Skip to content

The Bowel Movement That Almost Wasn’t

What I am about to tell you is a woeful tale of constipation, and I’m going to tell it to you in the most polite way possible, although that will be very difficult, as this is an extremely graphic story.

There’s this guy I know–it’s, uh, not me.  He’s got this phobia about using public restrooms.  When he used the bathroom in his job as a security clerk, he would take Clorox wipes in and clean the toilet before and after he went.  He would also have to take a book in there to relax, and he would also bring his own spray in so nobody smelled anything unpleasant.  The only time he would use the bathroom for a number two was if it was a medical emergency.  Let me put it like this: he worked at that company for over seven years, eight hours or more a day, and he only pooped about five times while on the clock.

Well sometimes this guy’s cleaning products and bathroom spray weren’t always handy, such as when he was in a hospital waiting room in a strange city while his sister was having liver surgery.  Or if he was in another strange city the next day while celebrating Valentine’s Day with his girlfriend.  Or if he had to work a twelve-hour shift the next day.

Either way, when day four rolled around for this poor guy–still not me as far as you know–he was plugged up pretty good.  He tried everything.  Suppositories, laxatives, milk of magnesia, fiber, mineral oil, even an enema.  Nothing worked!  He tried jumping in the shower to relax.

Unfortunately for him, he got too relaxed in there and his colon decided that it wasn’t going to be full anymore whether he agreed to it or not.  Quite a lot of feces can pile up in three days, and if you know this guy, you’ll know he’s not skipping any meals.  It went everywhere, and the final piece shot out like a rocket and exploded everywhere.  Then he passed out.

About twenty minutes later, when the hot water ran out, he woke up in a pile of his own excrement.  He cleaned up the mess, then cleaned himself up in the cold shower.  The smell took a long time to go away, and later his girlfriend pointed out that there was still some poop left to clean… on the ceiling!

OK fine, it was me!  It was a horrible experience that I hope never happens again, although I still hate public restrooms, especially the ones at my current job!

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

Celebrity Prank Call: Chris Farley Calls a Tavern

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

Helicopter

You really want to offend someone?  The middle finger is so yesterday!  Helicoptering your penis is the new way to go!  I didn’t realize how absolutely devastating it was until about… hell, that must have been about eight years ago now.  Bobby was over at my house, and I turned around just in time to see him helicoptering me.

When that happens, there is absolutely nothing you can do!  You just have to turn away real fast and hope that you can forget the whole thing.  But that was eight years ago, and I still remember it!  That’s how bad it is to be helicoptered!

He never would have had the idea if our friend Dave hadn’t told us about the time he was drunk at a casino and peeing in the parking garage.  He noticed a security camera, and he said he helicoptered it.

If I could helicopter my penis in traffic, I would do that at cars that cut me off, but I don’t trust my driving enough to put cruise control on, open the sunroof, stand on the seat and helicopter the hell out of ‘em.  Only if it’s a warm day, though.

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

Celebrity Prank Call: Stewie Calls Information

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

Weird Sex Toys

This is a list of a few actual items that I’ve actually seen in porn stores…

Pig Tail Butt Plug: This is a cork that goes into your butt and it has a long and curly tail sprouting from the end, so when you have it inserted, it looks like you’ve got a pig’s tail.

Butt Plug Ring Toss: Similar to the item above, this too is a cork that goes into your butt. The difference is, instead of a curly tail, it’s a long pole. Then other people can come in and toss multi-colored rings onto the pole, turning your posterior into a midway game.

Flip a Sista Over: This is a masturbation toy for men. Men who have a case of… Jungle fever! This African American toy is just a tube. On one end, it has female genitalia and on the other end it has an anus. Oh, and on the top of the packaging, it says, “Toyz ‘n’ Da Hood!”

Sierra Has a Negro Problem: While we’re on the racist department of the porn industry… This is a  real porno movie starring a very tiny redhead and a guy who is about the size of Paul Bunyan, but looks like WWE’s Booker T. After looking at the back of the box, I think this movie also stars an anaconda.

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

The REAL Vietnam War

I wrote this in American History back in high school (Actual date: May 20, 1998).  I didn’t do so well on it.

It all started back in the late fifties when ol’ Ike Eisenhower was el presidente.  They didn’t have any interns in those days.  They just had prostitutes.  Well, ol’ Mr. Eisenhower was getting pretty ticked off at them frickin’ Vietnamese.  They built a giant ape robot that went around crushing fish canneries and churches.  Its name was Vietcong.  It used guerrilla warfare because it was a big gorilla.  The Americans wanted to kill it, but every time they tried, it just ran into the bushes and threw spit wads at them.  This ticked them off so they started shooting people in villages until it came out, which was stupid because Vietcong would’ve crushed the villages anyway.  Well, later, Kennedy became president and he made there be two Vietnams.  The South Vietnamese folk were cool, but the North Vietnamese were big queers.  They used their monkey to kill everybody until the seventies when everybody was so high, they just stopped caring about that darn Vietcong.

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

A Good Friend

One time when I was working security, Bobby and I were hanging out at the truck gate.  I was actually supposed to be there, and Bobby was on patrol visiting me.

This guard shack is an eight by eight cube that sits on top of a ten by ten slab of concrete that is four feet high.  The guard shack has sliding doors on the inbound and outbound side.  There are some stairs on the front side of the guard shack, and the top step is level with the top of the cement slab.  At the time, there was no guard rail around the edge of the slab.  Sorry for all the description, but this will be useful later.

I went outside to check an outbound trailer, and Bobby thought he would be funny and lock the door on me, forcing me to walk along the cement slab, around to the other side of the booth.  I tried my best to look pitiful as I walked along the front side, and apparently I was concentrating on it a little too hard.  Without realizing it, my left foot wasn’t coming down on the cement slab as I walked, but on the top stair.  When I ran out of stair, my left leg fell four feet down to ground level, while my right leg collapsed under me.

I was hurt.  Bad.  I crawled back into the booth, with blood soaking through my pants.  Bobby was laughing so hard that he was in tears.  Finally, being the good friend that he is, he caught his breath and asked, “Are you OK?”

“No,” I said, which caused him to laugh even harder, nearly falling out of his chair.

Later, he told me that all he saw was me looking in at him through the window with that pitiful look on my face, and then immediately disappearing except for both of my hands, which flew up into the air.

He still tells everyone that story today, and he says it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.  I also still have scars on my knee.

<!–#include file=”footer.shtml” –>

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

Free Pen

I got a free pen a couple years ago, and I still use it today.  Here’s the story of how it happened…

I was driving home from work a few weeks ago, when all of the traffic started slowing down because some moron was turning onto a side street very slowly.  I was almost slowed to a stop when I looked in my rear view mirror to see this idiot in a Charger whizzing toward me at top speed.  At the last second he saw me and swerved, but not enough, because he smashed into the back driver side corner of my car.

He pulled off of the road with me, and he immediately admitted fault, which was cool.  He was really shook up, but he was also kind of a retard, which didn’t surprise me.  The whole time we exchanged insurance information, he had a little wiener dog nipping at his heels.  Meanwhile a bigger dog sat in his back seat.  Apparently someone was busy playing with his puppies instead of watching the freaking road.

Anyway, after he left I called my dad who said I should file a police report.  After dealing with the laziness of the Pontiac Police Department (“Come on down to our station, we don’t have an officer available to send to the scene”), I realized that I was actually in Auburn Hills and a cop was there within five minutes.

The next day I called my insurance company and they assured me that an adjuster would be out the very next day and my car would be fixed immediately at no cost to me.

Three days later the adjuster came out and took pictures of my car.  Then he left.

Three more days later the insurance company called me and told me to take my car into the shop.  I took it in that same day.

The lady at the shop looked my car over and told me that the parts would be in the next day and she would call me and tell me when they arrived.

She called me the following week and I took my car in.  To my surprise, my car was ready three days earlier than they said it would be, and it was as good as new (except for a freaking windshield crack, which I still have but I’m getting that fixed soon, dammit!).  The insurance company paid for everything, just as they promised.

I also got a goodie bag from the body shop, which had an awesome pen inside.  And that’s the story of how I got my free pen!

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

The Case of the Missing Dentures

The following story is true.

My friend is a supervisor. One of the employees he supervises is an old woman who wears false teeth. A while back, she lost her false teeth and couldn’t find them anywhere.

The first thing she did was call the restaurant she had most recently eaten at.  She, for some reason, takes her dentures out when she eats.  Who could blame her?  All teeth do is get in the way when I’m shoveling down a meal.  Why bite into that delicious steak when you can pulverize it with your gums?

The restaurant hadn’t seen the teeth, but they gave her permission to dig through their trash.  She spent the day digging through garbage bags in a restaurant’s dumpster searching for her dentures, but she didn’t find them.

She also called my friend, who was searching for them at work, but he couldn’t find them.

So logically, her next step was to call a psychic.  The psychic gazed into her crystal ball and told her that her false teeth were somewhere near wood.

Of course!  They were on her computer desk.

Generally, if I was looking for my false teeth, or anything for that matter, I wouldn’t start digging around in trash or talking to a psychic on the phone until I had totally torn my house apart, and even then I’d probably just fork over the cash for some new teeth before going to all that trouble.  But what do I know?

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter

The Painting: Wilberforce’s Adventure

I wrote the following story in seventh grade English, when I was just twelve years old (On November 3, 1995 to be exact).  We used to have a writing assignment every day, and if we couldn’t think of anything to write about, the teacher would show a work of art on the overhead projector and we could write about that.

In this case, the painting was called something like, “Waiting for the boarding school bus.”  It was a picture of an Indian boy (who I named Wilberforce for some reason), his mother, and a black cat standing at a bus stop.  The painting was excellent, except it looked like the artist hadn’t figured out how to paint hands yet, because they looked like blobs of flesh.

Wilberforce’s Adventure

Wilberforce, his mother, and his cat were waiting for the bus one morning.  At the end of their long, dirt road, they could see its headlights rounding the corner.  But what’s this?  The black cat decided to cross the street!  The superstitious bus driver saw the cat and swerved, hitting a fire hydrant.  Wilberforce and his mother, who didn’t know you weren’t supposed to stick your hands in the garbage disposal, pointed and laughed.  Although, his mother couldn’t point.  She no longer controlled her hands.  You see, THEY CONTROLLED HER!

Wilberforce and his mother went to see if everyone on the bus was all right.  The driver just said, “Look at my organ donor card!” and dropped dead.  It was written in another language, so instead they just cremated him and his ashes were spread across a puddle in the back yard.

All of the other passengers on the bus went crazy and began foaming at the mouth.  Then they ripped into the engine compartment and started eating the spark plugs and hoses!  At that point, they were quickly rushed to Honest Ernie’s Tire and Lube ® (Open 24 hours) where they were given a tune up and had their shoes rotated for only $49.95.  Then they sang some show tunes around a camp fire (Actually it was just a welding torch).  At this point, let me remind you that this is all based on a true story.

Well, on with the semi-true story.  This story took place many years ago.  Before the invention of the friendship bracelet, Taser gun, or the automobile.  How was there a bus if cars weren’t invented yet?  The world will never know.

Well how was ol’ Wilberforce s’posed to get to boarding school?  He wanted to go real bad, too.  I guess he was just gonna have to be left ignorant like me, rite?  RONG!  A helicopter named Bernard came down and picked him up.  Unfortunately, Bernard had no idea where Wilberforce wanted to go, because Wilberforce only spoke in Pig-Latin.

“Where do ya wanna go, you dirt burglar?” asked Bernard.

“Otay oardingbay choolsay,” replied Wilberforce

“Eh?”

“Otay oardingbay choolsay!” he repeated.

“F this!” said Bernard as he dropped Wilberforce into a Tupperware factory.

Wilberforce mumbled something in Pig-Latin which has no exact translation.  Its closest translation is, “Oww, my face!”

Suddenly, a voice rang out.  It was the factory’s owner, Mr. Bear.  “Can I interest you in some fine Tupperware?”

“Upperwaretay?  I on’tday eednay onay tinkingsay Upperwaretay!” said Wilberforce.

Mr. Bear was bisexual bilingual, so he understood.  Wilberforce explained his problem and Mr. Bear helped him.  Wilberforce found his way to boarding school.  Later that afternoon, the school was swallowed by a large sea turtle, but that’s another story.

END!

Share this article:
  • Digg
  • del.icio.us
  • Facebook
  • Google Bookmarks
  • Fark
  • MySpace
  • Twitter