Benelli Forum banner
1 - 19 of 19 Posts

·
Registered
Joined
·
864 Posts
Discussion Starter · #1 ·
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Heavy traffic, pissing rain a wonky computer, incompetent colleagues 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 crap. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing All bran, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at some local health food restaurant. 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 shopping centre to go birthday present shopping for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the shops 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 toilets. I surveyed the five cubicles, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:
1.Occupied.
2.Clean, but toilet Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3.crap on seat.
4.crap and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5.No toilet paper, no cubicle door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Cubicle #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped my trousers and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied cubicle, 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 mobile 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 cubicle, 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 cubicle, and it shook gently.
Once my arse 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 toilets were 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 cubicle and began choking my crapping 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 pan. 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 crap 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 crap mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the toilets 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 cubicle door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the toilets, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the cleaner who'd be forced to deal with this, probably for £5.15 per hour, 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 cubicle. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the toilet with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the toilet, 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 crap-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to crap in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his mobile phone in the loo. And this, my Benelli friends is why you should never answer your mobile phone in a public toilet. :)
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
148 Posts
Going off on a slight tangent...last year I broke my leg and spent all summer in plaster.
I did manage however, to fall off them whilst trying to attempt a crap in the bogs of a posh restaurant, trying to hop and spin when doing a 180 degree spin on crutches.
Split head open on toilet seat, staggered back into restaurant with blood pouring out of my skull....spent birthday evening in local hospital being stitched up !!
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
1,087 Posts
What a laugh.:rolling: I nearly passed out reading that great:rolling: :rolling: :rolling: .
 

·
Super Moderator
Joined
·
7,774 Posts
What a load of $hite :rolling:
 

·
Benelli Wannabe !
Joined
·
6,865 Posts

·
Senior Post Whore
Joined
·
2,931 Posts
Quality N33ly :rolling: As usual you've come up trumps again when it comes to all things related to a shitter :clap:

Well done son .... you make me proud :D

Al :D
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
325 Posts
Brilliant. Sitting here as I am, unable to go to bed just yet because my stomach is clearly very unhappy with something I ate yesterday.. That's cheered me up no end! :rolling::rolling::rolling:Bit scared to laugh any harder though.. just in case!
:fart:
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
5,699 Posts
Enjoyed reading that on my phone in the bog :p :clap:
 

·
Registered
Joined
·
5,660 Posts

The cleaner was probably a foreigner without a passport. Hope he fcks off home when he gets an eyeful, job well done.
:clap::clap:


Now try that again in one piece race leathers. ;)



 
1 - 19 of 19 Posts
Top