Your worst deuce experience? NWS?

[Pac1373]

Just imagine being the dog. Sleeping away doing your own thing. With your sensitive nose. Dreaming little puppy dreams of frolicking in the grass, chasing a ball. Doing happy doggy things.

And being awoken to shit being blasted in your face.

LoL again with the tears, poor, poor Dog.

[m73m95]

ok.
Early in my drinking career, i went out with a friend (dude, no homo) in his Fiat X 19 and commenced to down several ciders on tap at a couple different bars. So far so good. As we were heading home out of Atlanta i felt some noticeable seismic activity in my abdomen and played it cool thinking "i got this". A few miles down the road images of pompeii start playing though my mind and i see a Marta bus stop with a little paved turn off and just down an embankment from there, a Waffle House. Ok. Dude, i need hit the restroom NOW, pull over.
We pull to a stop and i exit with a pace Edwin Moses would have impressed by. Straight through the front door, no i don't want to order anything and there better not be a line at the door.
Pressure is rising at a square of my proximity to the toilet, i am just beginning to feel my timing might be less than perfect.
I speedwalk though the WH at 1 AM, bathroom door firmly in my sight, jump through the door already unbuttoning my pants and turning around at the same time when the bomb went off.

Oh My God.

I was previously unaware that my asshole could project a spray pattern of that magnitude. Seriously. I hesitate to even call it an area, really one end of the restroom was covered in shit. In the razor sharp clarity of my drunken stupor i immediately realized there was no practical solution for all parties involved.
I tore off my underwear, wiped what i could off my ass, and strutted out of there like nothing happened.
I still feel bad for whoever had to clean that up.

Gold, pure gold.......errrr brown. Pure brown.

Peace out like a boss!

[cale]

Driving back from the airport after a long flight. Was stoked to get home so just left the airport and figured I could make it home before having to take a leak but no such luck. Made it about 10km from the airport and pull into a ghetto little gas station. As I'm standing at the urinal the rumblins' start playin the bongo's with my guts but I was confident in my clenching and farting abilities so I let one rip...big mistake. Pretty much instantaneously I manage to do a 180, pull down trow and unleash 50psi of screaming fury into a urinal. Fortunate for me this was a small one person only room, or unfortunate....that's definitely something for another person to witness and tell their grandchildren about. Lucky for the individual working that night the pressure and intensity of the stream liquefied any and everything that came out and after a few flushes all evidence of any evil doing's was gone forever.

[be34st]

IN TEARS!

This thread delivers!

[LJ851]

ok.
Early in my drinking career, i went out with a friend (dude, no homo) in his Fiat X 19 and commenced to down several ciders on tap at a couple different bars. So far so good. As we were heading home out of Atlanta i felt some noticeable seismic activity in my abdomen and played it cool thinking "i got this". A few miles down the road images of pompeii start playing though my mind and i see a Marta bus stop with a little paved turn off and just down an embankment from there, a Waffle House. Ok. Dude, i need hit the restroom NOW, pull over.
We pull to a stop and i exit with a pace Edwin Moses would have impressed by. Straight through the front door, no i don't want to order anything and there better not be a line at the door.
Pressure is rising at a square of my proximity to the toilet, i am just beginning to feel my timing might be less than perfect.
I speedwalk though the WH at 1 AM, bathroom door firmly in my sight, jump through the door already unbuttoning my pants and turning around at the same time when the bomb went off.

Oh My God.

I was previously unaware that my asshole could project a spray pattern of that magnitude. Seriously. I hesitate to even call it an area, really one end of the restroom was covered in shit. In the razor sharp clarity of my drunken stupor i immediately realized there was no practical solution for all parties involved.
I tore off my underwear, wiped what i could off my ass, and strutted out of there like nothing happened.
I still feel bad for whoever had to clean that up.

[Fusion]

[Raxe]

Ah fuck repressed memories are returning. Mine starts when I was ~12 years old. Now let me preface this by saying that up until this point I had pretty much remained an at-home-toilet only child. I had the common fear of shitting in public like many, but to another level entirely. My prepubescent ass had probably touched less toilets than my dick size in inches. I hadn't shit throughout my entire elementary school experience other than at my house aside from the one very rare emergency instance in the 5th grade. I had become a master at holding back the Huxtables for hours until I could reach the sanctity of my own throne.

So, I was up at my cousins cabin and we were all out having a bonfire at the neighbors. The neighbors had no running water, so when the smore induced shits manifested, the outhouse was the nearest option. Now being an expert in deuce retention, I was in a completely panicked state when I realized it was coming regardless of how tightly I could clinch my brown eyed willy and the thought of the outhouse was literally scaring the shit out of me. I instantly deduced that the number of steps back to my cousins place equalled diarrhea in my pants. So I did the nervous speed walk-run to the outhouse while everyone was slightly confused at my disappearance. I had to walk up a hill though a wooded path to reach the rickety shit shack and by the time my hand hit the door handle it started to breach my sphincter. I was able to wrestle down my pants and boxers without a mess and achieved an extremely violent, but clean getaway. I was so relieved that I had managed to make it without shitting my pants. The highest of highs turned into the lowest of lows when I started feeling around for wiping material. There was a mental flashback to the roll sitting on the picnic table next to the grahams and mallows back at the bonfire. The shitter is not stocked with TP at all. Violins shrieked in my head. I was totally fucked. I wasn't experienced in this situation. I had been pampered with the comfort of a well acquainted toilet and a roll of quilted two-ply within hands reach since I could wipe my own ass. I probably sat there for 15 minutes, contemplating my next move, knowing people were probably wondering what the fuck was taking me so long and also realizing that my trip to the can was a solo run without the community TP. So I said fuck it, pulled up trou and ran with a muddy ass the 300 or so yards back to my cousins place. I got into their bathroom and realized that in the process of running with a swampy shit covered ass, I had officially destroyed every article of clothing from the waist down. My 501s had both legs full of runoff, my socks looked like a shitty abstract art piece and my new all-star low tops probably looked like my asshole. Clean inside, but a ring of liquid shit around the rim. In my quest to save myself the shame and embarrassment of shitting my pants I had achieved the exact opposite. Looking back today I got shit all over potential wiping materials that could have allowed me to have escape with minimal collateral damage. Instead of walking away minus one sock I lost the majority of an outfit. I threw my clothes in a plastic bag and hid them in the bottom of my duffel bag until I got home. That was the day I learned how to do my own laundry. I've only told a select handful of people this story.

Brutal

[VANOS714]

Portable toilets are the worst, I had to use one when I was at the junk yard when it was like 80 degrees out. I came out with tears in my eyes because it smelled so bad in there. There was shit and urine all over the place. I almost puked as I held in my breath for a few minutes.

[gwb72tii]

i miss that woman and the fine 3 ply toilet paper she bought.

[evandael]

That reminds me,
Way back when me and my gf just started dating we were home alone and she had just gone in the bathroom, I get the urged to shit so I go to her parents bathroom and drop a deuce, successful poop and wiping, then I go to flush and it is acting
Clogged, so then I have to ask for the plunger, super embarressed, and I still can't get it to go down, then she comes in and shows me that you have to hold down the lever for like 8 seconds -_- so embarressed hahahha.

dude i know the feeling. i clogged the crapper at my first girlfriends house so many times they bought a new plunger for the upstairs bathroom. the first time i had to ask for it was a true exercise in humility.


i think all the poopage was due to the vast quantities of spicy, fibrous, and buttery food her mom made for me. i miss that woman and the fine 3 ply toilet paper she bought.

[myinfernalbmw]

Ah fuck repressed memories are returning. Mine starts when I was ~12 years old. Now let me preface this by saying that up until this point I had pretty much remained an at-home-toilet only child. I had the common fear of shitting in public like many, but to another level entirely. My prepubescent ass had probably touched less toilets than my dick size in inches. I hadn't shit throughout my entire elementary school experience other than at my house aside from the one very rare emergency instance in the 5th grade. I had become a master at holding back the Huxtables for hours until I could reach the sanctity of my own throne.

So, I was up at my cousins cabin and we were all out having a bonfire at the neighbors. The neighbors had no running water, so when the smore induced shits manifested, the outhouse was the nearest option. Now being an expert in deuce retention, I was in a completely panicked state when I realized it was coming regardless of how tightly I could clinch my brown eyed willy and the thought of the outhouse was literally scaring the shit out of me. I instantly deduced that the number of steps back to my cousins place equalled diarrhea in my pants. So I did the nervous speed walk-run to the outhouse while everyone was slightly confused at my disappearance. I had to walk up a hill though a wooded path to reach the rickety shit shack and by the time my hand hit the door handle it started to breach my sphincter. I was able to wrestle down my pants and boxers without a mess and achieved an extremely violent, but clean getaway. I was so relieved that I had managed to make it without shitting my pants. The highest of highs turned into the lowest of lows when I started feeling around for wiping material. There was a mental flashback to the roll sitting on the picnic table next to the grahams and mallows back at the bonfire. The shitter is not stocked with TP at all. Violins shrieked in my head. I was totally fucked. I wasn't experienced in this situation. I had been pampered with the comfort of a well acquainted toilet and a roll of quilted two-ply within hands reach since I could wipe my own ass. I probably sat there for 15 minutes, contemplating my next move, knowing people were probably wondering what the fuck was taking me so long and also realizing that my trip to the can was a solo run without the community TP. So I said fuck it, pulled up trou and ran with a muddy ass the 300 or so yards back to my cousins place. I got into their bathroom and realized that in the process of running with a swampy shit covered ass, I had officially destroyed every article of clothing from the waist down. My 501s had both legs full of runoff, my socks looked like a shitty abstract art piece and my new all-star low tops probably looked like my asshole. Clean inside, but a ring of liquid shit around the rim. In my quest to save myself the shame and embarrassment of shitting my pants I had achieved the exact opposite. Looking back today I got shit all over potential wiping materials that could have allowed me to have escape with minimal collateral damage. Instead of walking away minus one sock I lost the majority of an outfit. I threw my clothes in a plastic bag and hid them in the bottom of my duffel bag until I got home. That was the day I learned how to do my own laundry. I've only told a select handful of people this story.

[TurboJake]

Dude....they eat their own shit...

Not all dogs.

I dunno how my dog thinks of it. If he finds some, he pees on it and runs away as quick as he can. It's like he thinks he stole something, and runs away as quick as he can.

He's never eaten it though. Thankfully he didn't freak out and go try to dry himself off by rubbing all over everything. He just got off the bed, hung his head in shame, and waited for a bath.

Also, it wasn't solid shit.... It was flat out liquid spray man. Like god damn WD40 from a hose.

[lambo]

Just imagine being the dog. Sleeping away doing your own thing. With your sensitive nose. Dreaming little puppy dreams of frolicking in the grass, chasing a ball. Doing happy doggy things.

And being awoken to shit being blasted in your face.

Dude....they eat their own shit...

[TurboJake]

holy - le- fuck.

I have tears. there is gold in this thread, but honestly. once you mentally picture this, the lulz are many.

Just imagine being the dog. Sleeping away doing your own thing. With your sensitive nose. Dreaming little puppy dreams of frolicking in the grass, chasing a ball. Doing happy doggy things.

And being awoken to shit being blasted in your face.

[Vivek]

A girl who really needed to shiit and all she had was hard tacos from taco bell. And a sick twisted sense of humor.

:shock: I leave the top off my vert 100% of the time in the summer. And you realize that the word "shit" is neither blanked out nor frowned upon on this forum, right? :up: :)