All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage.
But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jump start the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!"
This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1.Occupied.

2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

3.Poo on seat.

4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on
seat.

5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base
of toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall ..1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou
and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful shitter. I wasn't happy
about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet
sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and
then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a
cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it
needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The
inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs.
Shitter about the shitty day he had.
I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily
modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my ass cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
apparent:
(1) The next-door conversation had ceased;
(2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come;
and
(3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly
made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could
hear that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could
swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots,
and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of
stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous
force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had
actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to
the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation
made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible...
throw up... in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love
them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and
retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's ass
at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was
winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by
string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.


There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly
quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A
final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks
plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I
heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was
thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the
damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this,
but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could
handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded
with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the
bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the
bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate.

I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the bathroom.


And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.

well done!

women are like mustangs, there's plenty of them, a few are nice, the rest of them are unreliable, cost money, and make noise.

OMFG. you've got to be kidding. that was hilarious!

Zeus... I can NOT even tell you how hilarious I found this thread!!!! OMFG, I am at work and I was laughing my fucking ass off!!!!! This has got to be one of the funniest (if not actuall funniest) of all time real life stories I have ever read!!!!!!

Hooray to you for teaching htat guy a lesson!!!! hahahahaha

~When nothing is certain, everything is possible~

I just laughed so hard i almost shit myself

I figured if I was going to come to WS to vent about a bad day, I might as well make it worth reading.

I also posted it somewhere on the WoW forums but I can't remember where.

Edited on 11/05/07 10:52 PM

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.

you been outted though... it was posted on the web by many many others before.

Busted.

There are parts in there that belong to me though. My boy at work showed it to me after I took a big shit and stunk him out of the bathroom.

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.

A chance to redeem myself if I may. This story was not mine, but hits pretty close. Parts of it still belong to me, I did edit the original to make it close, but the story is not mine alone. It has the same plot bad day + a dump that would make a father proud teaching someone not to talk on their cell phone in the bathroom.

I'll keep the parts that were mine to begin with in here as well.

So here is how it happened to me. The day started off shitty (no pun intended). I had overslept and running late for work. On my way to work I get pulled over for speeding. Luckily I had a cool cop because when he came up to my window he took my license and said "It has been a long night shift. If you can give me an excuse I have never heard before, I won't write you a ticket." I told him I had no excuse, I knew I was speeding, I tried my luck and got caught. He handed me back my license and told me to slow down.

So I get to work and I am complaining about how I hadn't taken a shit in almost a week, and someone suggested I try to have a bran muffin for breakfast, so I bought a 6 pack of them from the store across the road and washed them down with coffee.

For lunch, I ended up having Taco Bell. I had a LOT of Taco Bell. That done the trick. I was standing talking to my boss when it hit, and I cut a fart that cleared the room.

I rush off to the bathroom. There are only 2 stalls in the bathroom, one of them is occupied and the other, thank God, was not.


I entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet
sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and
then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. I recognized the voice, it was a god friend and he was talking to his wife, but that didn't help anything, it only made the situation that much worse.

I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I didn't think the bathroom was the place to discuss such matters. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I let loose and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. His wife asked him if someone had just started a chainsaw in the distance. The bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.

It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly
made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

He stood up and started wiping trying to get out of there fast. He dropped his cell phone, and it bounced off of his foot and into my stall.

Since I know him pretty good, and I know his wife pretty good too, I picked up the cell phone and started talking to his wife.

She was a bit surprised that I was suddenly on the phone, but talked to me a bit none the less. When she asked to speak back to her husband, that's when I told her I was on the shitter and couldn't hand him his phone back, but he was pounding on the bathroom stall and I would be happy to relay a message to him.

After I slid the phone out to him, he was out the door as fast as he could move.


After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the
damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this,
but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could
handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded
with filth.

I'll be back to this again because once again I have run out of time...

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.

After that, my boy showed me the original story, I made a few edits and posted it here :-)

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.