Fart Stories

[gladdenguy]

Its the offseason. I checked Xavierhoops for the first time in awhile and I was disappointed. I know this group has some stories about the one thing that every human has to think is funny from when we are old enough to realize what laughing is........continuing on until the old age where we can still realize when in fact your body can still display such relief where church giggles are still relevant.

I want your most embarrassing fart stories....your funniest fart stories....your funniest stories where you had to shit, etc. Right here in this thread.

And remember gentlemen (and a few women), the only fart you should be embarrassed about is the fart you keep in.

[gladdenguy]

Some funny ones I can't take credit for but made me laugh

Was with the wife at target and felt the rumblings of an epic shit. Headed to the restroom quickly and settled into a stall. Was all alone so got my seat covered and got seated.

Suddenly the door opened and in walked a new neighbor. Something seemed off. Instead of the heavy shuffling of loafers or the squeak of sneakers, it was a sharp click clack on the floor. The stall next to me opened and as my neighbor settled in I looked beneath the wall only to see a pair of high heels snugly containing finely painted toes.

I syddenly, to my horror, could not recall actually looking at the sign on the door, then could not recall seeing any urinals. I then knew I had entered the wrong bathroom.

I prepared to hold out until she finished. But another woman entered and took the stall on the other side. She let out a small gassy puff of flatulence and I knew that I could not hold it that ling.

I let loose a simultaneous fart and shit. The type where they are small pellets if poo that hit the water with force. It took only a few seconds to finish and wipe. I buckled my pants, threw open the door and ran out as fast as I could.


So, I was at a bar in Chicago during a mid day drinking session. It was one of those poos where it feels like someone just punches you in the stomach. I struggle over to the bathroom and sit down. Just as I am about to unleash hell on the toilet, two people walk in. I am struggling to hold it in and all the sudden I let out a huge BAP! (Short, very loud and precise). All the sudden I hear a kid go "what was that!?" And his dad responds "that's a grown man going to the bathroom". I laughed so hard that I just evacuated the rest of my bowels and the dad laughed. Never saw the guys face as I was somewhat ashamed of taking a mid day shit at a bar. Still laugh often about it

[gladdenguy]

One as a victim

Victim case: end of quarter gym class progress tests in 7th grade. Mile run and 1.5 mile run were done the preceding two weeks, and now we're doing pull ups, sit ups, push ups, sit-and-reach (my best event, btw). A larger kid in my class is doing sit ups while someone holds down his feet. He's going hard, trying to show that you can be fat and still do sit-ups at a good pace. He can, too! He's rockin em. But he's ripping in in EVERY UPSTROKE/crunch. Loud ones. Sounds like an intermittent pneumatic drill. His foot-holder-downer kid looked ready to mutiny. Whole class stopped to cheer.

[gladdenguy]

There have been many but the most embarassing would probably have been when my wife and I were on a plane and my orange juice, vanilla latte and egg mcmuffin had been brewing for an hour or so. I released a tiny test fart into the cushion and instantly my eyes began burning and watering. It was the type of concentrated gas that could peel paint off of walls. That little test fart had destroyed not only our row but the surrounding rows as well. Of course there was chatter and groans all around us. After a half hour of holding in the potent brew I could not hold it in any longer and just counted on the cover from before where nobody could figure out the source. We as soon as I released an ample poof my wife inmediately yelled "Oh my god!" and I was busted. Immediately turned beet red. I could no longer hide in anonymity since I was busted. As the toxic scent permeated the cabin I could not help but truly feel bad for what those poor people had to endure. It seemed to linger for the entire flight. When I asked the wife why she busted me she of course said it was my fault since I didn't warn her. Thinking back, I probably should have.

[gladdenguy]

I've not been embarrassed by many. I went to a large high school on a campus with two high school buildings, and depending on your schedule, you might have to make the 8-10 minute walk between them. Because of that, we had like 15 minutes of passing time. Those of us who didn't have to cross between buildings had all that downtime between classes and used it to malinger in big crowds in the hallways. Obviously, we would try to find the largest groups of good-looking members of the opposite sex to congregate with. For some reason, this was typically right by my locker. I had some hallway-clearing mustard gas a couple of times, and my buddies (correctly) pinned the noxious gas blame on me every time. I'm an "owner" for the most part. Screw it, I figure, so I usually owned up to the disgust of, well, pretty much everyone including hall monitors and good looking chicks.

My junior year, being a 16/17 year old smartass, I would occasionally crank one off in class and act like, "who, me?" However, I had one jerk English teacher who took extraordinary pleasure in making life hell for our whole class. Once, in the middle of a discussion about Farenheit 451 or Othello or something, I was zoning out, and she attempted to embarrass me by pointedly asking me a question in a sarcastic "dumb" tone. I very coolly said, "I don't know. Let me think about that," put on my most mockingly pensive look, slowly and in a pronounced manner cocked my right cheek up in the air and cranked out a really, loud and really long fart that, after a brief moment of stunned silence, sent the entire class over the edge. I got kicked out of class and had to apologize to the teacher the next day to get back in.

Many moons later, as a 7th grade teacher, I had a kid in my class three hours in a row (English/Math/Enrichment). The kid was purposely farting during each class to gross everyone out. I basically would just say, excuse you, Isiah. Or good one, now get back to work. About half way through 3rd hour he quit and got real silent and started (I thought) working. Then the smell hit. Clearly not a fart. When the bell rang, he wouldn't get out of his seat until I demanded he do so. I asked what the problem was, and he said, "I was trying to fart and something else came out." I walked him up to the office, and told the secretary he needed to call home for some clothes. The office was packed with parents and kids, and I was trying not to put the kid on the spot. She kept pressing the issue, loudly, as the counter phone the kids used was about 12 feet from her desk. Finally, I just said, "Isiah farted... in 3D! Let him call." Mission not accomplished, as every kid in the office reminded him of that for the rest of the year. He did quit farting in my class, though.

I now work in my own office, and am free to let loose whenever I want, even though I leave my door open all the time. About a year ago, I got a new secretary, and for whatever reason she would come into my office for routine business - to ask a question or relay a message or hand me a document or whatever - instead of using the intercom/phone. I have bombed her out accidentally a number of times. One particularly putrid day, she hit the threshold of my door and I put both hands up and said, "Stop right there!" No good - the smell hit her in the face and she said, "Oh my God!" and walked out. Later in the day, I went out to her work station and said, "I'll make you a deal - if you are coming in and I put my hands up and wave them, that means I'm trying to save you from what's in my office. Don't come in! I'll give you fair warning." We had a good laugh, and I had to do that very thing a couple of times. Then, about a month ago, I go out to her workstation to give her some notes to transcribe and she gets a panicked look on her face and starts frantically waving her hands at me in the same manner but I didn't get it - I got a nose and mouthful of the worst fart I've ever smelled. She actually walked by my office on her way out that day and said, "Sorry," and kind of hustled out the door. We still laugh about that.

[paulxu]

Gladden, I'm starting to worry about the effect the off season is having on you.

That said, is there any way you could manage to bring this extraordinary skill to the Cinats floor during a Villanova TO?
Maybe just wonder down to their huddle, turn around, and make your way back up, disturbing their concentration.
Maybe MOR would have you to his seat a couple of times for cover.

[94GRAD]

I have not not cleared the bar out on one occasion(or 2)

[gladdenguy]

We could work that out Paul. I would be happy to help in any way to get a win against Nova.

[X-band '01]

I can safely say that 2 of my sisters will never allow me to go to Subway with them after I let an SBD rip in the car on a roadtrip. And this was a 16-hour roadie from Columbus to St. Paul.

[Nigel Tufnel]

Martin Luther King Jr. weekend 1992. Freshman year at X. My roommate and I decided to go up to OSU and visit/party with some of our friends from high school. We drove up with one of our buddies' (at OSU) older brothers. He was about 8 years older than us but we had known him our entire lives....and he was always the life of the party (plus, he could get us beer). We partied like rock stars both Saturday and Sunday nights. Sunday night actually became epic in terms of drunkeness. Our buddies' older brother (who I should mention was quite overweight) probably drank anywhere from 30-40 Natural Lights throughout the day and night on Sunday. At about 3:00 in the morning, he decided to go to White Castle, where he promptly put down about 12 sliders.

The next morning my roommate was extremely hung over. He had thrown up and evacuated himself in his pants the night before from drunkeness. The three of us got in the car to head back south. 30-40 Natural Light guy drove. My roommate was in the passenger seat and I was in the back. It was freezing cold so the heat was on high in the car. We are driving down 71 when the driver rips one of the nastiest farts I've ever smelled. The fart then hit the blasting heat in the car and went straight into my roommate's face. He immediately gagged and screamed for the driver to pull over. He barfed all over the side of 71 for about 5 minutes and refused to get back in the car until it aired out. The driver and I were in tears laughing at my roommate. It was/is the only time I've witnessed a person puke from a fart.

The same guy that farted in that car....about 7 years ago he was at an OSU football game. Before the game, he decided to eat spicy curry wings at BW3....along with God knows how many beers. He farted so bad at the game (outside, mind you), that people complained and an usher came down and told him he'd have to leave if he didn't stop.

[gladdenguy]

Public and private reps Nigel. I know this thread has potential.

[xu82]

Public and private reps Nigel. I know this thread has potential.

Ah, every fart has a potential story. For better or for worse.... but mostly for worse.

[mohr5150]

As a kid, I tried to fart on my sister and instead crapped my pants. She reminds me of this several times a year.

As a teacher of fifth graders, I get the unpleasure of some horrible smells. One year, a young lady would rip the worst SBD's you could imagine. I didn't want to embarrass her, so I had to give several talks to the whole class about not being rude, etc. Everyone in the room knew who it was, but no one called her out.

[xu82]

My first days at X began with Manresa. The night before the "retreat" we were invited to beer trucks at the sports center. One thing led to another and before we knew it, we stumbled upon the Manresa breakfast in Kuhlman which had been set up some time before the coming sunrise. We ate and drank and laughed until people arrived and it was time to get on the bus. The bus. The bus without a toilet. I should have stayed on campus. I didn't initially recognize the danger. It's a life lesson I'll never forget. It took a few minutes before I realized there were no bathrooms on the bus... and a few more before I started to panic. Every minute... every bump... agony and panic rising constantly. When we finally got to some frigging park with nothing to offer but hidden restrooms, I rushed off the bus in a way that must have seemd rude to many. Giving up on the bus would have been rude, this was for the best of all. I found a building, went in and rushed into the first restroom I found. Seconds later the stall to my left was occupied, then the one to my right. Then the yoiung ladies started talking. Then I realized their digestive sytems were almost as challenged as mine. Nothing dainty about that scene. An eye opener, and a nose closer. I waited it out and left after they did, but I wasn't the same for days. Or maybe a lifetime.

[xu82]

As a kid, I tried to fart on my sister and instead crapped my pants.

I went to a friends wedding years ago in Pittsburgh. On of our buddies was there with his wife, a young lady I'd never met. When introduced she said "oh, your the guy who farted on my husbands head". It's hard to overcome that. I wanted to go for a straight denial, but I was having issues with my blurry conscience.

[Cheesehead]

Several years ago, I was running the Flying Pig for the second time and it was also same weekend as my son's confirmation and we hosteda family gathering saturday night after the 5 pm mass. I had trained very hard and training had gone well. I was in excellent shape and I made the cardinal rule of trying something different that night at dinner, something that I had never eaten before: the culprit, something called ugly salad. I knew i was in trouble as soon as I woke up the morning of the Pig. I was in bathroom w/ the squirts twice before I left and then again at a hotel right before the race. I felt awful. I proceded to hit (more or less) every portolet during the first 10-12 miles. There were times on the course where I was searching for possible locations to relieve myself but then I would see another portolet in the distance. It was horrible day and my slowest marathon of the three that I did. I almost walked off the course at mile 18but a friend of mine surprised me and ran w/ me for a bit and while I struggled, I finished in just over 4 hours. I did not stay for the after party and proceded to go home and take about 20 min shower and I threw my underwear away. Good times.

[ballyhoohoo]

In high school I was at a friends house. We were hanging out in their game and I ripped a rancid one. A mouse was running behind me at the time. Dropped dead.

[Kahns Krazy]

My first job out of college was in a downtown office building. Our bank of elevators served something along the lines of the 15th to 25th floor. One evening I was leaving the office "late" (it was probably like 6:30, which at one point in my life seemed like I was working late). I got in the elevator to go down. After I passed the 15th floor so I was sure nobody else was getting on, I let loose.

It was epic. It was not the worst smelling thing I've ever passed, but the smell was huge. It completely filled the elevator. Had I not created the work of art myself, I would have insisted that it was not possible to come from one person, let alone a single fart. I was laughing to myself and coughing a bit at the same time.

The elevator doors opened in the lobby, and I was ready to make a hasty exit when a young, attractive woman greeted me at the door. I glanced at her quickly and dashed for the front door. Just before the doors closed on her, trapping her in my airborne poo for 15 floors at least, I heard a sad cry from the elevator "Oh MAN", then the sound of the doors closing. I had a three block walk to my car. I laughed the whole way there. I still laugh when I think about it. The moment she realized it, just a second too late. Then she's trapped.

[MADXSTER]

Basketball story....

My son ran by the opposing team's bench and let one rip(SBD), the bench, the coaches, the score keepers all got up and went to the other side of the gym. The ref stopped the game and put time back on the clock.

A father's proudest moment.

[MADXSTER]

Caving story...

In a cave leading a group of guys. In a small tube, hands and knees type of moving. We were in a type of spot where you really can't go backwards. The guy behind me, notorious for his putrid smelling beer farts that clear campfire settings, told me to stop going forward and let one rip. Air doesn't move in caves. It lingered. One by one, every guy started screaming to go back and the guy behind him would say he couldn't. Then the next guy and so forth. Thank God I was leading the pack.

[Nigel Tufnel]

This isn't a fart story....but it's close....and I've witnessed some amazingly funny stuff in my days on this Earth...but this takes the cake. The family was coming home from vacation somewhere in the Carolinas. Oldest was probably three and second was a baby. Don't think No. 3 was born yet. It all blends together at this point. Neither here nor there, we stop at the Charleston, WV Embassy Suites on the way home (a very nice Embassy Suites, btw). We get to our suite and start unpacking. My oldest all of a sudden (3 years old) says, "Mommy. What's that?" as he is holding up his index finger. My wife leans in to take a look and my son wipes his finger under my wife's nose. All of a sudden, my wife starts freaking out and screams, "that's poop!!! Oh my God!!!" My son had dug into his diaper and covered his index finger in poop. He then proceeded to unknowingly give my wife a Dirty Sanchez. My wife was so mad. But I couldn't do anything but fall on the ground laughing at the fact that our son had given her a Dirty Sanchez.

I'll never forget the sight of her having poop smeared on her upper lip as she sprinted to the bathroom screaming. She was mad at me for hours after that....I don't blame her....still didn't stop me from laughing hysterically at her. Better her than me.

[xu82]

I was the driver for my wife last week as she went in for a colonoscopy. Not the first time, but never before was I taken back into the recovery room where a dozen or so people had just had the same procedure. Think about this now... a dozen people who had just had their intestines pumped full of air, bloating their bellies Air that had to get out. They were all feeling discomfort and there was one nurse who's sole mission seemed to be walking from bay to bay, getting people on their sides and telling them to bring their kness up. That works, BTW. These overblown patients sounded like a chorus of French Horns! Taking turns. All at once. It was quite impressive and made Blazing Saddles seem tame!

[gladdenguy]

Nigel. That is funny.

[Fireball]

I don't have any stories to match up with some of these, but I do have one that at least amuses me.

My oldest was a baby...probably about 6 months old. She was old enough to be able to sit up and hold herself up in the sitting position, but not really able to move around. I was sitting on the bed playing with her and she was giggling when I let one rip. She heard the noise, stopped what she was doing, and then looked at me confused because she couldn't figure out what made the noise. Then the smell reached her...I saw her sniff and she started to cry. I'm not too ashamed to admit that I immediately started laughing. The fact that my flatulence caused my daughter to cry is something that I like to remind her of every so often.

[drudy23]

Saturday night at a bar at Miami U (can't remember the name). Having a fine evening and felt the rumble. Tried to wait it out but it was one of those where waiting longer simply wasn't an option. So I run to the bathroom and notice 2 urinals and a small wall...on teh other side of the wall was the shitter....no doors.

At this point, there was no turning back. As people strolled in and out to piss, they saw the top half of my body over the wall and knew exactly what I was doing. I gave a simple wave to each and went on with my business.

[xu82]

When it's time, it's time...

Could be worse.... my wife was at a too hip South Beach, Fl restaurant/bar that has a co-ed restroom. She was not OK with that. Other arrangements had to be made. A place here in Atlanta has a wall of sinks facing, rather than the typical mirror, the women washing their hands on the othe side of the opening. This took my son quite by surprise! Not the worst thing, unless you don't see it coming.

[X-band '01]

This isn't a fart story....but it's close....and I've witnessed some amazingly funny stuff in my days on this Earth...but this takes the cake. The family was coming home from vacation somewhere in the Carolinas. Oldest was probably three and second was a baby. Don't think No. 3 was born yet. It all blends together at this point. Neither here nor there, we stop at the Charleston, WV Embassy Suites on the way home (a very nice Embassy Suites, btw). We get to our suite and start unpacking. My oldest all of a sudden (3 years old) says, "Mommy. What's that?" as he is holding up his index finger. My wife leans in to take a look and my son wipes his finger under my wife's nose. All of a sudden, my wife starts freaking out and screams, "that's poop!!! Oh my God!!!" My son had dug into his diaper and covered his index finger in poop. He then proceeded to unknowingly give my wife a Dirty Sanchez. My wife was so mad. But I couldn't do anything but fall on the ground laughing at the fact that our son had given her a Dirty Sanchez.

I'll never forget the sight of her having poop smeared on her upper lip as she sprinted to the bathroom screaming. She was mad at me for hours after that....I don't blame her....still didn't stop me from laughing hysterically at her. Better her than me.

That's a winner!

[xu82]

That's a winner!

WHAT? Did you just do a Dirty Sanchez search? That came out of the blue, but a very funny blast from the past (so to speak).

[Pete Delkus]

I read this one and I cried laughing - An IPO roadshow, late nights of eating and drinking and flying to another city and doing it again:


Just over halfway through the flight, all the coffee in my stomach feels like it's percolating its way down into my lower intestine. I hunker down and try and focus on other things. What feels like an hour, but probably isn't more than twenty minutes, passes. We then enter what turns out to be pretty violent turbulence. With each bounce, I have to fight my body, trying not to shit my pants. "Thirty minutes to landing, maybe forty five" I try and tell myself, each jostle a gamble I can't afford to lose. I signal to [the flight attendant] and she heads toward me.

"Excuse me, where is the bathroom, because I don't see a door?" I ask while still devoting considerable energy to fighting off what starts to feel like someone shook a seltzer bottle and shoved it up my ass. She looks at me, bemused, and says, "Well, we don't really have one per se." She continues, "Technically, we have one, but it's really just for emergencies. Don't worry, we're landing shortly anyway."

"I'm pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency," I manage to mutter through my grimace. I can see the fear in her face as she points nervously to the back seat. The turbulence outside is matched only by the cyclone that is ravaging my bowels. She points to the back of the plane and says, "There. The toilet is there." For a brief instant, relief passes over my face. She continues, "If you pull away the leather cushion from that seat, it's under there. There's a small privacy screen that pulls up around it, but that's it." At this point, I was committed. She had just lit the dynamite and the mine shaft was set to blow.

I turn to look where she is pointing and I get the urge to cry. I do cry, but my face is so tightly clenched it makes no difference. The "toilet" seat is occupied by the CFO, i.e. our fucking client. Our fucking female fucking client!

Up to this point, nobody has observed my struggle or my exchange with the flight attendant. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." That's all I can say as I limp toward her like Quasimodo impersonating a penguin, and begin my explanation. Of course, as soon as my competitors see me talking to the CFO, they all perk up to find out what the hell I'm doing.

Given my jovial nature and fun-loving attitude thus far on the roadshow, almost everybody thinks I'm joking. She, however, knows right away that I am anything but and jumps up, moving quickly to where I had been sitting. I now had to remove the seat top – no easy task when you can barely stand upright, are getting tossed around like a hoodrat at a block party, and are fighting against a gastrointestinal Mt. Vesuvius.

I manage to peel back the leather seat top to find a rather luxurious looking commode, with a nice cherry or walnut frame. It had obviously never been used, ever. Why this moment of clarity came to me, I do not know. Perhaps it was the realization that I was going to take this toilet's virginity with a fury and savagery that was an abomination to its delicate craftsmanship and quality. I imagined some poor Italian carpenter weeping over the violently soiled remains of his once beautiful creation. The lament lasted only a second as I was quickly back to concentrating on the tiny muscle that stood between me and molten hot lava.

I reach down and pull up the privacy screens, with only seconds to spare before I erupt. It's an alka-seltzer bomb, nothing but air and liquid spraying out in all directions – a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. The pressure is now reversed. I feel like I'm going to have a stroke, I push so hard to end the relief, the tormented sublime relief.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." My apologies do nothing to drown out the heinous noises that seem to carry on and reverberate throughout the small cabin indefinitely. If that's not bad enough, I have one more major problem. The privacy screen stops right around shoulder level. I am sitting there, a disembodied head, in the back of the plane, on a bucking bronco for a toilet, all while looking my colleagues, competitors, and clients directly in the eyes. "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!" briefly comes to mind.

I literally could reach out with my left hand and rest it on the shoulder of the person adjacent to me. It was virtually impossible for him, or any of the others, and by others I mean high profile business partners and clients, to avert their eyes. They squirm and try not to look, inclined to do their best to carry on and pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that they weren't sharing a stall with some guy crapping his intestines out. Releasing smelly, sweaty, shame at 100 feet per second.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry" is all the ashamed disembodied head can say…over and over again. Not that it mattered.

[xu82]

Did you "read" that, or did you write that? Either way, funny as hell.

[MarvAlbert]

Very similar to my favorite bathroom story of all time...

http://www.google.com/url?q=https://www.craigslist.org/about/best/nyc/333345372.html&sa=U&ved=0ahUKEwj00K7xivjQAhUBTCYKHZ-xDwYQFggRMAA&sig2=wlDkzHgsAfmLknbcLfcEcA&usg=AFQjCNH_XsSMJEvoEIl9VZ_Pm4K42WK_Bg

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.

[D-West & PO-Z]

I read this one and I cried laughing - An IPO roadshow, late nights of eating and drinking and flying to another city and doing it again:


Just over halfway through the flight, all the coffee in my stomach feels like it's percolating its way down into my lower intestine. I hunker down and try and focus on other things. What feels like an hour, but probably isn't more than twenty minutes, passes. We then enter what turns out to be pretty violent turbulence. With each bounce, I have to fight my body, trying not to shit my pants. "Thirty minutes to landing, maybe forty five" I try and tell myself, each jostle a gamble I can't afford to lose. I signal to [the flight attendant] and she heads toward me.

"Excuse me, where is the bathroom, because I don't see a door?" I ask while still devoting considerable energy to fighting off what starts to feel like someone shook a seltzer bottle and shoved it up my ass. She looks at me, bemused, and says, "Well, we don't really have one per se." She continues, "Technically, we have one, but it's really just for emergencies. Don't worry, we're landing shortly anyway."

"I'm pretty sure this qualifies as an emergency," I manage to mutter through my grimace. I can see the fear in her face as she points nervously to the back seat. The turbulence outside is matched only by the cyclone that is ravaging my bowels. She points to the back of the plane and says, "There. The toilet is there." For a brief instant, relief passes over my face. She continues, "If you pull away the leather cushion from that seat, it's under there. There's a small privacy screen that pulls up around it, but that's it." At this point, I was committed. She had just lit the dynamite and the mine shaft was set to blow.

I turn to look where she is pointing and I get the urge to cry. I do cry, but my face is so tightly clenched it makes no difference. The "toilet" seat is occupied by the CFO, i.e. our fucking client. Our fucking female fucking client!

Up to this point, nobody has observed my struggle or my exchange with the flight attendant. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." That's all I can say as I limp toward her like Quasimodo impersonating a penguin, and begin my explanation. Of course, as soon as my competitors see me talking to the CFO, they all perk up to find out what the hell I'm doing.

Given my jovial nature and fun-loving attitude thus far on the roadshow, almost everybody thinks I'm joking. She, however, knows right away that I am anything but and jumps up, moving quickly to where I had been sitting. I now had to remove the seat top – no easy task when you can barely stand upright, are getting tossed around like a hoodrat at a block party, and are fighting against a gastrointestinal Mt. Vesuvius.

I manage to peel back the leather seat top to find a rather luxurious looking commode, with a nice cherry or walnut frame. It had obviously never been used, ever. Why this moment of clarity came to me, I do not know. Perhaps it was the realization that I was going to take this toilet's virginity with a fury and savagery that was an abomination to its delicate craftsmanship and quality. I imagined some poor Italian carpenter weeping over the violently soiled remains of his once beautiful creation. The lament lasted only a second as I was quickly back to concentrating on the tiny muscle that stood between me and molten hot lava.

I reach down and pull up the privacy screens, with only seconds to spare before I erupt. It's an alka-seltzer bomb, nothing but air and liquid spraying out in all directions – a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. The pressure is now reversed. I feel like I'm going to have a stroke, I push so hard to end the relief, the tormented sublime relief.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." My apologies do nothing to drown out the heinous noises that seem to carry on and reverberate throughout the small cabin indefinitely. If that's not bad enough, I have one more major problem. The privacy screen stops right around shoulder level. I am sitting there, a disembodied head, in the back of the plane, on a bucking bronco for a toilet, all while looking my colleagues, competitors, and clients directly in the eyes. "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!" briefly comes to mind.

I literally could reach out with my left hand and rest it on the shoulder of the person adjacent to me. It was virtually impossible for him, or any of the others, and by others I mean high profile business partners and clients, to avert their eyes. They squirm and try not to look, inclined to do their best to carry on and pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening, that they weren't sharing a stall with some guy crapping his intestines out. Releasing smelly, sweaty, shame at 100 feet per second.

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry" is all the ashamed disembodied head can say…over and over again. Not that it mattered.

I have not laughed that much reading something in a long time. Amazing.

[ReturnOfTheMack]

My first job out of college was a sales position that required me to travel from Cincinnati to our headquarters in Indianapolis once a month. For those of you unfamiliar with that drive, while it's only 90(ish) minutes, it's FREAKING MISERABLE. Once you've crossed the OH-IN border heading NW on I-74, there's like 3 exits over a span of 20 miles and then once you hit Batesville... NOTHING.

So I'm right around Batesville, loaded up on coffee, when all of a sudden the bubble-gut strikes. At first the contractions were pretty far apart so I figured in my young age I could easily hold off until I got to the offices in Indianapolis. Wrong (Trump voice)! Not 10 minutes later I was pretty much going into labor. I was sweating profusely, squirming uncontrollably in the driver's seat, and with no exit in sight I stomped on the accelerator. The other factor that makes Cincy-Indy the worst drive in the United States, other than no scenery or exits, is the fact that there are unmarked State troopers everywhere. That fact was completely insignificant to me as I was fairly certain I was going to crap the only pair of dress pants I had with me. At this point I was setting land-speed records on I-74 to make it to the next exit which was five or six miles away. It was defcon 3 when I looked in my rear-view mirror to see a Chevy Camaro flying up on me. Then, you guessed it, red & blue lights in his dash illuminated.

This State trooper couldn't have walked any slower to my driver-side door if he were Stephen Hawking. When he got to my car I had already rolled down the window and had my license and registration in hand. He immediately noticed how uncomfortable I was and I could tell he thought I was on drugs or something. Before he could even ask what the hell I was on I broke into the greatest sales pitch of my life. "Sir, you pulled me over for speeding which I fully admit to doing but I'm about 30 seconds from blowing a hole through my pants." The officer could see me sweating and evidently was convinced by my plea. He had my license and registration in his hand by this point and he said "I'm holding on to these for now, follow me." He proceeded to walk, a little faster this time, back to his car and pull along side of me and pointed forward. His lights still on, this patron saint of prairie-dogging proceeded to give me a police escort at about 95 MPH to the next rest area which was about 5 minutes up the highway. When we pulled in he just pointed to the bathroom and I waddled in there without dropping my "cargo" and perched the porcelain throne just in time.

When I departed that restroom after about ten minutes and my poo-phoria had subsided, I finally started to realize what had just happened. Did that cop really just do that? Is this a joke? Am I on Candid Camera? I walked back towards my car and the trooper, who had parked next to me, got out of his car to meet me. He asked "everything good?". I told him I could not express my appreciation enough for what he had done for me. He said I may want to delay that gratitude as he handed my license back to me along with a speeding ticket. I looked at the registered speed on the ticket and he had written "72mph". I knew he sandbagged that. By this point he was already walking back to his car. I rolled down my window and said "Officer, thanks again, but how fast was I really going?". He smirked as he got back in his car and said "about a buck ten". He then closed the door and drove away.

What a freaking guy. To this day, any time I drive past that Love's Travel Stop near St. Paul, IN I smile from ear-to-ear.

[gladdenguy]

MarvAlbert just posted the funniest thing I've ever read. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time.

[D-West & PO-Z]

My first job out of college was a sales position that required me to travel from Cincinnati to our headquarters in Indianapolis once a month. For those of you unfamiliar with that drive, while it's only 90(ish) minutes, it's FREAKING MISERABLE. Once you've crossed the OH-IN border heading NW on I-74, there's like 3 exits over a span of 20 miles and then once you hit Batesville... NOTHING.

So I'm right around Batesville, loaded up on coffee, when all of a sudden the bubble-gut strikes. At first the contractions were pretty far apart so I figured in my young age I could easily hold off until I got to the offices in Indianapolis. Wrong (Trump voice)! Not 10 minutes later I was pretty much going into labor. I was sweating profusely, squirming uncontrollably in the driver's seat, and with no exit in sight I stomped on the accelerator. The other factor that makes Cincy-Indy the worst drive in the United States, other than no scenery or exits, is the fact that there are unmarked State troopers everywhere. That fact was completely insignificant to me as I was fairly certain I was going to crap the only pair of dress pants I had with me. At this point I was setting land-speed records on I-74 to make it to the next exit which was five or six miles away. It was defcon 3 when I looked in my rear-view mirror to see a Chevy Camaro flying up on me. Then, you guessed it, red & blue lights in his dash illuminated.

This State trooper couldn't have walked any slower to my driver-side door if he were Stephen Hawking. When he got to my car I had already rolled down the window and had my license and registration in my hand. He noticed how uncomfortable I was immediately and I could tell he thought I was on drugs or something. Before he could even ask what the hell I was on I broke into the greatest sales pitch of my life. "Sir, you pulled me over for speeding which I fully admit to doing but I'm about 30 seconds from blowing a hole through my pants." The officer could see me sweating and evidently was convinced by my plea. He had my license and registration in his hand by this point and he said "I'm holding on to these for now, follow me." He proceeded to walk, a little faster this time, back to his car and pull along side of me and pointed forward. His lights still on, this patron saint of prairie-dogging, he proceeded to give me a police escort at about 95 MPH to the next rest area which was about 5 minutes up the highway. When we pulled in he just pointed to the bathroom and I waddled in there without dropping my "cargo" and perched the porcelain throne just in time.

When I departed that restroom after about ten minutes and my poo-phoria had subsided, I finally started to realize what had just happened. Did that cop really just do that? Is this a joke? Am I on Candid Camera? I walked back towards my car and the trooper, who had parked next to me, got out of his car to meet me. He asked "everything good?". I told him I could not express my appreciation enough for what he just did for me. He said I may want to delay that gratitude as he handed my license back to me along with a speeding ticket. I looked at the registered speed on the ticket and he had written "72mph". I knew he sandbagged that. By this point he was already walking back to his car. I rolled down my window and said "Officer, thanks again, but how fast was I really going?". He smirked as he got back in his car and said "about a buck ten". He then closed the door and drove away.

What a freaking guy. To this day, any time I drive past that Love's Travel Stop near St. Paul, IN I smile from ear-to-ear.

Fantastic story.

Man I might need to go back and read all of this thread if all the stories are as good as these recent few.