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 jumpstart
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 for my girlfriend. 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 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your
convenience:

0. Occupied.
1. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the
occupied one.
2. Poo on seat.
3. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on
seat.
4. 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 ****ter. 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. pooper was blathering to
Mrs. pooper about the poopy 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 *** 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 •••• 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 bum
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 ••••• ever again answer his
cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never
talk on your phone in the bathroom. Do your business and get out.

ROLMAO.... Awesome I'm laughing so hard I have tears running down my face.

Great way to start a Monday.

Thank You.

I needed a good laugh.

LMAO!!!

Been there, done that! ( Both sides of the stall- less the cell phone)

I think I can!!

Awesome!

My wife flushed her phone down the tolet two years ago, She had the phone in her loose pocket, turned around and bent down to flush and the phone slipped out of her pocket the same time she flushed. This was one of them high presure ones too. Down it went, I joked with her for 6 months, told her that nemoo the fish was talking on her phone.

OMG! LMFAO!! I laughed so hard I have tears in my eyes! That's a masterpiece!

Chad@M&M

Same here, I laughed so hard that I was crying. Way tooooo funny!!

That should be in a hard bound novel.

Holy Crap!!!! (literally), I cannot stop laughing! This is a keeper! Thanks for a good start to a Monday. I still can't stop laughing....Oh __it! Now I gotta go!-Mezz

Priceless, I think I peed a little...LMAO, thanks for the Monday lift.

that right there is funny as all get out, holy crap, lmao

Now that is some funny ••••!

Reminds me of Dumb and Dumber.

Thanks for the laugh!

thanks for making my day!

a message of "dootalk" or a message from dootalk....ironic

That has to be the funniest thing I ever read.
That was great

That was hysterical! I've copied it so I can send it to my friends! BAHAAHAHAHH!

Thanks for the MAJOR LEAGUE LAUGH!

REV IT UPx3!

Jul

Have to put that one on the board at work. Great way to wind Monday down

Using a public restroom will never be the same. Thanks for the laugh.

Later Joe

That is why I seldom use public restrooms! Wife still reminds me of my stop at a cornfield in Iowa.

Haha. That was good. Here's another that was floating around over there or Snowest at some point or other.


A guy who purchased his lovely wife a pocket Taser for their
anniversary submitted this:

Last weekend at Larry's Pistol & Pawn Shop I was looking for a little
something extra for my wife Toni. What I came across was a
100,000-volt pocket/purse- sized taser. The effects of the taser were
supposed to be short lived, with no long-term adverse affect on an
assailant. The idea is to allow my wife, who would never consider a gun,
adequate time to retreat to safety.


WAY TOO COOL!!


Long story short, I bought the device and brought it home. I loaded in
two AAA batteries and pushed the button. Nothing! I was disappointed.
But then I read (yes, 'read') that if I pushed the button AND pressed
it against a metal surface at the same time; I'd get the blue arch of
electricity darting back and forth between the prongs and I'd know it
was working.


Awesome!!! (Actually, I have yet to explain to Toni what that burn
spot is on the face of her microwave).


Okay, so I was home alone with this new toy, thinking to myself that
it couldn't be all that bad with only two AAA batteries, right?!!


There I sat in my recliner, my cat Gracie looking on intently
(trusting little soul) while I was reading the directions and
thinking that I really needed to try this thing out on a flesh and
blood moving target. I must admit I thought about zapping Gracie (for
a fraction of a second) and thought better of it. She is such a sweet
cat. But, if I was going to give this thing to my wife to protect
herself against a mugger, I did want some assurance that it would
work as advertised. Am I wrong??


So, there I sat in a pair of shorts and a tank top with my reading
glasses perched delicately on the bridge of my nose, directions in
one hand, and taser in another. The directions said that a one-second
burst would shock and disorient your assailant; a two-second burst
was supposed to cause muscle spasms and a major loss of bodily
control; a three-second burst would purportedly make your assailant
flop on the ground like a fish out of water. Any burst longer than
three seconds would be wasting the batteries.


So, I'm sitting there alone, Gracie looking on, with her head cocked
to one side as if to say, 'Don't do it,' reasoning that a one-second
burst from such a tiny little ole thing couldn't hurt all that bad. I
decided to give myself a one-second burst just for the heck of it. I
touched the prongs to my naked thigh, pushed the button..... And HOLY
CHIT, WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION, Wow, I'm pretty sure
Jessie Ventura ran in through the side door, picked me up in the
recliner, and body slammed us both on the carpet, over and over and
over again!!!


I vaguely recall waking up on my side in the fetal position, with
tears in my eyes, body soaking wet, both nipples on fire, testicles
nowhere to be found, with my left arm tucked under my body in the
oddest position, and tingling in my legs.


You should know, if you ever feel compelled to 'mug' yourself with a
taser, that there is no such thing as a one-second burst when you
zap yourself. You will not let go of that thing until it is dislodged
from your hand by a violent thrashing about on the floor. SON-OF-A-...
That hurt like heck!!!


A minute or so later (I can't be sure, as time was a relative thing at
that point), collected what little wits I had left, sat up and
surveyed the landscape. My bent reading glasses were on the mantel of
the fireplace. How did they up get there? My triceps, right thigh,
and both nipples were still twitching. My face felt like it had been
shot up with Novocain, and my bottom lip weighed 88 lbs. I'm still
looking for my testicles!! I'm offering a significant reward for
their safe return.


Still in shock,

this is the best thread ever! nice one doospunk!

Here is another story similar to the public bathroom story above,and equally as funny. It will make you laugh out loud! Enjoy.

I went to Ace hardware recently while not being altogether sure that course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'you're definitely going to
•••• yourself' road-kill chili. Tasty stuff, albeit hot to the point of being painful,
which comes with a written guarantee from me that if you eat it,
the next day both of your butt cheeks WILL fall off.

Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened.
No 'Watson's Movement 2'. Despite habanera peppers swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I was unable to create the usual morning symphony referred to by my dear wife as 'thunder and lightning'.

Knowing that a time of reckoning HAD to come, yet not sure of just when, I bravely set off for Home Depot, my quest being paint and supplies to refinish the den.
Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and
began pushing it about dropping items in for purchase. It wasn't until
I was at the opposite end of the store from the restrooms that the pain hit me.

Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about I'm referring
to that 'Uh, Oh, ••••, gotta go' pain that always seems to hit us at the wrong time..
The thing is, this pain was different. The habaneras in the chili from the night before were staging a revolt.

In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the
direction of the restrooms which would bring sweet relief, it happened.
The peppers fired a warning shot.

There I stood, alone in the paint and stain section, suddenly enveloped in a noxious cloud the likes of which has never before been recorded.
I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me.

Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave the lower part of my body,
and I began to move up the aisle and out of it, just as an orange aproned clerk turned the corner and asked if I needed any help.

I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what his reaction
would be to the malodorous effluvium that refused to dissipate.
Have you ever been torn in two different directions emotionally?
Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate.

I could've warned that poor clerk, but didn't.
I simply watched as he walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible,
wall of odor so terrible that all he could do before gathering his senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving his arms about his head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible,
but then made me laugh..........BIG mistake!••••


Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things 'clamped down',
if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told
a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing
the store and firing off a shotgun.

Suddenly things were no longer funny. 'It' was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the restrooms, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand mal assplosion took place.

Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable 'Oh my God', floating above the toilet seat because my ••• is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and Awe'. He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said,
'Son-of-a-bitch!, did it smell that bad when you ate it?', then quickly left.

Once finished and I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending
to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, 'Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans
on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.'

My smirking of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me.
The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S YOU!',
then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.

Home again without my supplies, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Lowes. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter.

Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the store.

Repaint the store. Too funny.

Nice to start the day with a great laugh.

OMG both of you posted good ones, my co-workers think I've lost it... Awesome keep em coming!!

Laughter is the BEST medicine.

Wow, what a great way to start each day, thanks...

And again I cannot stop LMAO, my stomach hurts! Too much fun!-Mezz

HOLY WA! As funny as these are I'm not sure how many more I can read before I pee myself!

Chad@M&M

STOP IT WITH THESE STORIES....I am quietly laughing so hard, to myself, that my stomach hurts like crazy. Since I sit across from Yamahahick 'our' co workers can only assume we are on 'that' site on the internet. WAY WAY WAY TOO FUNNY!!!!

I've been forewarding these stories to my address book, and getting replies all day on how funny they are. It took me half an hour to be able to see again, from tears filling my eyes. Great stuff!!!!

WAAAY too funny! Thanks for the laughs