DMeisterJ said:I don't get this. How did he get crap on the front of his pants? Please someone explain this.
Y2Kev said:I was driving through Glendale, Arizona with my family one year and my aunt had to go. She refused to go poop on the side of the road so she made us all get out of the car except for my younger sister. My younger sister held a cup and she pooped into a styrofoam cup. It's on the side of the road in arizona somewhere.
yeah my family is full of this kind of story.Beaulieu said:Man that is so sick wtf your parents are crazy I would never let my daughter do that.
Y2Kev said:yeah my family is full of this kind of story.
My entire family has extremely shitty (lol) bowels. Everyone in the family has some form of IBS or something.
braimuge said:So let's turn this around. What was the worst (hardest and most painful) shit you ever took?
I remember one time, where my anus was dripping with blood![]()
Hootie said:Here's a post on GAF that I actually saved to Microsoft Word because it was so epic. I believe Orin GA is the author.
The Greatest Story Ever Told.
hahah it was fucking Dave Gordon, that's awesome that he recognized your situationDahellisdat said:Ok.....I have a diarrhea story to offer up as well.
This story begins on a beautiful Saturday morning at home when I was about 17 years old. Every month or so in our Tae Kwon Do class, our teacher scheduled a test where if you were ready, you could go and execute your forms and break your board and move up to the next color belt in rank. This was my Saturday to test for a blue belt if I'm not mistaken.
My grandparents were in town visiting while my parents were on vacation or something, so that morning my grandma cooked me breakfast before the test. Unlike many other grandma's I've encountered in my time, this one is actually a terrible cook. But the eggs/ whatever else we had were good enough for me so I downed the whole plate and thought nothing of it.
I commenced my Tae Kwon Do test about 30 minutes later with a mild stomach ache, hoping that it would go quickly and I could get out to relieve myself. About 5 minutes into the test, things took a turn for the worse. My stomach felt like it had turned up the heat on high and started boiling something inside me. All kinds of sounds of pressure being shifted from each part of my digestive tract were emanating from my abdomen.
Thus began, the diarrhea sweats. My face turned pale and the beads began to form on my brow. The stomach pain came sharply and faded every couple minutes. I thought I could continue this facade until the end of the test.......then we began our forms. Doing kicks up above the level of your head is the worst possible thing you can do when you have the diarrhea pain. Anyone who has been in a tae kwon do class can attest to the incontrollable flatulance that sometimes occurs during such motions.
At that point, the pain was so severe, there were tears in my eyes and I feared that something inside of me was going to burst. I turned to this 40 something year old man next to me with what was likely a deathly sick expression on my face and told him I had to go to the bathroom. He looked at me with eyes that seemed to understand exactly what was happening. I quickly walked out of the classroom to the bathroom down the hall almost doubled over in the pain from blocking the onslaught of shit trying to force itself out of me.
When I finally made it into the bathroom, my body was in such a state of shock that the urge to shit was momentarily set aside. The pain was so bad that I puked out all I had into the toilet. With no time to spare, I flipped myself around and with equal force shot out the stream of shit until I was entirely empty. Throughout the entire event, I managed to keep my white uniform entirely clean.
When I got back into the classroom, I don't think my teacher had even noticed that I left. I finished my forms, broke my board and the day came to be remembered by the worst diarrhea I've ever had
Seriously, GAF. Don't Shit Your Pants.Guled said:
Docpan said:I decided that I wanted to go running three miles last night, even though it was frigid cold.
Earlier in the evening, I ate a fuck ton of prunes (almost an entire container) because I was hungry and they were there (haven't been to the store in a while, so I've been running low on snacks). Without thinking about it, I left my house and began running.
1.5 miles into the run, I felt very gassy. I began farting, but the gas pains wouldn't subside. It was interrupting my run so badly that I had to stop in my tracks for a minute. I ripped a couple of massive farts. As I went for a third, I could feel that releasing it would unleash a shotgun blast of diarrhea into my running shorts. I held it back until I could feel it recoil into my intestines.
I began to run again but the pain came back even stronger. I came to the realization that I would have to walk the rest of the way, or risk shitting my fucking pants and having the residue stream down my leg for any passers-by to see.
I began speed walking the rest of the way home in earnest, knowing that there were absolutely no spots along the way where I could release the foul beast coiling inside me. I contemplated shitting in a patch of grass not touched by the light of street lamps (It was about 10 PM), but it was too risky-- there were houses everywhere.
The pain was getting worse every minute. I trudged on, dreaming of the minute I'd get to annihilate my fucking toilet. I counted 5 separate instances where the shit pushed all the way down to the asshole, and I had to clench it shut in order to keep it from flowing out. After about 1 to 2 minutes of clenching, it would climb back up into my colon in defeat, only to try again minutes later.
When I got to about a block away from my house, I felt as if my sphincter was about to literally explode. I said fuck it, and sprinted with my house key in hand.
I got to the door and yep, it was fucking DOUBLE LOCKED. After fiddling with the keys clumsily, I managed to get in the door and stumble 5 feet extra to the downstairs bathroom. It shot out like a cannon before my ass was even on the seat.
In short, no feces got in my trousers, but the result of holding it in so long was SEVERE pain as it came out. I was on the can for at least 15 minutes, moaning all the while.
Crisis averted.
Everyone, please share your stories of nearly shitting yourself. After all, it is a true test of manliness.
Slurmer said:I did once when when I was at one of my brother's football games.
We were playing at some backwoods middle-of-nowhere school--their fans were racist, their field was awful, their bleachers splintered your ass. It was the playoffs and it had been pouring rain all day like you couldn't believe.
Towards the end of the game I had an overwhelming, spontaneous urge to take a giant shit. I knew I was in trouble because I immediately had to strain to hold it in. So I got up from the bleachers and cautiously headed to the bathroom.
Between me and the bathroom was about 100 yards of deep, muddy earth. I took a deep breath, clenched my cheeks, and started walking. Not even a third of the way there, I slipped badly. Trying to catch my balance, I guess I temporarily lost focus, and..well...I shit myself. I just stood there in the rain in fucking disbelief for probably a good 20 seconds.
There was no way in hell I was going back to sit with friends/parents like this, so I trudged the rest of the way to the toilet. Once there I cleaned myself off as best I could and discarded my boxers. No trashcan to speak of, so I just left them on the back of the toilet. Thankfully the game was basically over at that point ans we got the hell out of there right after it ended.
Orin GA said:Just to clear things up....I found that story on the interweb, It did not actually happen to me :lol
I just said take off my pants, then shit and I won. Is there any way to open the door?Guled said:
-COOLIO- said:another question. how does one beat blanks that throw themselves all over the fucking place? and what can you hit an electric blanka with?
edit: wrong thread
Orin GA said:Just to clear things up....I found that story on the interweb, It did not actually happen to me :lol
HamPster PamPster said:Theres only one reason to bump this thread... and it isn't because you DIDN'T shit your pants
It came out of nowhere gaf, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I put up a good fight on my sprint to the bathroom though... only a little bit got by me
HamPster PamPster said:Theres only one reason to bump this thread... and it isn't because you DIDN'T shit your pants
It came out of nowhere gaf, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I put up a good fight on my sprint to the bathroom though... only a little bit got by me
HamPster PamPster said:Theres only one reason to bump this thread... and it isn't because you DIDN'T shit your pants
It came out of nowhere gaf, it hit me like a ton of bricks. I put up a good fight on my sprint to the bathroom though... only a little bit got by me
kozmo7 said:Bit of a side (front?) topic:
Any of you peed yourself before? I somehow managed to pee through the little space between the toilet seat and the toilet the other day while sitting down. I hadn't realized till I put my shorts back on and they were soaked.
Luckily I was at home and the shower was nearby but to do this kind of thing at my age without any alcohol involved is kind of embarrassing. :lol
kozmo7 said:Bit of a side (front?) topic:
Any of you peed yourself before? I somehow managed to pee through the little space between the toilet seat and the toilet the other day while sitting down. I hadn't realized till I put my shorts back on and they were soaked.
Luckily I was at home and the shower was nearby but to do this kind of thing at my age without any alcohol involved is kind of embarrassing. :lol
This took place on Lake Vermillion, in Minnesota. I was about 14 at the time.
My sister, whom I have since learned is never to be trusted, offered me a "mocha" one day at our cabin. It was highly suspect that she should offer me anything of her own volition, but I thought nothing of it and eagerly drank the concoction.
Later that night, I was to sleep over at Uncle Bob's so I could spend some time with my cousin Kevin. After a long day of fishing and catching frogs, I changed into my pyjamas and crawled into bed.
Unbeknownst to me, the mocha contained laxatives.
I awoke with the unique combination of panic and dread one can only get from a pyjama bottom packed to the limit with hot steamy crap. To my further surprise, it wasn't done coming out.
In a mad dash to the outhouse, I unknowingly left a trail of shit from the bedroom, through the livingroom, across the porch, and all through the yard to the outhouse. By the time I got there I was mostly emptied out, but I strained to get a little something out, if only for the principle of the matter.
Utterly exhausted from the escapade, I stumbled in through the back door, took a shower to rinse the feces off my lower body, threw away my pyjama bottoms, and collapsed on my bed.
My uncle awoke the next morning to find what can only be described as a "shit-circus". He gives me suspicious looks to this very day, even though I explained to him what my sister did to me many times. I think that deep down, he honestly believes that I entered his home with the sinister intent of shitting all over his stuff.
Rash said:Y'know, I would massage my prostate with a Snickers bar, but I feel that would cause a startling ambiguity that I am NOT prepared for.
-COOLIO- said:so you're in a muddy field, it's pouring rain, and you've paused for 20 seconds.
this is most hilariously dramatic scene i've thought of today
:lolofftopic said:All in all, it hadnt 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 Id last taken a dump. Id 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 go Christmas shopping. 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 its 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 #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and sat down. Im normally a fairly Shameful Sh1tter. I wasnt 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. Sh1tter was blathering to Mrs. Sh1tter about the sh1tty 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 didnt 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 colons 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 wasnt 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, Id 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 ones phone and wipe ones 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 whod 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 itll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public and I doubt hell 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.