***I had to change the names on this one. The fact that I can google the guy and get his picture in 2.4 seconds coupled with an incredibly catchy nickname seemed like a lawsuit waiting to happen.***
The date was January 11th, 2000. Our hockey team were taking a road
trip to play a pair of games in Cleveland.
Jimbo Jones was the GM at that point and he felt the need to make the trip.
We loaded up the vans at the Airport Ice Arena, which was our home
rink then and where the equipment was stored, and hopped onto route 60
on the way to the turnpike. Jones averaged 85 MPH the whole trip
driving the cargo van, which had Barney Gumble riding shotgun, me in the
one row of seats behind them, and the rest of the van filled with
bags, sticks, etc. Jones also drove the whole way hunched over the
wheel like an 82 year old grandmother, and for most of the trip, he
drove in the middle of the two lanes on the highway. The only time he
limited his driving to one lane was when he passed someone. Right
before we got to the turnpike, we were passed by a State Trooper who
had his lights on and was driving 90+ MPH himself for basically no
reason. We joked that he must have to poop really badly, and so
that's why he was in such a hurry.
Due to the speed that Jones drove and the less-than-expected level of
traffic, we got to Cleveland way too early, so we stopped to eat. The
other two vans caught up to us and we went to this Italian place. It
was not a very extensive menu, just basic pasta and sauce kinds of
things. I forget what Jones had, but since there were only maybe 8
menu items and there were 20 people there, other people had the same
thing that he had.
When were done with the meal, we still had 3 or so hours before the
game started, so we went to the motel to check in. Jones drove the van
to the motel, parked in the check-in spot, and went in to get the keys
for the rooms. Gumble and I had been invited by Jones to stay in his
room, and we accepted because it would be free (the team pays for the
GM's room). The motel was the usual kind of cheap place where the
doors to the rooms opened to the outside instead of to a hallway.
Jones handed the keys out, then got back in the van with Gumble and I.
He pulled about halfway out of the spot and started cutting the wheel,
and suddenly slammed on the brakes, put the van into park, opened the
door, and started running. Gumble and I watched him run up the stairs
to the room, and we looked at each other and I said, "Well, I guess we
should park the van." We really had no idea what happened and Jones
said nothing while he was running.
I got into the driver's seat, drove the van around the motel to a spot
near our room, and then Gumble and I went up to the room using the key
Jones gave us. We went into the room and I kind of noticed Jones
flitting around the room with a panicked look on his face. I didn't
really think much of it at the time. I had to pee, so I went into
the bathroom, where I discovered that the toilet had brown water which
was just about to start spilling over the side of the toilet. I ran
out of the bathroom and the motel room and immediately yelled to other
people on the team that Jones had destroyed the toilet. Jones then
started stamming something about thow there was something wrong with
the food he ate, something wrong with the toilet, etc. Someone
pointed out that they had the same food as he did, and no one else had
a problem with their toilets. Someone else mentioned that emergency
#2 situations are generally mostly liquid, and they typically do not
cause toilets to clog. I asked Jones if he pooped his pants and then
tried to flush his underwear down the toilet, and he just started
yelling that nothing like that happened. We all drove to the rink,
and the story spread in the vans.
By the time we got to the rink, most people had heard bits and pieces
of the story, so I retold the entire story in the locker-room, except
I referred to Jones as Commander McPoopie for most of the story. Jones
came into the locker room for some reason and everyone just laughed at
him. Someone asked him if he pooped his pants, and he said that if he
had pooped his pants, his khakis would be stained, and he showed us
that his khakis were unstained. People started laughing louder about
this, so Jones left the room embarrassed. Mr. Burns was the coach,
and he came into the room to talk for a second, and he noticed one of
the players wasn't there. Jones came into the room with Burns, and
when Burns realized there was a vacancy in the lineup, he asked Jones
if he wanted to play. somebody yelled, "He can't play, he doesn't have
any underwear!", people laughed, and Jones left the locker room
again in shame.
Ever since then (5+ years now), we have referred to Jones as Commander
McPoopie and Jones still gets angry about it.
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Every year a group of my high school friends and I take a weekend trip and go camping. The second year of the trip I was sitting around the fire with a friend of mine discussing what we were going to do for breakfast the next morning and it came up that one of our friends's loves Pop Tarts. Once we realized we had been talking about breakfast for 30 minutes one of the guys, probably to counter act the lameness of our conversation, suggested someone shit into a Pop Tart box so our friend would get an early morning eye opener. After thinking for close to 3 seconds, I realized he was correct: I HAVE to shit into the Pop Tart box.
I took the box by the fire and laid a log that would make a lumberjack proud then put the box into the screened tent were we gathered for meals. Unfortunately, we were still passed out when our buddy woke up and found his breakfast treat so we did not get to see his horrified face. But, we did get to hear his tirade because not onlyu did it wake the entire campground I think it woke my parents up 300 miles away. Apparently when he went for his Pop Tarts he did not look into the box first and got a handful of Poop Tarts. We never told anyone who did it and we carry the tradition on every summer to this day.
