Showing posts with label poop. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poop. Show all posts

Clay Pipe Bomb

I’ll just start this out by saying that the names have been changed.

Lewis, Tony and Seth had planned on going toilet papering. They had saved up a large number of rolls of toilet paper and had a pretty good plan of attack. They waited until after midnight and then snuck out of Lewis’ house. Their plan was to cut through some yards, cross a major intersection, hit two houses and then get back home.

After running for about two blocks of back yards, Seth had everyone stop. Seth relayed that they had to go back so he could go the bathroom.

No way. They couldn’t risk sneaking back in and out again. Seth really had to go. Tony said they had toilet paper so he should just go and wipe. Seth said he couldn’t just poop on the ground. Nearby was a stack of clay drainage pipes. They were about 12” long and 5” in diameter. He found one that had dirt blocking one end and stood up on the ground. It was almost perfect as the dirt not only made a plug, but it also helped to keep the pipe standing upright. Seth filled the pipe with fecal goodness and wiped. The pipe was then stuffed with toilet paper and they were on their way.

What happened next is debatable. Some say it was Tony’s idea and others say it was Tony’s idea. I am not here to place blame on Tony. I am here to tell you about the pool.

Next to where Seth filled the clay pipe was a hill and at the bottom of the hill was a house with a very nice in ground pool. From the top of the hill you could easily see how clean and inviting the water was as it was lit and glimmering in the darkness. The boys did not have time to go swimming, but they did have time to hurl that pipe filled with foul into the pool.

It made a tremendous splash and immediately the dirt, or similar, started to swirl and sprout from the end of the pipe.

The boys giggled and ran off to tp.

They tp’d without incident.

On the way back, they looked at the pool.

The casual observer would look and think they were looking at a paler version of the chocolate river from the set of Willy Wonka. The water was very, very brown. They were speechless. Speechlessly, they ran home.

The next day they slept in all morning and wanted to go and check out their tp handiwork from the night before. Overnight, the pool struggled and strained to filter the water, but it only succeeded to spreading the foulness evenly, especially in thick brown ring along the top.

A day later the pool was emptied and professionals came in with brushes to scrub the sides clean.

The pool was filled with water.

The brown ring came back.

Again emptied. Professionals. Scrub. Filled.

A third time the ring came back.

The boys didn’t check out the pool again until later in the summer. When they did go to look for it, they almost didn’t see it because it had been filled in and covered with dirt. The owners had completely given up.

I’m not here to judge. I will not place blame. All I can say is that the statute of limitations has passed and from the satellite view you cannot even tell that a pool once had a home there.

Who is Miss Sally?

Miss Sally is my wife. But you already knew that. What many of you have asked me is why I call Miss Sally, "Miss Sally." To make this easier, I’ll call Miss Sally, Sally.

Years and years ago, Sally and I lived together in Columbus. I was working for a local shipyard as a merchant marine and Sally was working at a pre-school as a teacher. Sally was the lead teacher in a room full of four year olds. At the pre-school, all the children called their teachers by their first name, but with a Miss in front of it. Miss Carrie. Miss Vickie. Miss Sally. But that wasn’t enough for me to start calling her that name. I never got to hear her called Miss Sally, so I really didn’t even know about it.

One day, Sally came home with a funny story about how a little boy came up to her in the middle of the day and blurted out, “Miss Sally! I pooped my pants!” The way she said it was hilarious. I immediately repeated it back to her and we laughed and laughed.

This story would be very boring if you could not hear the inflection of the words. Luckily, we have the internet and youtube so that you can hear how I heard it and how I repeated it back to her:

We spent the evening yelling back and forth from different rooms of the apartment, something like this:

Me- “Miss Sally!”
Sally – “Yes?”
Me- “I pooped my pants!”

The next day we were doing laundry and we said:

Me- “Miss Sally!”
Sally- “Yes?”
Me- “Is this dry clean only?”
Me- “I pooped my pants!”

This continued on ad nauseam in several various and sundry iterations. The only thing that remained constant was that I would call Sally, “Miss Sally.”

At some point, it stuck. I can’t put my finger on the time or date, but I remember Loy making fun of me for it one day and then referring to her as Miss Sally the next without missing a beat. Friends and family sometimes slip and say "Miss Sally" and don’t bat an eye.

I hope that helps with all your questions.

“Miss Sally! I pooped my pants!”

That never gets old. But the boy did. He would be about seventeen years old now and will never know that he lives in infamy.

Can you believe this product?

Miss Shelly saw this in a magazine, thought of me and cut it out. Thanks…

A drop of this miracle liquid in the toilet bowl is reported supposed to cover up 98% of bathroom stank.

First off, I have never tried the product and won’t, so I cannot give you an honest opinion (the shit might just work.) If you want a review, Chris Rockwell over at did an in depth study of the product. He has a theory about floating poop.

Second, how do you come up with a percentage of bathroom stink and then rate it on a scale? Here’s what I think… what they did was load up the fattest guy in the manufacturing plant with cabbage and white castles, had him drink draught beer for a day, killed him in the bathroom, let him sit for a week and then let his bowels loose with a whaling harpoon. Three independent judges in the bathroom would consider that smell 100% stink and judged other stanks based on the memory of that smell.

Third, even though it comes with a concealing carrying case, if you got caught with this product, it would be 1000x worse than having people call you out on your stinky poop. It’s like getting caught with Masturbation Wipes.

A few years ago, we had some clients in from California for a meeting in our one bathroomed, studio. One of the guys was not doing so well and hot sweat poured off his brow as his guts gurgled and churned. He called for a break and staggered off to the bathroom. The bathroom door only acted as an amplifier and the studio shook and reverberated as his bowels unclenched. The reek was horrific and every non-essential team member left for lunch at 10:00am. Holly did her best to cover the smell by lighting a coffee scented candle that had sat on her desk for the past two years. It had a layer of dust on it three inches deep that was stuffed in the protective plastic coating. She lit it anyways. The perfect storm of shit smell, burning dust, melting plastic and fake coffee came together and drifted up to the front of the office. Somehow the mingled, gas chamber combination made it to the meeting room and it smelled like burning wood. Actually, a pleasant smell. In some circles, it is still considered a miracle.

So unless this product can combine the essence of dust carbon, melting plastic and faux coffee… I ain’t buying it.

Bathroom Trickery

I poop. Sometimes at work. Sometimes it is pretty stinky.

My office is in a building where other guys use the bathroom too. Enough so that every other time I use the bathroom, there is a good chance that someone is going to be in there when I walk in or come in right as I am walking out. Our bathroom only has one pisser and one shitter so it is pretty close quarters in there.

Every guy in the building knows that there are other stinky poopy other in the building. When you find one, you mention it to your other guy buddies. They usually have a story about the stinky guy.

I do not want to be known as the stinky guy.

Sometimes after a night out with Shorty and a quick stop at White Castle, I am the stinky guy the next day. To combat this, I have a simple regiment.

If I walk in and someone is at the pisser, I act as if I am going into the stall just to pee. When they leave, I let loose and get the hell out. Chances are no one will be coming in as I am leaving. The next guy that walks in gets a surprise and can only place the blame on who he and his buddies think the stinky guy is.

If I walk in and the bathroom is empty, I try to get in and get out. If someone starts walking it, I move my feet as far as possible to the side so that they cannot see my shoes. Shoes are the dead giveaway. You’ll be walking down the hall and see a guy with brown loafers with the dangly things on them and realize he was the stinky guy from last week. I wear converse so I’m easily spotted. Keep quiet. Keep shoes far to the side. Wait till they leave. Wait thirty seconds. Run!

Now, here’s the tricky one. If I walk in and no one is in there, I drop trough and listen for guys walking in. If I finish before anyone walks in, odds suggest that someone will be coming in any second. I stand up, walk to the urinal and fake pee for a few seconds. If someone walks in to the cloud of retch, I can act as if I am just an innocent pisser who walked into an all ready polluted bathroom. You share a half second of silent sorrow with the guy who walked in, wash up and leave. Let him take the blame.

If you are the stinky guy, don’t even try this. We all ready know who you are. Please continue to take the blame for us other schmucks and continue to wear those awful brown loafers.

(And to you women who claim this article doesn't apply to you, you are wrong. If you have to poop, poop in the men's bathroom. Problem solved.)