I was stopped at a red light waiting on it to change when all of a sudden a guy jumps out of a car nearby with a paper sack on his head with eyes and mouth cut out like a mask pulls down his pants at this busy red light and takes a shit right there. Then jumps back in tha car with someone else driving and halls ass, yes everyone was surprised
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My friend Paul and i were describing he worst time we had had performing oral sex with previous girlfriends and such. Paul was the clear,definite and undisputed winner. Paul had hooked with a chick back in the day that was so drunk she smeared instead of cleared when she wiped, if you know what I mean, just before the dark bedroom fiesta. Paul said he ended up with a mouthfull of shit.
REALLY NO SHIT.....................................................I WOULD LIKE TO ADD THIS STORY AND THE CHARACTERS ARE REAL - NO SHIT.
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I was at the mall with my present girlfriend when I had the urge to sneak out a small fartbut, typical of this website, it was not a fart. I felt and explosion of warm, running, shit all over my lower half. In an act of desperation I told my girlfriend I had to use the bathroom but instead I ran home and changed my clothes. I am pretty certain at that time she did not notice the shit running down my leg. When I came back my girlfriend was gone. I called her up to see what her problem was with me abandoning her at the mall and she said " I don't date guys that shit their pants". What a bitch! Apparently some kid from school saw the disaster and ratted me out. What a dick! To end the story I went out and found a new girlfriend more appreciative and accepting of my loose bowel problems.
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I received a submission from a visitor outlining the steps to create and administer your own shitty drawers prank. Here is the recipe and a couple tactics. Kind of funny.
Recipe:
Can of Chili and a melted candy bar. The author claims fudge candy bars tend to work best.
Tactics:
1. Find an old purse that your mother or sister no longer want and fill it with the recipe above. When every thing looks gross put it on the sidewalk and go hide where you can still see the purse. The guy claims that the reactions from would be wallet takers is unlike anything you have ever seen. I believe him.
2. Take an old pair of boxers, use said recipe, and hang them from a fence on a well traveled road. Again sit back and watch the reactions.
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My sister was always someone who you could count on to take someone home after a long night at the bar. One of those nights we came home with a slew ofpeople, drank into the morning, and finally went to bed dispering around the floor. The next morning I was sitting in the kitchen with my buddy nursing the hangover from hell when I saw my sister's date go take a piss. Seizing a golden opportunity to check on my sister and make sure everything went ok I went to her room. As I walked in I noticed something along the edge of the bed. My first thought was this clown vomitted in my sister's bed but on closer examination I started to wish it was vomit. Negative. It was poop.
Apparently the dude must have woken up nude and had a doorknob or whatever you want to call it sticking out and it smeared all over the edge of the bed. I woke my sis up to show her what a gem she had chosen the night before and she was passed out in fecal matter. Needless to say the dude has not slept over since.
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I was parked out in the country and just had sex with a hot chick I had been trying to hook up with for years. As we were sitting there I thought I would be a hard ass and tell her to hit me in my abs because she had been talking about them all night. So, I'm leaning over her, we are both butt naked I might add, and she gives me a shot to the gut. Quit pissibly the worst idea of my life. Apparently I devoted all my clenching power to my stomach because when she hit me I ended up shitting all over her, myself and the car. At least we had already hooked up.....
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Like many of us who have been in this position, my adventure follows a night of heavy drinking and a trip to a fast food joint at 2:30 in the morning.
This all began while driving from Lansing to my office in downtown Detroit.
My stomach feels like, what I might imagine a woman feels like just before she gives birth. I seriously felt like I had some six pound shit monster poking at my midsection with a dagger, doing anything to find its way out of my ass. I know that I am desperate to find any possible location, other than my Dockers and my car, to relieve myself of this monster. The sweat is dripping from my forehead as if I was on the twentieth mile of a marathon. I have one hand clenched to my steering wheel, knuckles white, and the other on to my driver side door, holding on like a child in a rollercoaster waiting for the next big dip in the ride. The bastard in my belly feeling no mercy for me, he smells victory. I am smelling defeat. The sharting has begun.
I pull off I-96, on Chicago Road, not a section of Detroit I feel comfortable in, especially on this day, as I am about to shit my pants. I arrive at a McDonalds in a hopeless state of mind; it appears to be a matter of seconds before I birth this monster. I wobble, run, and then decide I might be better off walking from the parking lot into the establishment. Straight to men’s room, I pass a young woman who is in her attractive McDonald’s uniform watching a television of all things. I give her a nod, like I am a regular at the place. My confidence is on the rise as I am entering the restroom and unbuckling my belt and pants at the same time. Upon entry I find pure horror, two kids getting dressed for their afternoon shift on the fryers, one of course in the only stall. For a brief second, I think a may have no choice but to drop and lay this thing in one of the two sinks available, that makes perfect sense on this day. At least I will be able to wash my hands after cleaning the shit off my ass and legs. In a panic, I quickly dart out of the bathroom holding up my pants, sweating and trembling like a 28 year old man who is about to shit his pants should. What do I do? I am being watched closely by the young lady watching television on her break. She is my only hope. I approach her; she senses immediately that I need help. Without hesitation or thought, I explain how I am diabetic and in desperate need of insulin shot. I need a restroom before I fall over and die. Like a saint she walks over to the women’s restroom and peeks inside, then looks at me and promises she will not let anyone inside. Ten minutes later I exit the feeling like a champion. I am without my underwear, the charting left a nice stain, but I still have my pride. I walk past the woman who is standing guard at the door, like I am royalty and give her a nod and say thank you. All she does is smile. The woman is a SAINT, and probably not the one who is responsible for cleaning the restrooms.
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