Holy Shart!

My story takes place at the beach when Li'l Bandit was about 4 or 5.
I had the bubble-guts for the whole drive to the beach.
I could feel pressure building in my bowels as I was looking for a parking space, and once I got out of the car I decided to quietly let one rip. As I did so, I could feel hot wetness in between my cheeks, and tried to get to the bathroom as fast as I could while trying to bend my legs as little as possible.
I got to a stall and assessed the damage: One pair of light-grey boxer-briefs stained. There's no way I was keeping those, but I didn't want anyone to see me throwing them away either.
As my colon unleashed it's volcanic fury on the stainless steel toilet below, I hatched a plan: I would just flush the underwear down the toilet. Most public toilets have the power to suck down new-born infants, after all.
Unfortunately that wasn't the case with this toilet, and the shorts got lodged in the exit. I tried flushing again, hoping that the weight of the water building up would push them through. It didn't.
Instead, it overflowed, sending shitty water running over the edge of the bowl.
Li'l Bandit and I beat a hasty retreat after that.

FOCUS: Shart stories.
We had a shart-stories thread on the old board back in about '06, and I figured that we should try it again. I know there are a lot of good stories here, like effinshenanigans tale of sharting himself in the sixth grade to the time that one guy sharted on a hot date and tried unsuccessfully to hide it.

Have at it idiots.

 

My friend and I road tripped it into the asshole of Ohio to visit some old friends just before Christmas. Like 2002. Snow, cheap drinking, hijinks. We put ourselves up in a $30 a night shitcake motel called the B&J. There was a nicer place down the road, but come on, it's the BJ motel. There was a 1930s heater, wood paneling, everything covered in dust, and the bathroom window would not shut. It was about 16 outside.

The morning of the third day I get up to vomit out some screwdriver. Fine. Back to bed. 10 minutes later I head back to shit a bit as my guts were swirling with about half a bottle of that 100 proof Absolut. Nothing unusual. Another 10 minutes pass and I have to fly back into the can. Hot, watery ass piss shoots out into the bowl so loud it sounded like I was unraveling my bowels. So here I am dizzy on the can, freezing wind blowing me in the face from the open window, and I have to get up to vomit in the tub. I just hose myself off and toe everything into the drain.

After the *fourth* time, the water I just drank went directly through me. I have to yell for my pal who is still asleep. I manage to crawl back into bed to wrap my shivering body in a blanket. I drink more water. By noon I did this a couple more times and am actually starting to get seriously dehydrated since everything I drink flies out within minutes. Friend takes me to the hospital. They hook me up to an IV. The nurse that asked me "what do you want us to do about it?" was nice enough to lay a barf bucket by my gurney. Time loses all meaning. I come to sometime before dark. Friend is a little... perturbed. Apparently he spent the afternoon mopping up my liquid sharts off the bathroom floor. Sharts I don't remember having. Everything was covered in evidence of a violent ass eruption. My boxers are completely soaked in crap and vodka and OJ (literally OJ that never absorbed into my body). He had bought a bottle of bleach and dumped the entire thing onto the floor while mopping and using his shirt as a gas mask.

The doctor wrote me a prescription for something that would stop the peristalsis in my bowels so I could absorb nutrients and liquid. At the pharmacy I pass out, slide down the chair, and wake up on the floor with people walking by doing their shopping. One person was nice enough to ask if I was alive.

Again, time loses meaning for about 3 days. Nothing stayed down to the point where my vision went blurry. Dickhole friend left Cartoon Network on while he went out drinking. I can't blame him as the whole place smelled like burnt ass and hair because of the old heater cooking the shit fumes. God knows if I was contagious. For days all I can remember is Scooby-Doo reruns acting out in my dreams. I was awake about 20 minutes a day. My diet consisted of saltines. Since I couldn't produce spit, I washed everything down with pedialyte. I woke up more than once to the old heater burning the side of my face off. I woke up more than once in a pile of my own ass juice. I couldn't stand up more than a minute before collapsing, shitting myself, puking, and passing out in rapid succession. If I was lucky I had enough time to shower off my ass in the sub-arctic bathroom before falling into the poop bed. So I had to strip the sheets before I barfed from the nausea and curled in a crescent moon around the stain in the middle of the bed. We don't know what happened to the sheets. We think the owner's wife got them.

So my vacation consisted of 2 nights of drinking fun, then losing 15 fucking pounds in 3 days .To top it off the hospital sent me a $600 bill instead of billing insurance.

Tuh-DAH! The Aristoscats!

 

One Sunday night, I had polished off some KFC. I ignored the grease trap my guts had become as I rolled into bed and passed out. The next morning, I blearily looked over at my alarm clock and realized that I had failed to set my alarm. I bolted out of bed and was out the door in five minutes, on the road in ten, at the office in twenty.

My large intestine fired off a warning shot as I rode the elevator up to my floor. Looking back on it now, it was like a deckhand firing off a flare on the deck of the Titanic.

Naturally, the phones were ringing off the hook when I arrived and work was piling up. I wiped the sweat off my brow and got to work. Ten minutes later, I felt a sharp jab that could only mean there's methane building. Wise, grizzled men in their forties with streaks of gray in their beard would have taken this time to mosey to the toilet and take care of business. I, young and innocent in the ways of the world, did what any other man would do.

If you had a camera pointed to my face, you could have broken down the gamut of emotion. The exultation of relief, eye-widening disbelief, disgust, and finally, resignation.

As I crab-walked to the bathroom, I was almost grateful for the glue of liquid feces and abject humiliation that mortared my boxers to my asscheeks. Anything to keep the damage from spreading. The next five minutes were not happy ones as I did my best to clean myself with half-ply toilet paper. The boxers themselves were finished. I sneaked out of the building and tossed them into the dumpster. The rest of that day was spent going commando and making sure I zipped up slow.

I learned a lesson that many people repeat but many more never heed.

"Never trust a fart."

 

A few years ago I went out for breakfast with my ex. girlfriend and her family after a very hard night the night before.

Sat down and enjoyed breakfast, talked the usually shit and joked around then everyone headed off home. I walked with the ex. to the carpark which was about 10 minutes away and just as we got to the car I knew I was I trouble…

I looked around the carpark like a madman and saw my saviour up in the top corner, a public toilet. I marched up to the toilet a when I got there and went to open the door with a smile on my face thinking that I made it, I turned the dirty handle and the door to the toilets was locked. Now I was in big trouble, without thinking I took aim and kicked the door near the handle to try bust it open. The kick almost unleashed the fury so I had to abandon that idea and think of another option quickly!

When I looked around, the only option was a small chain link fence backing onto a school. I waddled over, put my hands on the fence, lifted myself to jump over and as I did, I shat myself a little (maybe a medium, who’s counting). I waddled over to the side of a building that conveniently had a hose, took my jeans the whole way off, did my business and threw my soiled boxer shorts into a bush. I used the hose to wash my ass and as a precaution the seat of my jeans.

I was pretty silent the whole way home in the car and got straight into the shower at home, jeans and all trying to scrub off the shame. It still haunts me sometimes.

Ps. Fuck the city of Subiaco, why would you lock a public toilet like that?

 

I remember reading the initial Shart Thread and thinking, "Aw, man! I've never sharted!" Thanks to that fateful wish to experience sharting, I had my moment.

This isn't very great because I was home alone, but it happened while I was getting ready for work. I was already dressed and putting on my makeup. I was putting on mascara and felt myself poop my pants. I had a stomach bug about a month earlier where I puked all day, so that was still fresh on my mind, and I thought maybe this would be a day of pooping. I decided going into work might be a terrible idea. I called in, and my boss asked what my symptoms were. "Um, I think I have a fever (lie), and my head feels really congested and gross (lies)." There's no way I was gonna say, "Hey! I feel super, but I just sharted and I'm pretty sure I need to be near a bathroom during the next 4-6 hours!"

It kind of worked out to be a great day because I sharted for the first time, I didn't have any stomach issues, and I had the day off. Win-win.

 

This following did not happen to me, but to a classmate in college. I swear.

Classmate spends a Thursday night studying for a big exam, while his roommate (it was a quad with two people to each of two rooms) and the roommate's girlfriend are out getting seriously hammered. Some time in the wee hours the roommate and girlfriend stumble back in, trying not to wake him, and start fooling around. He pretends he is asleep, hoping they will both pas out soon, but things escalate, and they move to the floor of the room, still trying drunkenly to be quiet. He hears low, sloppy sex noises that he tries to ignore by covering his head with the pillow, when suddenly his roommate starts screaming and bolts out of the room to the bathroom while the drunk girlfriend starts crying. No longer able to fake sleeping, he turns on the light, to find shit on his rug and on the drunk, crying girl curled up on the floor. It turns out that they were in a 69, with the girl on top, when she shit. All over his face and head.

When the roommate came out of the shower to clean up and asked her why in the hell she would do such a thing, her reply was "I thought I just had to fart a little".

 

From my blog:

 

One bad word: Olean. Or better yet: Olestra

A bunch of years ago, I was on summer break from school. On breaks, I was back living at my mom's house. She had bought a couple bags of these chips as they were fat free or something. I knew nothing about these new chips as they looked like normal chips. Oh how wrong I was. Crisp little slices of demonic evil.

I ate more than I should have. No big deal at the time. Well, later on, I was sitting on the steps of our back porch and felt a fart coming on. Again, no big deal. I do the little leg lift the let the guy loose. I couldn't believe what happened next. Whoosh. That little fart unleashed an unholy fury. It took a second for me to realize what had even happened. I'm wearing shorts and thankfully underwear. They are now pretty much filled. Now, my mom is in the kitchen right inside.

I slowly stood up, careful not to let anything out and I start doing this crazy waddle inside and to the bathroom. My mom sees this and asks what was wrong. My response, to which she still finds one of the funniest things ever, "Mom, I'm a grown ass man and I just shit myself." I go to the bathroom and remove everything in the shower. I take a shower and clean up. The underwear and shorts are just bagged and thrown out.

I didn't feel sick at all, nothing. This was early in the morning. The only thing I ate were those chips late the night before. I went over to the unopened bag and read right on the label, "May cause loose stools." Hell, if by loose they mean instant runny ass then that description is right. I threw the bag out and haven't looked at anything with Olestra since and I advise all others to do the same.

 

This happened sometime i believe in 2001, It was either in grade 12 or the year after.

I was at the then girlfriends house, we were just relaxing playing some sort of board game i believe. I was feeling perfectly fine, my body gave absolutely no indication that anything was even close to remotely wrong. Like so many before me, i felt a little gas coming on, so i lift a little to let out the gas, next thing i know, a little shart came out. So i went to the bathroom to clean up. By the time i got the the bathroom, i felt a lot more rumbling coming on, so i sat down on the toilet and full on explosive diarrhea came out, then about 10seconds later, my stomach rumbled pretty bad, so i grabbed the trash can that was sitting beside the toilet, and started to throw up violently.

So in the span of less then 30 seconds, i went from feeling perfectly fine not a care in the world to having liquid come out all my orifices at the same time. I spend the next day or two feeling like i was exploding liquid out of possible orifice, which it was, and not moving more then a few seconds away from a washroom.

 

My brother has always been peculiar when it comes to taking his dumps. He's that guy who spends over an hour in the bathroom every time he needs to drop a turd. I'll bring in something to read sure, but he's been known to bring entire plates of food and multiple magazines like he's camping out.

One day I walked in on a disaster he left behind. Imagine someone jumping out of an airplane without a parachute, except it's all shit. That was the toilet, and I mean the outside of the toilet, not the bowl. After I took that in I noticed there was flakes of poop beyond that. It was quite a scene. He had gotten shit on the mirror, the walls, the bathtub, and there was even bits of poop that had landed in the sink. Me and him were the only ones who used the bathroom so I went to ask him what the fuck happened, but all I could ever get out of him was 'it splashed up'. I demanded he clean it immediately and finally after blowing me off FOR AN HOUR he agreed to take care of it. How did he take care of it? He called our maid upstairs, opened the door, and pointed at the shit grenade that went off and said 'zhe ge' (translates to 'this'). Naturally, I was in disbelief and after telling the story to my dad he threatened to force him to use a hole outside if he ever subjected our maid to such abuse again.

Another time he came home after an ill-fated drinking competition. Turns out high school nerds can't handle 18 shots of vodka, which according to his friend was the point he finally threw in the towel. He had apparently thrown up all over the cab, who then took all the money out of both their wallets as compensation. Fearing my brother was going to die and needing money for a ride home this douchebag woke up my mom who tried to nurse my brother through his dry heaves. You could have just borrowed the money from me, asshole. Eventually my brother locked himself in the bathroom saying he needed to take a shit. For two straight hours my mother pounded on the door while his snores echoed through the house. Finally she got the key and insisted I had to be the one to go in to wake him because it's awkward if your mother stumbles in on you passed out on the crapper. Oh yeah, it won't be for me at all. After futile protests I finally caved in the hope that I could get some sleep that night. When I went he was passed out and naked head to toe. I smacked him as hard as I could and dashed out, leaving my mother to the rest.

Yeah, you thought your siblings were bad.

 

I've sharted before but neither of the stories are noteworthy or funny at all. My father, on the other hand, has one that my mom loves to tell.

It was the mid 80's some time before I was born and after my parents were married. My father, a lawyer, was in court. He felt a little something about to happen so he asks the judge for a five minute recess. His motion was granted and on the way from the courtroom to the bathroom he sharts himself. He then goes to the bathroom to clean himself up but only ends up shitting something awful for the next few minutes. He gathers himself, goes to the judge in chambers and tells the judge that he's sick and cannot be in court that day and asks for court to resume the next day. The judge is fine with it.

My dad then called my mom and told her what had happened and that she needed to come pick him up. He waddled from the courthouse to the car then she dropped him off at home and dropped his ass juice dripping suit off at the dry cleaners on her way back to work.

A friend from college (seriously) was getting his first blow job while he was a freshmen in high school. He was laying down on the bed while she was on her knees on the floor. He knew something wasn't right and felt the old bubble guts coming on. He thinks that he can just ease the valve open and let a little gas out and she wouldn't notice. Instead of easing open the valve, he unleashed a fury of shit that got all over her sheets and bounced off the bed and got all over her face. He quickly pulled up his pants and walked home without saying a word, leaving her to clean up the mess. Needless to say, their relationship didn't last long after that.

 

This story takes place back in my good boy Jehovah's Witness days. For sure I was a true believer. So much so that at 19 instead of sleeping off all night benders and sneaking out of nubile bitches dorm rooms I was up at 5.30 catching the commuting crowd at train/bus stations trying to stuff their hands with poorly written religious pamphlets and cram their brains with my carefully constructed sermons to make them see things my way.

Cue up an early morning, all by myself waiting for my flock. Enter the bubble guts. Now remember its 5.30 a.m. There isn't anything open its still darkish and all of the gas stations still have the doors locked and will only talk to you through plexiglass. Besides I had no time to try and negotiate being let in to do this violence to their toilet. No choice. Clock is ticking. I'm out of time. There is a Baker's (shitty fast food restaurant in So. Cal) and I figure I can make it to the alley behind hit. No go. As I'm duck walking back there my bowels fire a shitty destructo ray through my undewear, through my suit pants and onto the hand that is trying to force them back into my body. It dribbles down my leg. Is it over? Not by a damned sight. I drop my pants next to the door of this closed restaurant and proceed to evacuate my soul on to the pavement. Ass pancake does not even begin to describe what happened as I tried to muffle my Braveheart like screams, mange my ever widening squat stance and try not to look at my now shitty hands and pamphlets. When it was over, I shit you not I had tears rolling down my face. I'm just thankful that no one is around.

The sun is rising and soon the workers are going to be here not to mention people on the street. This is a smallish town. Everyone knows me. I hustle up, toss my magazines in the trash and book it down the alley. I walk side streets the mile and a half to my house. I hop the fence and go around back and strip. I hose myself off and then go in for a shower. Being the good bible thumper that I am I put on fresh clothes, put my soiled ones in a plastic bag to go into the dumpster and hoof it back to the train station because my god at the time liked that sort of tenacity.

On the way there I saw this poor poor Mexican man at the Baker's with his head turned hosing off the sidewalk. I felt conflicted because while this is hilarious I pretty much fucked up this dude's day and for real, he'll probably never be the same ever again.

 

A few years ago I got really drunk. My friend and I killed a liter of 100 proof vodka, and several beers.

As a side note, I had been chewing sugar free gum with Xylitol, and and accidentally swallowing it cause I was drunk and not paying attention. Xylitol gives you the shits if you have too much, and I had them, but they subsided and the heavy drinking commenced.

So I was drunk, and hungry, so I found an unopened box of frosted mini-wheats, and at 3/4s of the box. I lay down, got the spins, ran out my bedroom door that led to the backyard and puked, went back inside, ate the rest of the box.

I passed out, and apparently I sharted several times that night. When I woke up, it looked like there was a frosted mini wheat in my underwear. Not even the frosting had dissolved. It just went in my mouth, and out the asshole.

 

Whenever you hear the phrase "shitstorm," think of this.

I was driving to work and everything was fine. Didn't feel sick or anything. Then, as I'm turning into the parking lot of the office building, I suddenly get the overwhelming "urge to purge." Not, "Oh, I gotta take a dump." More like, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" I don't even have the truck in park yet and the floodgates of hell are opening. I'm summoning every ounce of energy, concentration and chi to my sphincter muscle, and every movement my body makes releases the muscle just enough for more discharge. I'm waddling as fast as I can to get to the men's room. I get in there, get in the stall, and I'm completely losing it before I can even get my pants down. I mean, I'm literally spraying shit everywhere--the floor, the stall dividers, walls, toilet, and of course, myself. My back half from the waist down, shorts and pants look like I was just dragged for 3 laps around the rodeo field in the rain.

When there was nothing left to come out, there wouldn't have been enough TP in a Scott Tissue factory to clean me up, let alone the rest of the bathroom. I got as much off of me as I could with what I had, and beat a hasty retreat to my truck, grabbed a blanket I kept in the back, laid it out on the driver's seat (that 4Runner had beige clothe seats), got in and headed home. I had a 45 minute commute, it was January, in New England, and I had to ride with the windows open because the smell was so bad it was making ME gag (it's pretty bad when the smell of your own shit makes you gag).

The only thing that could have made it worse would have been to run into (literally or figuratively) someone on the way in or out of the building, but I guess the forces of the cosmos was laughing too hard to have thrown that in my direction, too. I called my boss on the way home, and gave him a less detailed rundown, but suggested he contact building maintenance to make the men's room usable again. He said, "Wha...? Oh, ok." He told me the next day he went and put an "out of order" sign on the door to keep people out until maintenance could get the room cleaned up, and that they were pretty vocal about their disgust, but no one in the office other than him knew it was me.

Physically, I felt fine afterwards (other than being covered in shit), but I still stayed within 10 feet of a bathroom for the rest of the day. I've had that same explosive evacuation twice since then (though several years apart) but was in close enough proximity to a toilet to make safe deposits. No idea what caused them.

Yeah, shit happens.

 

I had to go home early from a friend's birthday party in 7th grade because of a shart.

The birthday party started at a small pizza place in town. That says enough. It's known for it's delicious, yet greasy pizza. We crammed our faces with food for awhile and then went to a local ski hill for some tubing. Because you just go straight down a hill in a track, it's not too exhilarating... but it got really interesting when I was going up the hill one time and felt my guts bubbling.

Uh, not good. I decided to keep going up the hill and just relax at the top for a bit. This of course didn't work, as I was roped into heading down the hill again. Just as I laid down onto the tube and was ready to go, I felt a fart coming and decided just to let a little test fart out.

Nope, not a fart. Not at all.

I ended up turning my pants into an ugly mess as I went down the hill and due to gravity it was creeping towards my beltline. Not good. I got down to the bottom, slowly stood up, and was very thankful that I was wearing snowpants that night because I had . I said I felt sick to my friend and had to do my best not to do the telltale waddle. Thankfully I was ushered into my friend's dad's car without much fanfare and had him let the window down because I claimed to be nauseous. I did my best to sit lightly and not let it soak through my pants and sweatpants and onto the car seat on the ride home and amazingly it didn't happen.

Somehow I was able to conceal it like a shart Houdini and nobody knew, with the exception of my mom (kinda hard to hide a pair of shitty pants in a garbage can in the garage) and probably my friend's kind dad. No way could have not have smelled it.

I haven't been back to the pizza place since.

 

In 2010, I came down with a stomach virus twice in six weeks. Both times it was a fiery liquid out the back followed by whatever was left in my digestive system making it's way out the front. In all the years I had gotten stomach bugs, I've never had the liquid shits, it was all puke and nothing else.

The second time I felt something coming on because suddenly yellow acidic liquid was being evacuated out my ass every 20 minutes or so. Within an hour, I was vomiting into a plastic bag while simultaneously shitting my brains out.

In between the shits and vomits I'm gingerly sipping cobalt blue Gatorade to stay hydrated. This virus has pretty much run it's course within 16 hours and by the next afternoon, I actually have a little of my appetite back. Ex-Mr. Pink prepares some chicken noodle soup for the two of us, and we sit in front of the TV, slurping away. I felt the bubble gut sensation and figure it's safe to trust it. There's a very faint "psst" and suddenly my jeans feel insanely warm. Not to mention they're also stuck to me. I ignore it for a half a second and then it hits me - I probably shit myself.

I get up slowly, cover the place where I was sitting with my blanket and make my way to the bathroom. Sure enough, my jeans and underwear are covered with neon green liquid. Instead of being absolutely humiliated that I had just reverted back to age 1 in front of my then husband, I let out a shriek of laughter. I clean myself up as best as I can and walk out to the couch, holding my condemned jeans and underwear in my hand.

"Why are you standing there with no pants on...oh my god, did you just shit yourself?"
"YEP! I'm going to do some laundry now, do you need anything washed? I'm also going to shower."

He turned beet red. I asked what was wrong, he said he was humiliated for me. I told him not to be. I found this entire debaucle hilarious. To this day I still laugh about it.

I learned two things that day - cobalt Gatorade turns neon green after it travels through an infected colon and a 31 year old woman shitting herself isn't as funny as I think it is.

 

Happened to two friends of mine:

Joe and Brian were out drinking pretty late one night and got fucking smashed. They parted ways to go home, both with no idea of the fuckery that was ahead for them.

Brian gets to his apartment to realize that he locked himself out of the building. It is like 4 a.m. and no one is coming in or out of his building, so he started frantically looking for ways inside. He found a large maintenance shaft leading into his basement. It's a 12 foot drop and he has no idea what's at the bottom, whether there's any way into the building from here, but he climbs down and manages to get into the building through the boiler room. He gets up to his apartment and realizes that of course he is also locked out of his apartment. He starts to panic and kicks in the door and passes out inside, with the door wide open.

Several hours later, he wakes up to a phone call from Joe telling him that he is on his way over, and a couple minutes later Joe waddles into his apartment totally covered in shit. Apparently, Joe was so drunk that he could not find his way home. He started grabbing at random car door handles until he found a BMW that was unlocked. He crawled inside and passed out. He woke up a few hours later having completely shit himself and the car. He has also lost his phone and wallet. So, he does the logical thing: He steals the Blackberry out of the car, calls Brian, wipes his ass with the phone, and walks over to Brian's to shower off.

I can only imagine the distraught reaction of whoever came back to their car to find that scene. It is singlehandedly the most foul thing I have ever personally known anyone to do.

 

I posted these stories on the old board, but will re-tell them here. I have sharted three times in my life:

1) My wife and I got married in the Bahamas. One of the nights we were there we went on a booze cruise and drank of bunch of fruity mixed drinks. The next morning we were going snorkeling, and I had gone to the lobby to check email before going on the boat. I let one rip, thought nothing of it. When I got up about 20 minutes later, there was a small brown stain on the white cloth chair. I left, and cleaned myself up before going on the boat. That chair kept getting moved around the lobby for the rest of our stay before it was finally removed.

2) I had drank some skunky beer after playing softball one night and woke up with the shits the next day. I shit all morning, called in sick to work. I went to get a hair cut and to Wal-Mart that afternoon. While in Wal-Mart I felt the need to fart and got a little surprise. I grabbed a pair of shorts off the rack and went to the bathroom to clean up. Trashed my underwear, put on the new shorts, and then went to pay explaining to the cashier that I was wearing the shorts I was buying. She thought nothing of it until she also saw I was buying Immodium and gave me a funny look.

3) I was in a huge retail furniture store about a year ago. Ripped one and knew it was trouble. I waddled across the store to the bathroom, fully suspecting that I was leaving a trail behind. Much to my surprise when I got to the bathroom I had clenched my cheeks tight enough that the shart did not even get on my underwear. It took half a roll of TP to clean my ass, but my underwear and pants were totally fine.