Angrily Compacted Poop
I haven't pooped yet, but I suspect that it won't be pleasant. Today had been a good day until our airport industry started to weave its way through my colon. Admittedly, it's half my fault. But it's also partly the fault of Avis Rentals, Osama Bin Laden, President Bush and some jackass who tampered with an airplane fire extinguisher.
Arriving at the airport in my rented Nissan Sentra, (A side note about the Nissan Sentra. I'm a big American dude. Not so much fat, but tall. I have size 13 shoes. How is it with all the retarded regulatory minutia impeading our country at every turn, size 13 shoes don't fit in the Nissan Sentra. The transportation safety administration freaks out because my giant size 13's could pack enough plastic explosives to...wait....oh, I feel better. The deep, forboding voice that rules the Columbia, SC public address system has just announced that those looking to fly to LaGuardia have to face the fact that their flight has been cancelled. How do you cancell a flight? What now? "Ok, Mr. Buckworth, your flight to LaGuardia has been rerouted. All you have to do is take the 6:56 flight to Van Worth Ohio where you'll connect with the 9:12 flight to Seattle. From there we have a red-eye flight landing you in New York next Thursday. Have a nice trip. And thank you for choosing Delta. Oh, and don't bother complaining. We're about four weeks from declaring bankruptcy and the federal government will most assuredly bail us out. We are, after all, one of the largest airlines in the world. Toodles! And if you need a pillow on your flight, a flight attendat will be happy to reach into your body cavity and pull out your own liver for you. We don't carry pillows any more and a portly, red faced fellow like yourself has certainly had enough alcohol to bring about a certain swelling to the organ. It's quite comfortable, I hear. I wouldn't know, myself...I'm mormon." I always get that ticketing agent, can't stand her.
Anyway, back to the poop. The Nissan Sentra was only a preliminary point of irritation. It set the stage for what followed.
As I was turning in the keys to my Japanese foot torture device, I realized that I had left my own car keys in my temporary apartment in rural South Carolina. A frantic search through my bags revealed that I indeed was born with some sort of mental handicap that had only just now become apparent. Now I was becoming the red-faced airport guy. The sphincter clenches.
Security used to be a breeze, and if it hadn't been for the Muslim faith, still would be. I blame Osama for the fact that security is what it is, but I blame President Bush for federalizing security and forming the TSA. There couldn't be a more frustrating job, as shown by the impatient TSA agent in his early 40's screaming at me to get my shoes "out of the damn tray and lay them flat on the belt. Flat on the belt, damnit!" I had taken off my belt and thought he wanted me to lay my shoes on my belt. Confused, I looked at him for further instructions. Apperently he meant the conveyer belt feeding the X-ray machine. Sphincter pushing upward, jaw tightens, nostrils experience an increase in airflow.
The flight from Atlanta was delayed because, as the keeper of the PA announced, "a passenger deliberately damaged a fire extinguisher and the plane will take off when the captain is satisfied with the aircraft." I can't imagine that getting another fire extinguisher would be that hard, but I didn't allow my brain down that path...It has had a hard day and really deserves to spend some time fantasizing about the semi-attractive woman working the bar in the terminal, here.
So, I'm in an airport drinking coffee, needing to poop but refusing to. I'm afraid that if I actually enter the bathroom, the fragile state of affairs that promises that I'll be on a plane by 7pm will be shattered. I have to poop so bad that I could thwart gay rape right now. But today is a bad day to poop.
Le Poop de France
Submitted by: Horseplop
Ross (my ex-four-year-boyfriend) and I once took a romantic trip to Paris. One particular evening in the city of light, he whisked me away for a romantic meal at an elegant restaurant overlooking a finely manicured park lined with stoic old trees. The wine was perfect, his eyes were awash with the kind of masculine gazes of loving desire that would make any mortal woman melt. Afterwards, we started upon a romantic stroll down the Seine, now bathed in moonlight. This perfect evening called for an after dinner cocktail, so we headed to an upscale bar across the way.
While on our way, Ross broke into a strange run. “Oh Ross, you’re so playful…of course I’ll frolic with you.” So, I chased him across the street and around the corner, giggling with romantic bliss along the way. He was always doing strange, spontaneous, funny things so I followed my darling through the streets of Pariscalling out to him, eager to find out what we were doing. He kept yelling SHHHHH behind him and swatting madly in my direction as if he didn't want me to follow. I was so caught up in what I thought was a romantic venture to a previously scouted romantic spot, that I ran even faster. I couldn't wait to see what would happen next! “Oh Ross, my sweet. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth!” Besides, I would be damned if I were to be abandoned in the middle of a strange city in the middle of the night, so I chased him for a good ten minutes before he finally stopped in a parking lot in front of a nice restaurant.
By now, visions of a breathless romp under the Parisian stars were being replaced with a strange curiosity and even a little concern. Ross was hunched down behind a car - and then I heard it. Some of the most explosive poo I have ever heard, smacking against the cobbled streets of downtown Paris. Apparently the food wasn’t quite as perfect as I’d thought. I proceeded to fall down in the parking lot laughing, which then made him laugh and poo even harder. Of course he had nothing with which to wipe himself, so the walk home/subsequent clean-up was not exactly pleasant. Damn it was funny, though! Ah, Paris.
Tron Poop
Submitted by Mierda:
For some reason I thought I'd die with this story. Partly because I'm
not a huge fan of bathroom humor, partly because this particular poop
might be considered "environmentally irresponsible" ...but mostly
because my fiance was a mere 30 feet when it happened. I'd hate to
think that a poop story might harm a future marriage, but in the name
of science, I will tell the true story.
Last week, my fiance and I were recently vacationing in the island of
Vieques off the coast of Puerto Rico. It's an island mostly known for
the United States military's controversial habit of practice-bombing
the inhabited island - occasionally blowing up a local who was unlucky
enough to wandering in "protected" areas. Instead of handing over the
complete island to drooling developers, the U.S. converted most of the
island to wildlife refuge.
One little known aspect of Vieques is it's bio-lumniscient bay. You can
take a guided kayak trip out to experience it. See, there's these tiny
things called dynoflagellates, that light up when they are disturbed.
In Vieques's bay, there are 750,000 per gallon of water. So when you
dip your hand into the bay, it's like your own personal acid-trip. The
dynoflagellates light up instantly as if you had broken open a glow
stick in the water. Jump in the water and every limb of your body is
surrounded by the glow of billions of microscopic organisms
(http://www.biobay.com/cd/webhtml/CDcover.JPG). All of a sudden you are
Jeff Bridges from Tron (http://www.internationalhero.co.uk/t/tron.jpg)
As we hopped into our Kayaks and started to paddle our way to shore, I felt
something truly evil brewing in my digestive tract, most probably the
result of some particularly nasty native Puerto Rican food. I knew waiting
until we reached shore would be a serious health risk. So I paddled a
distance away from my group and hopped in the water. This would have been
a slight bit more subtle if my body hadn't ignited in bluish-green glow
once I was in the water - but at this point, I didn't care. The others
were safely out of the water in their kayaks. No harm could come to
them. So, I released.
I guess I hadn't pooped in the ocean since I was probably seven, so I
wasn't prepared with how great of a feeling it was. I happened so
effortlessly. What surprised me initially was the velocity which the poop
exited my body... what shocked me was the imagery which will be
forever locked in my mind... the sight of a glowing fecal torpedo
gently floating away from me. The next act of surrealism was the grand
finale. There seemed to be some sort of small explosion. Three streams
of glowing laser-like lines suddenly appeared from the poop and shot
off in different directions, as if the poop was set to detonate.
Apparently, I had startled a few fish who swam off leaving a small but
impressive fireworks display from my poop. It was beautiful in a very
bizarre but fascinating way.
I apologize to the people of Vieques, and the billions of
dynoflagellates whom I may have harmed in the process... but then
again, it makes a great poop story.
