With a crew full of bros in a warehouse. Quite relaxed until the intentional turd burglar arrives.Leave a comment:
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I can certainly agree with the Astaire & Camo-cough to ward of potential Turd-burglars. Uncle Ted's are the reason l go into stalls for all business, but i'm a courteous stall-user, unlike my co-workers. I tend to avoid workplace releases whenever l can.
Sent from my HTC Desire X using TapatalkLeave a comment:
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We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our cubicles and suddenly felt something brewing down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.
CROP DUSTING
When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.
FLY BY
The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.
ESCAPEE
A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.
JAILBREAK
When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.
COURTESY FLUSH
The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poop hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.
WALK OF SHAME
Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.
OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER
A colleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.
THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N)
A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.
SAFE HAVENS
A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.
TURD BURGLAR
Someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poop at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.
CAMO-COUGH
A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.
ASTAIRE
A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.
WATERMELON
A poop that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.
HAVANA OMELET
A case of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire.
UNCLE TED
A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to poop when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.Leave a comment:
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I could fill this thread from stories about taking shits in basic combat training.
It seems like I only ever had to shit at the most inconvenient times, like when we were out on a hot ass range with nothing but a fucking bucket over a hole in the ground filled with a mountain of smelly shit. Using wipes from my MRE and trying to make an accurate dump in full body armor. Even if I got lucky enough to take a shit inside our bay's bathroom... as soon as I began extruding, I heard yelling and screaming and had to pinch it off to avoid being smoked and get to wherever the fuck I was supposed to be. Not to mention MREs make your shit dense as diamonds.
Funniest story I ever heard came from a buddy of mine, who told me that his shit was so stiff, it dropped to the bottom of the toilet, and fell like a freshly cut oak tree- swiping a line of poo straight down his ballsack. TIMBER!
I also witnessed one guy suddenly alter course during a PT test while he was running his two miles. The drill sergeant asked him where the fuck he was going. He replied in a fury, saying he had to shit and couldn't hold it anymore. He actually took a shit in the latrine, ran back the track and still ended up passing his run time. That was glorious indeed.
I suppose I don't need to mention the amount of times I saw people soiling themselves during ruck marches, platoon runs, and hell- even just sleeping at night. What a strange time in my life.Leave a comment:
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So i'm just going to share an experience I had recent that I thought was pretty bad.
I was on my way driving home from Chicago. I had been driving all day. The night before I had gotten my huge fill of eating as much chicago style pizza as I possibly could before I left, in which my body was still in the process of passing the food throughout my day of driving. So when the waste was time to let loose, it hit me like a train. "OK. I have to deuce it. Lets just pull over at the next stop." The urge was pretty bad, so at this point I didnt even care if it was a shit hole bathroom cause it was probably going to end up that way after I was finished. I got lucky and the first gas station I stopped at had just cleaned the bathroom. I found this out because I walked in there with a little smell of bleach, plus the place was spotless. There were already plenty of people in there, in which I'm pretty "courteous" if I have to deuce it, but I was already past that. I walked in and just let loose. Definitely scared everyone away. (you're probably thinking this is a better deuce story....well here it comes). Remember I mentioned they just cleaned the bathroom? Well they used bleach of course. So i'm sitting there enjoying my dump when I realized the smell started bothering me. I didnt want to stop because this was a GOOD dump. So i'm almost passing out from the fumes and my eyes burning so much and while relieving myself. I was actually enjoying the smell of my own shit better than the entire room. This sounds gross, but I was attempting to waft my own shit so I could "survive".
This may not sound as bad as others, but damn did it suck. I surprised I remember everything. Don't get high on bleach kids.Leave a comment:
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Can't say today's was my worst, but it's up there:
I enjoyed a nice home cooked meal last night while catching up with the latest walking dead. I ate lasagna, but the only meat that was left was "spicy" Italian sausage. I have a pretty good tolerance for spicy so eating it was no issue, it hadn't been that bad. It wasn't until next morning I found out I was wrong. Had to shit right after classes but I knew I should just hold it and do at the luxury of my own home. By the time I got home I had to go straight to the bathroom. Sit down and let it out. First second felt fine but then it hits. A burning I've never felt before: the sausage. Coming out it felt like someone stuck a lit match in my anus after pouring lighter fluid. The only thing I could think to do was finish up quick. Except wiping only felt like using sandpaper on a fresh third degree burn. Doubled the burning and left me with a fiery anus of hell. I promptly showered before going to work.Leave a comment:
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Just came across this just had to share.
<Full story here>
The Most Embarrassing Private Jet Flight Of All Time:
Just over halfway through the flight, all the coffee in my stomach feels like it's percolating its way down into my lower intestine. I hunker down and try and focus on other things. What feels like an hour, but probably isn't more than twenty minutes, passes. We then enter what turns out to be pretty violent turbulence. With each bounce, I have to fight my body, trying not to shit my pants. "Thirty minutes to landing, maybe forty five" I try and tell myself, each jostle a gamble I can't afford to lose. I signal to [the flight attendant] and she heads toward me.
"Excuse me, where is the bathroom, because I don't see a door?" I ask while still devoting considerable energy to fighting off what starts to feel like someone shook a seltzer bottle and shoved it up my ass. She looks at me, bemused, and says, "Well, we don't really have one per se." She continues, "Technically, we have one, but it's really just for emergencies. Don't worry, we're landing shortly anyway."
"I'm pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency," I manage to mutter through my grimace. I can see the fear in her face as she points nervously to the back seat. The turbulence outside is matched only by the cyclone that is ravaging my bowels. She points to the back of the plane and says, "There. The toilet is there." For a brief instant, relief passes over my face. She continues, "If you pull away the leather cushion from that seat, it's under there. There's a small privacy screen that pulls up around it, but that's it." At this point, I was committed. She had just lit the dynamite and the mine shaft was set to blow.
I turn to look where she is pointing and I get the urge to cry. I do cry, but my face is so tightly clenched it makes no difference. The "toilet" seat is occupied by the CFO, i.e. our fucking client. Our fucking female fucking client!
Up to this point, nobody has observed my struggle or my exchange with the flight attendant. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." That's all I can say as I limp toward her like Quasimodo impersonating a penguin, and begin my explanation. Of course, as soon as my competitors see me talking to the CFO, they all perk up to find out what the hell I'm doing.
Given my jovial nature and fun-loving attitude thus far on the roadshow, almost everybody thinks I'm joking. She, however, knows right away that I am anything but and jumps up, moving quickly to where I had been sitting. I now had to remove the seat top – no easy task when you can barely stand upright, are getting tossed around like a hoodrat at a block party, and are fighting against a gastrointestinal Mt. Vesuvius.
I manage to peel back the leather seat top to find a rather luxurious looking commode, with a nice cherry or walnut frame. It had obviously never been used, ever. Why this moment of clarity came to me, I do not know. Perhaps it was the realization that I was going to take this toilet's virginity with a fury and savagery that was an abomination to its delicate craftsmanship and quality. I imagined some poor Italian carpenter weeping over the violently soiled remains of his once beautiful creation. The lament lasted only a second as I was quickly back to concentrating on the tiny muscle that stood between me and molten hot lava.
I reach down and pull up the privacy screens, with only seconds to spare before I erupt. It's an alka-seltzer bomb, nothing but air and liquid spraying out in all directions – a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. The pressure is now reversed. I feel like I'm going to have a stroke, I push so hard to end the relief, the tormented sublime relief.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." My apologies do nothing to drown out the heinous noises that seem to carry on and reverberate throughout the small cabin indefinitely. If that's not bad enough, I have one more major problem. The privacy screen stops right around shoulder level. I am sitting there, a disembodied head, in the back of the plane, on a bucking bronco for a toilet, all while looking my colleagues, competitors, and clients directly in the eyes. "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!" briefly comes to mind.
I literally could reach out with my left hand and rest it on the shoulder of the person adjacent to me. It was virtually impossible for him, or any of the others, and by others I mean high profile business partners and clients, to avert their eyes. They squirm and try not to look, inclined to do their best to carry on and pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that they weren't sharing a stall with some guy crapping his intestines out. Releasing smelly, sweaty, shame at 100 feet per second.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry" is all the ashamed disembodied head can say…over and over again. Not that it mattered.
Wow. This is probably the most humiliating social situation I could ever possibly imagine. Do you think you could recover from this? Or would you need to change your name and find a new line of work? If you do happen to find yourself on a private jet needing to use the bathroom, hopefully the interior looks more like this:Leave a comment:
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Best and Worst...
While in the Marines, we were training in urban warfare (myfav)
On Camp Pendelton in an area called Mount Town.
As being opts our unit was smaller than most. So our training consisted in being the aggressor or Gorilla force to be removed by other training units.
Well my team was relaxing between unit movements awaiting our next skirmish with a green unit. As the boot (I have only been with my team for a year) I had always had to watch my back for pranks...
Well I had to "go" so I waited until my guy were mostly asleep and I grabbed my gear, and weapon slinked over to the port-a-head. Checked my six then entered, swift, silent, and deadly..
So baking in the 100+ weather poopen, M40A2 a cross my lap, pack at my feet, duce gear on my back. Sweating my ass off..
Everything was good, quit, clandestine and the extraction was in root, then I tasted it...
next was the smell.... Next was the sweet sting to the nose and eyes...
Next thing I knew my position was invaded and filled with the sweet bitter tast of CS gass... Yellow smoke in my eyes..... YES! I'm fucked (mind you my pants are down) Now the A$$Hole is on fire!
So i do my best to deal.. and finish my business. Being able to last for a good long time I was able to painfully finish before retreating... flinging open the door pulling my gear and falling to the ground to get down under the cloud. Out side the door I find My Company Commander and team Gunny laughing there ass off...
I had been Pranked by "The Man".. After that the pranks pretty much stopped for about a year until the next green boot came to the team..
Ahh Fun times had by all.....Leave a comment:
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