Pants-Shitting Stories

Tim also deserves a custom shitty coloured username too!

 

Too much detail Sarah. Ew.

 

Ahh, I did remember a humorous story that involves shitting, but it did not result in me shitting in my pants.

I like to shit at home. I like home field advantage. Obviously, when traveling, that's out of the question, but typically when I'm not out of town, and I feel a the beginnings of a shit coming on, I'm usually able to hold it until I get home. Well, once when I was working at Target, as the backroom logistics guy, it was late in the evening close to closing time so I was the only one on duty for backroom staff, and I suddenly had the urge to take an epic shit that couldn't wait. So I go into the employees only bathroom we have in the backroom and proceed to drop the kids off at the pool. The bathroom's acoustics are such that sound echoes and is very loud. Now, at Target, employees have walkie talkies so we can communicate within the store. I'm sitting there shitting my intestines out when I hear on the walkie "Todd?" It's my manager. I ignore it for a bit and then I hear "Todd, you there?" I can't ignore it any more, so I reply with "It'll be just a minute, I'm busy right now" and as soon as I press the button to talk, there's some more uncontrollable shitting complete with sound effects that I'm sure the walkie picked up, because after I replied that it'll be a minute, there's dead silence for about 10 seconds and then my boss replies back "Uh, okay. Got it!" Now keep in mind every employee in the store has a walkie and every customer within ear shot of an employee heard me shitting on the walkie.

 

I have come from request by a secret member to appear in this thread.

 

And now you know Ben's secret.

 

That's what you think
but my story , haha...its interesting.
I'll build up some anticipation for mine.

 

So here it is. You've been asking for it. You wanted it. And now... you've got it! The story of my friend Oliver shitting his pants is here, and we have the photographic evidence to prove it. If you're squeemish, easily offended or sick at the site of foamy, splodgy shit, then look away NOW!

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There he is. Oliver. The man who ruptured a brown bomb in his pants. Sure, he may look like nothing more than Abe from Oddworld Abe's Odyssey, but this man caused an international incident even the Greek authorities couldn't handle. But, to get to the end we must start at the beginning. What caused this man to smear the brown in his pants? Why couldn't he hold it in? Well, you're going to find out as we enter into a world of disgust, and discover why Oliver is now, and forever will be known as...

THE BROWN LEMMING
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It all started when me and a group of my best friends went to Malia on a lads holiday. A whole week of chilling out, getting drunk and taking in the local culture. Little did we know that behind all the laughter, drinking and dune buggy racing, there lurked something more sinister, something waiting in the depths of Oliver's asshole, waiting to explode and ooze that brown bliss unto the world.

I guess the brown demon began to form the night before the "incident". An unsettling amount of alcohol combined with the innocence of a regular digestive system was enough to allow the ass mud to manifest.

It wasn't until lunch the next day that put a full stop on this shit stained love story. What could allow the ass porridge become too much to handle? What food would push it through those fleshy doors into the world? Of course, it had to be... MEXICAN.

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That's right. Mexican. And we're not talking authentic Mexican cuisine here, we're talking cheap as fuck, glorified gas station, holiday destination Mexican, ran by a bunch of Greeks with a license to sell Diarrhoea Tacos.

Above is Oliver enjoying the friendly escapades of posing for holiday snaps in the "restaurant" lobby. Happy as fuck. Nothing says fun like a wooden cut out of Mexican related objects to pose in. Tequila is an appropriate choice, as I bet he could use some of that to forget this corn filled story.

This image marks the midway point in this story, because 30 minutes and a walk back to the hotel is all that separates the eating of the Mexican and the inevitable brown future...

So we're back at the hotel. We are roughly 10 minutes ETA away from the brown trifle making its way from Oliver's ass. The first thing my friend Chris does is b-line for the only toilet in our hotel room. You see, Chris smells smoke, Chris knows that unleashing the fire extinguisher formally known as his ass is about to spray, and he's ready for it. Chris is safely dropping the kids off at the pool, he knows that Mexican did no favors to his bowels... and then there's Oliver. Sweating like a paedophile in a nursery. Unlike Chris, Oliver didn't anticipate the volcanic splodge his ass is about to deliver.

Five minutes later and he's pacing the vicinity of the bedroom, hoping that Chris would hurry the fuck up so he can unleash the casadias of crap grouping near his ass crack. Oliver realizes that he only has one option. Go down stairs to the hotel lobby and dump the ass trash in the community bathroom in the hotel foyer. Any normal person would have thought of this right away instead of pacing around until his pants resembled the Carnage symbiote from Spider-Man. BUT, not Oliver, no, he waited and waited... and it cost him.

There he is running down the stairs to the holy shitter, the only thing that can save his dignity, hands firmly clasped to the exit wound of his ass, hoping, PLEADING to himself to make it... just a couple more strides and he'll be okay! HE CAN SEE THE TOILET... ALMOST THERE... BUT...

It's too late. The ass jam begins to vacate his ass, his hands quickly becoming the strainers to the plundering waterfall of shit seeping from the human dungeon of despair. The best part is this is all over the hotel lobby floor, before he could even make it to the throne... NOW, the moment some of you have been waiting for. The evidence. The Mexicutioner residue. The photographs even a fucking fly wouldn't enjoy! For anyone who may take offence, or is squeemish, or plainly does not want to look at the Bermuda Triangle of Shit, then look away NOW!
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WARNING! DO NOT CLICK UNLESS YOU WANT TO PHYSICALLY BE SICK
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...There it is. Oliver's guts unloaded onto the hotel lobby toilet floor. But that's not all folks, oh no, the shit just wouldn't stop coming! Oliver was just wearing swimming shorts, which means his legs looked like he was morphing into a bloody Chewbacca! He tried to salvage the situation by maybe finishing in the toilet, could he at least save face and unload some of the brown treacle into the bowl?...
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WARNING! DO NOT CLICK UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE PHYSICALLY SICK
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No. Looking at the above picture we can see where he attempted to perch those shit stained legs on the john, but failed miserably. It all ended up on the floor and on his legs. The smell was so bad, the sight was so disgusting it actually made my friend, Hunter, throw up! He was physically sick from the sight and lingering odour of the atomic ass bomb Oliver had dropped! All hunter could do was hang his head and look at the mouldy, drunken attempt at heating a Pot Noodle at 6am that morning after a raging night out.
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Oliver then walked back up the public hotel stairs, shit chronically dripping from his legs, hands and ass crack. Ashamed. Judging from his sheepish attitude I confronted the Brown Lemming about shitting his pants, in which he woefully, pathetically, undeniably... said YES. We then proceeded to take these photos as he cried in the shower for 30 minutes.

And there we have it. Oliver unloading the lumpy ass taco all over the hotel lobby. Something he'll never forget, and something the hotel staff will never forget either. On our way out the door later that night we witnessed the Greek cleaning maids, hotel staff! Wearing protective gloves, man-handling the shit into trash bags, shouting in Greek at the top of their lungs. That's right... Oliver didn't even clean it up.
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'Til this day we never treat him the same anymore. He'll never be the same either. As you can see from the above picture Chris on the far left lives at peace, knowing he commandeered the toilet and was able to deposit the sludge in a timely orderly fashion. Then there's Hunter second from the left, he's managed to pull himself together and recover from throwing up at the smell and sight of Oliver's ass seepage. Then there's me, content with exposing the Brown Lemming and taking the evidence for future mocking. Dave is second from the right, putting on a brave face, and bearing slightly away from Oliver's ass, as there's no telling when it may explode again, and on the far right there's "part" of Oliver. As you can see from the above photograph concluding this holiday, we now cut him from any group photographs as a reminder, that the brown stains embedded on his legs and hotel lobby floor, will live forever.
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slimey