Airplanes give me gas. Real bad. Any flight over an hour in length is guaranteed to leave my asshole sound like it's tap-testing a too loud microphone for a few hours at least. On the longer ones, forget it. After the 8-hour plane ride to Maui, my hotel room was frequently mistaken for a Nazi gas chamber. I don't know if it's the altitude, the pressure in the airplane, the bumpy rides, what. And honestly, I don't care. Airplanes fuck with my system, hard, and while in the air I spend the duration of the flight trying to play the awkward and often risky game of Is It Gonna Stink? with blaming my wife being the fallback plan. Well a few days ago we returned from our honeymoon, and on the final leg we had some of the shittiest luck (and airport food) imaginable. First flight was about an hour, fairly easy, but real short layover and I wasn't gonna risk trying to relieve gastro-intestinal pressure on the go. Running ass cheeks and clean farts do not mix. So then we board the plane, slice of greasy pizza in hand, and apparently there's some mechanical delay that required sitting in my seat for over an hour. By the time we lifted off I had come to the unfortunate conclusion that my ass emissions were not cleared for takeoff. They felt like they were trying to bring another friend to the party, and that was not a risk I was willing to take. Another three uncomfortable hours of sphincter exercises while trying not to shit my pants, and I was in a not great mood by the time we got home. I'm guessing a result of my Fort Knox asshole security, since we returned, I have suffered from some of the most painful stomach cramps imaginable. So, in a strategy hotly debated between myself and my wife, I started intentionally attempting to relieve internal pressure at every available opportunity, etiquette be damned. This morning was glorious, my young nephew's birthday, not so much. Yes, they didn't smell too great, but they were clean, loud, and worry-free. And they also relieved internal pressure. Life was good. We got back and I was feeling slightly better, so in a reward for my body's good behavior my wife decided to allow me my monthly ration of sex. During foreplay, I felt another stomach cramp coming on. As per the strategy, I forced it out. And shat myself. (Like a trooper, after I cleaned up, she let me finish.) Focus: We all have embarrassing stories of the inopportune times when our bodies betrayed us. What's yours? (I've also shit myself on an airplane, a result of the afore-mentioned gas issue, and because we were in the "final approach" I had to wait until we deboarded to properly resolve the issue. This incident is the main reason I now take an extra pair of boxers in my carry-on.)
I've got to think a bit about a personal story, but in the meantime... I remember reading this thread in real time. If you've got some time to spare, some of the comments are golden. from Fark: I'm stuck to my chair. I'm so very scared. Help. (Details In thread)
Mines not too bad in regards to the time or location, but still embarrassing. I was home on break from college and just hanging out on my back deck. My mom was inside doing whatever. I had earlier picked up a bag of chips made with something called Olean(sp?). I had no idea what those evil evil things could do. So, I'm just sitting there and had to fart. No biggie, lift the leg and let it out..........SPLAT! That little fart ended up being a super shit. Right in my damn pants. Never saw that one coming. I slowly get up and do this weird walk to the back door, past the dining room towards the bathroom. My mom sees this and asks what the hell am I doing walking so funny. "I just severely shit myself and I'm trying to keep it off your carpet." Even the dog was looking at me funny. My mom still makes fun of me about it from time to time. The dog, until she passed, never did look at me the same, or so I imagined. Thankfully no friends were there. I've told them and they all laughed but not as much as if they were actually there.
Back when I was just a wee 7th boy, I would NEVER use the school restrooms. One day, during the middle of the day, I felt a shit coming on which I decided to hold in since it wasn't anything to be alarmed about. I made it through the entire school day and track practice without absolutely needing to use the restroom. Everyday after track, I would have to walk 4 miles home. As I was trudging along, the forgotten poop snuck back up on me and I began to break out in a heavy sweat, and only being about a mile into the walk a nervous fear set in that I wouldn't be able to make it home. I had a friend who was a girl that lived a block away and I debated on whether or not I should just go knock on her door and ask her if I could use her bathroom, but I quickly threw out the idea because I didn't want it to be awkward when I was finished and that terrible smell stains her bathroom walls and starts seeping out into the hallway, killing all the plants in the house. (Yes, I seriously thought it would go down like that.) I end up making it within a half-mile to my house when this butt-child could just not be held in any longer. Here's the scene: A young boy sprinting down the country road with his backpack yards behind him because he had thrown it off because it was slowing him down, tears rolling down his eyes, while drenched in sweat. That's about the time the poop started to build up in my underwear. After I finally made it home, my brother and cousin were also in tears after I had told them what had happend.
Haha, I sharted a couple weeks back. All things considered, it was about as ideal a situation as I could hope for. Nothing flashy, it just came out of nowhere. I just got home from work, stripped to my boxers and stood in the bathroom when I had to cut one. I hadn't eaten anything stomach-upsetting or anything like that, it was just a regular old fart. I didn't even think it was gonna make a sound, but it did...the sound of shit running down my leg and hitting the floor. The funniest part was that I immediately made eye contact with myself in the mirror, so I literally got to see my own "Oh shit!" face in real time. I immediately hopped in the shower giggling, then threw the underwear away. My buddy told me this great story last weekend, about when he was a teenager living up north and was part of some snowmobile family fun-race. He was on the wrong side of the 20Km course when he let one go, sufficiently filling his snow pants. So he tells his mom that he's suddenly feeling sick and he wants to head back, and she says "oh perfect, you can take Mrs. Madeupname with you!" So this woman his mom's age climbs on and snuggles up right against him for the bumpy, stinky ride back. She never said anything, so he's not sure if she knew, but still. Hilarious. I have to shit now.
When I was somewhere in elementary school, maybe seven or eight, I came down with an awful virus. The night it hit, my parents and grandparents happened to be out to dinner, and my sister and I were being babysat by some older girls from our church. Sick kids are nothing new, but my illness had a side effect I've never seen before or since: every time I sneezed, every single time, I pooped myself in a major way. I must have run through at least eight pairs of underwear that night. I don't know why no one thought of running to the store for some Depends after the second or third time. The only other bodily betrayal I've been through was just mildly embarrassing. After a night of heavy drinking, the angry ex and I collapsed into bed. I normally feel the urge to pee once or twice between going to bed and actually falling asleep, but Patron makes it nigh impossible to monitor that urge. I dreamt that I needed to pee and woke up in the middle of doing so in ex's bed, while he snored drunkenly next to me. I was still drunk at the time, and a bit panicky, so all I remember is pushing him onto the floor and throwing the sheets into the washer around 4 AM. As angry ex was and still is a useless boozer, he never noticed and I never told. Every other bodily malfunction I can remember had something to do with alcohol, no available restroom, and possibly Taco Bell. None of them have resulted in shame because after that amount of booze and Taco Bell, I have no dignity left to lose.
I was just at the gym and had to shit while doing squats. Imagine squatting down, with a couple hundred pounds on your shoulders, and realizing there is a one too many chicken wings shit working its way down the pipe. This alone is not worthy of posting on the thread, but my brother's old work out partner is. I've seen this guy at close to 300 lbs., one very large Puerto Rican gentleman. He'd lift, eat, sleep and repeat. He's on the leg press one day, pushing upwards of 500 lbs., and out of nowhere he cuts a nice wet fart. We laugh while he finishes his set. He doesn't get up though when he's finished, he asks for his towel. We toss it to him, he proceeds to stick it down the back of his pants, wipe a blob of shit out and throws the towel on a bench nearby. He finished his work out and that towel stayed there for days.
I came home for the holidays one year and, of course, got completely smashed on New Year's. Nothing to get excited about, but my flight back to Atlanta was at noon New Year's Day. I woke up, still drunk, to a feast. My mom did something out of character and made the most elaborate, delicious breakfast she'd ever made. It was glorious. I had an omelette with peppers and mushrooms, salsa, pancakes with syrup and strawberries, bacon, orange juice, biscuits and fruit salad. It was awesome. My tummy was full. I hopped on my flight and about 45 minutes out of DFW I woke up to turbulance. It was baaad turbulance that made my tummy start to do backflips. To make things worse, the woman next to me had on the most god-awful perfume I've ever smelled. I tried to go to the bathroom a few times, but I got in trouble because the seatbelt sign was on. The flight got even worse, and the entire cabin was dead silent except for a few women crying. I was too worried about hurling to cry. I had a death grip on each arm rest and focused all of my energy on NOT throwing up. I had beads of sweat pouring down my forehead. We finally land, we didn't crash, everybody was happy...and I'm just thrilled I didn't toss my cookies everywhere. Until we headed for the gate. I knew it was over and reached for the white paper baggie in front of my seat. I hurled for what felt like forever. It was really embarrassing throwing up in front of everyone. When I throw up I cry, so it looked (and smelled) really bad. I could smell everything I ate for breakfast. Everyone was staring at me in disgust. I was so pissed at my body for not waiting another 15 minutes. At least give the me dignity of puking in an airport bathroom instead of ON the fucking plane. There's also a time where I was in Padre and meeting up with a friend in the hotel lobby. I was wearing a sundress and accidentally pooped myself a little bit. The sad thing is I had been drinking so much and NOT eating that there wasn't really anything my body could eliminate. It was weird. Thank God I wore panties that day.
Did you know that the last train of the night stops to lock up at every single stop? And that makes the trip something like four times as long as it normally is? And when the last train arrives at the end of the line, all of the bathrooms are already locked for the night? Neither did I. Was a really good learning experience. I also learned that a 95 Camry LE handles decently well at 80 mph on surface streets.
I was out at the bar with a large group of friends one day and one of my buddies was telling us the story of how our other buddy, who was also present, had sharted a couple of days earlier. The sharter in question was pretty embarassed about the whole situation and was obviously pissed off that the story had come out. I made fun of him for hours about it in front of the group, but I was truly baffled as to how a grown man could actually shit in his pants. I was disgusted by him and his inability to control his bodily functions and I actually thought less of him as a person, but I hid my disgust and continued to mock him while egging the others on to do the same. The very next day at work, I felt the urge to fart. I gave a mighty push and promptly sharted in my pants. The second (and hopefully last) time that I sharted, was again the day after making fun of another friend for sharting. Needless to say, I keep my comments to myself when the topic of sharting comes up. I have never told anyone about either incident. Goddamn shit karma.
When I started working out in high school, it was at a health club owned by some friends of the family. My best friend and I would go just about every day once we had some momentum built up. The owners would give us these "high quality" protein shakes, filled with ice cream and strawberries and whatever powder shit they obviously bought in bulk. The first time I worked out and had one of their delicious protein shakes, we decided we would go play tennis. Like some of you, I have a pretty sensitive stomach. I can handle protein shakes just fine now, but that first mixture of dairy, fruit, and protein was my undoing. After a few sets I felt that familiar rumbly in my tumbly, so I made my friend drive me back to my mom's house so I could shit. I had (and still do, to an extent) this phobia about shitting in public. I don't care if an entire Denny's full of people knows that I'm shitting on the other side of a brick wall from them, so it's not that. What bothers me is knowing the asses on the seat before me belong to the people I see out in public, so no thank you. Anyway, he decided he would be funny and drive the long way back to my house, 10 MPH under the speed limit. There comes a point where the rumbling stops and it becomes this horrifying, burning/cramping sensation. I had made it to that point while still on the tennis courts, and fucking Mario Andretti had to take the scenic route. I was actually sitting on my hands to hold my ass cheeks together, but a little still came out. He was upset that it was in his new car, I told him he was a fucking moron for making me suffer. I can still picture my mom with a look of shock as I came barging in the front door, hand on back of pants, cat scrambling for safety, and throwing myself onto the toilet in the restroom at the top of the stairs. The gods were in my favor. The next time we played tennis, he decided he couldn't wait and had to go in the woods next to the courts. He wiped with poison ivy.
Ughh poop stories Yumm.. I have a shitload of these things. Being a runner not having to poop before you run is the worst feeling in the world especially when you know that one is going to come sooner or later. There was an instance when I was running down one of the main streets in my city, it was sometime in august around 7pm so it was about sunset. The most irrestistable urge to take the biggest dump came about and with about 3 miles left I knew there was no way I was going to make it, so I stop on the side of some house, mind you at sunset on a busy street, drop my pants and take a sweaty diarrea dump only to use some wet leaves as my TP and having to run with ass rash the whole way home. Left me tell you, I wasnt able to shower without it burning for a good 2 or 3 days and also perhaps the last time I use leaves over my underwear while Im running. Also being rather close to school I had to walk home all the time. About a 1.5 mile walk or so. There was this one lot which turned into my shit stop so, so many times for my freshman and sophmore year of highschool. The only perk to this place was that there was relatively high bushes so I could have some sort of privacy, but there was a street relatively close and people working on roofs around the area that would be clearly able to see me if i had moved the wrong way. Or perhaps the most recent one is right when we arrived at the beach and got out of the car I ripped a nasty fart that had a little extra spunk to it. Reached my hand down my back to check and Yup that's shit alright. Let's just say I got alot of sand in between my ballsack that day since I had no other pair of underwear. Awsome Wow... I just realized how disgusting that is
I posted this on the old board and found myself showered with green dots. I posted it here in a relevant thread, and got red. Let's see what happens this time: A little over four years ago, I went to a clinic to take a drug test for a job (actually for my then-current employer's upcoming client). In previous drug tests, I'd always been able to muster up some piss to put in the cup. This time though, it just wasn't happening. They had me drink some water, wait a bit, try again, no dice, rinse and repeat. Finally, I felt some piss coming down my dick. With my dick in the cup, I squeezed, squeezed, squeezed... There! It was just a little, but hopefully enough. I redid my pants and opened the door to catch the nurse while the sample was still warm enough for her to validate as genuine. The nurse directed my attention to the floor behind me. In squeezing my bladder muscles, I'd also been squeezing the muscles around my anus and had taken a light shit on the bathroom floor. I've had prouder moments.
I have sharted myself a few times: 1) I drank some very skunky beer one night, and had bad diarrhea the next day. I couldn't leave my house before noon because of it. Early afternoon, I leave to get a hair cut, eat lunch, etc. While in the car, I was even able to fart a few times without incident, so I thought it was in the clear. I was picking up a few things at Wal-Mart, when I farted again and got an extra surprise with it. I was wearing basketball shorts, and it leaked through my boxers and stained the outside of my shorts. I picked up a new pair of shorts and put them on, handing the tag to the cashier. She was none the wiser until she also saw I was purchasing Immodium. 2) While at our wedding in the Bahamas, we went on a booze cruise one night. We were going snorkeling the next morning, and I went to the lobby to check my work emails before leaving. I sharted right there, on a chair that had off white colored upholstery. The chair made its way around the lobby in the ensuing days, until it finally disappeared a few days later. 3) Just a few weeks ago, the wife and I were at a large furniture picking out a new bed for our daughter. I needed to pee, so I went to the bathroom. I farted while pissing, and knew it came with something else. I squeezed my cheeks, but I couldn't stop pissing so I just had to stand there hoping that it didn't start running down my leg. After I finally finished, I wandered over to the stall. And while it was true that I had sharted, I was able to keep it from getting on my boxers by squeezing my cheeks together. Very proud moment for me.
Up until about three weeks ago, I could proudly declare that I had not had any poop in the pants issues since I was in diapers about 30 years ago. I never got blackout drunk and woke up with a mess in my skivvies. And then three weeks ago, life took an unexpected turn. I came down with a stomach virus in April. Six weeks later, I got the same fucking virus again. In between vomiting anything in my stomach, I was spewing forth fiery liquid from my backside. I want to add that you will never know pain until you have to wipe away stomach acid. Thank god for Wet Ones. By the next afternoon I was feeling well enough to try and attempt some soup for a snack. Mr. Pink lovingly made me some chicken noodle soup (since he was the bastard that got me sick in the first place) and we both settled down for a leisurely snack in the basement. In the 24 hours of this awful bug, all I had in my stomach was blue pomegranate Gatorade. On the way up, it turns from a cobalt hue to a light blue one. Keep this in mind. In the middle of slurping down some noodles, I felt a rumbling in my stomach and thought "Eh, I have nothing in my stomach, so it's not like I have to shit." I trusted the rumblings. Suddenly my underwear and jeans felt shockingly warm and wet. I ignored it for a second until it dawned on me. I had shit myself. I casually walked to the bathroom in the basement and as I pulled down my jeans and underwear, they were stained with neon green liquid. Cobalt Gatorade comes up light blue and comes out neon green. This was a new fun tidbit of knowledge. I couldn't help it. I started laughing in hysterics. When I came out of the bathroom, jeans and underwear in my hands, Mr. Pink first asked "Why are you naked from the waist down?" And then it dawned on him. "You shit yourself, didn't you?" Yes. Yes I did, husband. Since he's a man, I expected him to laugh along with me. Instead he was mortified for me. I kept saying "No! This is funny!" He still wouldn't budge on the issue that it was humiliating. After jumping into the shower and scrubbing myself raw, there was some laundry to be done post-haste. And a couch to clean up, stained with neon green liquid. Moral of the story: don't trust your ass if you've been sick. It just creates havoc.
My wife apparently used to take that approach. Then one day, in high school, she shit her pants and because she couldn't yet drive she had to call her mother to take her home. She learned her lesson, and when I heard that story, I vicariously learned mine. I used to run cross country in high school, and as anyone who has ever run any significant distance will tell you, the "sport" pulls double duty as a diuretic. I used to have MAJOR issues with constipation as a child (raise your hand if you have literally shit out your intestines while pushing.... anyone?), as did everyone at some point I'm sure, but when I began running, that bodily practice did an about face out of necessity. It only took one or two pre-shit 8 a.m. races for my body to learn its lesson, and it adopted the practice of early morning regularity. Now, the day before the race is the single most important time for hydration. Eating healthy, calorie-laden food in large quantities that day is also extremely helpful. The day before a race I'd stuff myself with as much eggs, pasta, rice, Mexican food (calories), pizza, and chicken as I could handle. My nostrils always agreed with the culinary combination that next morning in the restroom, but whatever. However, one race in particular, my body forgot the adopted practice it had learned. After running about a half mile or so into the race, my thought process started to go something like this: It was then that I rounded a corner and came upon the greatest sight I had ever seen: a port-a-potty. I didn't even care if it disqualified me or what it did to my time, I ran the fuck inside, half locked the door, stumbled while turning around in my spikes and unleashed holy hell upon the blue liquid at the bottom of the shit compartment. Normally I like to take my time with shits, enjoying and even reveling in their various noises, aromatic scents, and perceived consistency as they exit my butthole. That time, however, I was just happy to relieve pressure, and cleaned up hurriedly as I threw open the door to get back into the race. It was upon stepping back outside the blue heaven of relief that I remembered what would haunt me for the rest of high school: the race was on our home course (meaning our school), the port-a-potties were right behind the bleachers, and people were watching me. Still one of the most relieving near-misses I have ever experienced, however.
Ok, is this going to be a "shit yourself" thread, or are we going to go with other body functions? I sweat a lot. This weekend, I went to a roller derby match, and had to wait in line in the sun to get in. I soaked the top half of my shirt with sweat just standing there. And because it was a black shirt, once it dried, I had these hazy whitish-grey "stains" where the water evaporated and left salt. I can't wear a suit/tie/long sleeves unless I am in a place that is heavily air conditioned (or if it's winter) because I will start sweating. I sweat when I sleep. A lot of it comes from the backs of my knees for some reason. I really hate this about myself. I don't care about it when I am working or doing something outdoors, but in social situations, I need good ventilation and low ambient temperature to keep from looking like I'm going through heroin withdrawl.
The first time I had food poisoning was a nightmare. I had a bad dose, and was exploding at both ends. When I throw up, it's a full body experience. All of my muscles lock up, my eyes try to pop out and the most god awful noises issue from my throat (along with whatever's in my stomach). My bedroom was right next to the toilet, which was detached from the bathroom in one of those little cubicle size rooms. I was living with my parents at the time. When the urge to vomit came on, I'd sprint in, close the door and try not to pass out while I purged. Unfortunately, being new to the whole food poisoning thing, I didn't realise how volatile the other end could be as well. So, I'm on my knees bear hugging the porcelain as the first heave comes in. As it hits, I feel my butt clench and spray what feels like half a gallon of hot liquid. Every heave elicits more from both ends. Luckily I was wearing shorts which limited the area of effect. But I don't think I've ever felt so miserable as sitting in a pool of my own diarrhea with my head hung a few inches over a pool of vomit and unable to do anything about it until my body finishes going through its aftershocks.
Yes! If I run more than 8 miles stuff is gonna start moving. In a big way. One morning I woke up late and didn't have time for my morning routine. My friends and I met to run 12 miles of the city and a little neighborhood trail. Around mile 7 I became uncomfortable. I thought, "Damn. Ok. It's ok. You didn't poop this morning. Calm down. It'll stay in. There has to be a restroom somewhere on this damn trail, right?" Wrong! Two miles later I was tentatively running at a slow pace. I was worried something was going to happen. Finally, we got closer to a main street and I decided I would just go to the CVS about a mile down the street. One of my friends offered to wait for me or go with me, but there was no way in HELL I'd let him. I was seriously concerned about pooping myself. "Oh. No! I'm good. I just drank a LOT of water! Go ahead! I'll meet y'all at the cars!" The CVS sign was like a beacon, and I ran as fast as I could while holding everything in. I got to the door and it was closed. It didn't open for another 45 minutes. So, I saw a 7-11 about a block away. I ran to that. I'm literally thinking that I will in fact poop my pants. I was trying to figure out how the hell I was going to get home in soiled shorts. Because I was miles away from my car, I didn't have a phone, and I sure as hell wasn't going to walk into a store with poopy pants. I don't think I've ever been as happy as I was making it to 7-11. I felt bad because I pretty much destroyed the women's restroom and I didn't have any money to buy a drink or anything. I went back a few days later to at least BUY something. My best friend had an upset stomach during her first marathon. She said she stopped 4 or 5 times to poop and it was the most uncomfortable run she ever had. It sucked because she went out of town for it and it was her birthday.
I too am a runner. I have a ritual where every other day, I eat an entire bag of baby carrots. This comprises a good part of the vegetable portion of my diet while simultaneously does an excellent job of cleaning the system (fiber?). Unfortunately, this carrot consumption has lead to more times than I can count where I've had to immediately and inconveniently poop during exercise. The first time happened was when I was training for a marathon. I was in an unknown neighborhood, about 6 miles away from my apartment. The urge to crap was so sudden and painful, that there was NO QUESTION I was going to drop trou in some unknown person's bushes. I remember being so scared and self-conscious, knowing that someone was going to walk out at any minute and discover me. Checking for potential witnesses, I lowered my running shorts and squatted near the thickest bushes I could find. It didn't come out all at once, so I froze in that position for about 90 seconds, letting things take their course. I remember trying to avoid getting fecal matter on my shoes. Opposite me, the trees were so thick, people could have rounded the corner at any second and pulled in the drive way in FULL VIEW of some stranger defecating all over the shrubbery. That would have been awkward. Anyways, nervousness took wiping out of the question, and I sentenced myself to taking care of the guaranteed racing stripes when I got home. Amazingly, upon investigation in the comfort of my own bathroom, there were no stains on the inner lining of the shorts. Other times I've had to poop while running: - During a 36-hour team race across Colorado, I squatted along the shoulder of an Interstate highway to release - During a regular morning run, I ran off the paved trail to poop near a tree. When done, I look to the opposite side of the tree and see this was the entrance to a bum's living quarters. The said bum slept 15 feet away while I pooped outside his house. - The Denver Half Marathon. Had to stop 4 times and still ran a respectable time. - Race for the Cure 5K. At mile 2, in a pack of thousands, I break off and make a beeline towards the lone port-a-potty. Some jackass yells "WHEN YOU'VE GOTTA GO...!!!!" - Add a plethora of uneventful times...