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Thread: Caught short in Asda

  1. #1
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    Exclamation Caught short in Asda

    All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent co-workers 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 fibre cereal, following it with three cups of coffee at work, and fresh orange juice.

    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 supermarket to buy food for the family.

    I started this task, and as I was walking up an aisle past an "everything must go" clearance end, bent over the trolley in the lazy male way my guts hit me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart - telling me that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the customer toilet 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 #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers 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 really don't like others listening to my toilet noises.

    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. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the ****ty 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 rapidly.

    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
    (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, sickening 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, love, 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. I finally understood the phrase "the world fell out of my bottom" 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: "got to 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 toilet 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 really 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 mobile phone in the loo.

    This, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the toilet!

  2. #2
    Regular Member mikey c's Avatar
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    brilliant although clearly written by a yank. had tears coming out of my eyes reading it, literally. that brightened up my crappy day!

  3. #3
    Regular Member ballan22direct's Avatar
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    top quality!

  4. #4
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    Its taken me 3 attempts to read that due to tears streaming - absolutely fantastic

  5. #5
    Full Member gibbon7000's Avatar
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    Lmfao

    My other car. 1972 1641cc slammed beetle. On the road finally!!

  6. #6
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    lol Excellent

  7. #7
    Regular Member SignumPhil's Avatar
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    Oh, God,
    You're not my old mate Roland, are you? He was the only one I've ever met who could write with such poetry about bowel movements.



    Phil

  8. #8
    Regular Member Sean-2.2Direct's Avatar
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    Brilliant mate

  9. #9
    Ex-Staff Full Member Taffyopel's Avatar
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    Far kin classic. You nearly shat youself, i nearly wet myself reading that!


    Snowman, you got your ears on?

  10. #10
    Regular Member mspvxr's Avatar
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    Very good lol

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