When was the last time you got hit or almost got hit?

Went for a long run last night. My stomach has settled from teh large lunch I had at work. So I laced up and went for it. My area is covered with hills. So there are times you have to knuckle down and drive to push up the hill. I am very grateful for the 7-11 on the way back. I frequent there for gas and stuff, so they know me, but I was a few steps away from doing a great impression of that one dude with it all over his leg and stuff. would not have gone well with two miles left till I got home.

When was the last time the poo monster victimized you?? Any funny stories out there of going out with two socks and coming badck with one?

I used to get that on every single run, to the point where for the first few years I was running, I would only run trails and always with some wipes.  It was rare that I came back with the same number of wipes that I left with.  Now it hasn't happened in quite a while.

ALMOST got hit last saturday. I live in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but livestock and cornfields. The first few miles of my LR were spent looking for spots along the county roads where I could do my business, and trying to determine if the leaves from corn stalks would make for comfortable wiping material. Thankfully, after about 5 miles, it subsided.

This thread does remind me that I need to have a contingency in place. Last weekend was too close for comfort.

Just this past Monday. Stomach all screwed up from travelling twice to Buffalo in 4 days. On one 13 mile run: public bathroom, port-o-potty, and 3 "natural" deposits. Fortunately all before 5:30AM. I carry paper though (in ziploc) on all early morning runs.

Apologies to Jay for soiling the bike path in Amherst...

Here is a poo monster attack story I posted about at the old place... I may as well soil this place with it too.

I had to pull off the perimeter highway in Atlanta to use the bathroom one morning. I thought I could make it to work, but I misjudged the urgency of my bowels. By the time I pulled into the first gas station I saw, I was at the point of no return.

This girl tells me their bathroom is out of order and she couldn't give me the key. I asked her where she used the bathroom and she said across the street at another gas station (liar!).

There was no way I was going to make it across eight lanes of traffic without shitting in my pants.

I was at a gas station that was separated from an adjoining neighborhood by a big fence made out of 2x12s. I noticed there was a plank missing so I darted through it and was in someone's back yard.

I scurried behind a little shrub and pulled my pants down and had the most enjoyable crap of my life. I look up and noticed that the house lights were on and there were people stirring inside - I guess they were having breakfast.  It's a good thing looking out of the sliding glass doors of their breakfast nook wasn't part of their morning routine.

I didn't have anything to wipe with, so I looked in my wallet and used three $1 bills. Thank goodness I had those ones... I could have spent up to $60.

 I was feeling pretty damn good at this point. Really, really good.  I trundled back to my car and sped off to work feeling like a new man.

I always wondered what the guy who lived in that house thought when he found that huge pile of shit with three $1 bills on top of it.

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers 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 fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. 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 mall to pick up an order. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores 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 mall bathroom. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 (I write a lot of software) for your convenience: 

0.Occupied 

1.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one. 

2.Poo on seat. 

3.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat. 

4.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet. 

Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, 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 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. 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 in 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 resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently. 

- 

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; and (3) the bathroom was 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 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 the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"

Next door I could hear 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 difficulty 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 a string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet. 

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt 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 to 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 manged 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 cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom

LMAO...I was waiting for someone to post that.

I went to Home Depot recently while not being altogether sure that  course of action was a wise one. You see, the previous evening I  had prepared and consumed a massive quantity of my patented 'you're definitely going to shit yourself' road-kill chili. Tasty stuff,  although hot to the point of being painful, which comes with a  written guarantee from me that if you eat it, the next day both of  your butt cheeks WILL fall off.

 Here's the thing. I had awakened that morning, and even after two  cups of coffee (and all of you know what I mean) nothing happened.  No 'Watson's Movement. Despite the chilies swimming their way through my intestinal tract, I was unable to create the usual  morning symphony referred to by my dear wife as 'thunder and  lightning'.

 Knowing that a time of reckoning HAD to come, yet not sure of just  when, I bravely set off for Home Depot, my quest being paint and  supplies to refinish the deck. Upon entering the store at first all seemed normal. I selected a cart and began pushing it about  dropping items in for purchase.. It wasn't until I was at the  opposite end of the store from the toilets that the pain hit me.

 Oh, don't look at me like you don't know what I'm talking about..  I'm referring to that 'Uh, Oh, SHIT, gotta go' pain that always  seems to hit us at the wrong time. The thing is, this pain was different. The chilies from the night before were staging a revolt.  In a mad rush for freedom they bullied their way through the small  intestines, forcing their way into the large intestines, and before I could take one step in the direction of the toilets which would  bring sweet relief, it happened. The chilies fired a warning shot.

 There I stood, alone in the paint and stain section, suddenly  enveloped in a toxic cloud the likes of which has never before been  recorded. I was afraid to move for fear that more of this vile odor might escape me. Slowly, oh so slowly, the pressure seemed to leave  the lower part of my body, and I began to move up the aisle and out  of it, just as a red aproned clerk turned the corner and asked if I needed any help.

 I don't know what made me do it, but I stopped to see what his  reaction would be to the toxic non-visible fog that refused to  dissipate.. Have you ever been torn in two different directions  emotionally? Here's what I mean, and I'm sure some of you at least will be able to relate. I could've warned that poor clerk, but didn't. I simply watched as he walked into an invisible, and apparently indestructible, wall of odor so terrible that all he could do before gathering his senses and running, was to stand there blinking and waving his arms about his head as though trying to ward off angry bees. This, of course, made me feel terrible, but then made me laugh. BIG mistake!!!!!

 Here's the thing. When you laugh, it's hard to keep things 'clamped down', if you know what I mean. With each new guffaw an explosive issue burst forth from my nether region. Some were so loud and echoing that I was later told a few folks in other aisles had ducked, fearing that someone was robbing the store and firing off a shotgun. Suddenly things were no longer funny.. 'It' was coming, and I raced off through the store towards the toilet, laying down a cloud the whole way, praying that I'd make it before the grand explosion took place.

 Luck was on my side. Just in the nick of time I got to the john, began the inevitable 'Oh my God', floating above the toilet seat because my ass is burning SO BAD, purging. One poor fellow walked in while I was in the middle of what is the true meaning of 'Shock and Awe'.. He made a gagging sound, and disgustedly said, 'Son-of-a- bitch!, did it smell that bad when you ate it?', then quickly left.

 Once finished and I left the restroom, reacquired my partially filled cart intending to carry on with my shopping when a store employee approached me and said, 'Sir, you might want to step outside for a few minutes. It appears some prankster set off a stink bomb in the store. The manager is going to run the vent fans on high for a minute or two which ought to take care of the problem.'

 My smirking of course set me off again, causing residual gases to escape me. The employee took one sniff, jumped back pulling his shirt up to cover his nose and, pointing at me in an accusing manner shouted, 'IT'S YOU!', then ran off returning moments later with the manager. I was unceremoniously escorted from the premises and asked none too kindly not to return.  Home again without my supplies, I realized that there was nothing to eat but leftover chili, so I consumed two more bowls. The next day I went to shop at Lowes. I can't say anymore about that because we are in court over the whole matter. Bastards claim they're going to have to repaint the store.