I got this off reddit. If you can't be bothered reading it; a guy goes out for coffee with a girl, who then invites him back to her place. He needs to poop but goes to her house anyway, and they eat dinner. After dinner he needs to take a shit really badly. In addition he needs to take a piss (because he didn't bring his "pee bottle"). He gets a hard on and can't shit and piss at the same time and ends up shitting and pissing in the bath tub. Read the story, he has included pictures that are reminiscent of Gris' and he goes into quite a bit of detail. Focus: What is your most embarrassing shit/piss story? I guess I may as well start off with a my own, which thankfully only involves pissing. I was at a friend's 21st birthday party, it was at his house and we were all drinking outside. I had already broken the seal, but at some point I realised that I really needed to take a piss. I go inside, and since it is at his house there is a pretty long line. After waiting for a while, the urge takes over and I am not going to be able to hold it in. So I duck into the laundry with the intention of pissing in the sink. I fumble with my jeans, but as I am doing so, I can't hold it in any longer, I piss halfway done my pants before I get it out and release a tidal wave of piss into the sink. I ended up with a massive stain done my leg, but luckily no one else noticed. Also, I have woken up from a drunken stupor, walked about two metres and pissed on my wall. I have also wet my bed while drunk.
The funniest pee story I have comes from a college party I attended back in 2004. My friend Kerry was turning 19, and her friend Barb offered her house for the occasion. Both her parents were out of town, and they had (foolishly) given her permission to have a party. I'll also add that this is a very nice house. It's not quite a mansion, but it's damn-near-freakin'. The night starts innocently enough with me drinking 10 beers. Add in the occasional shot of tequila, and I'm happily drunk. Kerry is having a great night, there are nearly 30 people (mostly classmates) at the party and all are social and fun. Everything changed when we started to do flaming-sambuca shots. For those that have never indulged, let me enlighten you: - Light a shot of sambuca on fire. (EDIT) - Wait til the flame goes away, then down the shot. - What I remember about them. - After downing the shot, promptly place the glass upside-down on a nearby table. - Wait about 10 seconds, then slightly lift the glass upwards while inhaling the remaining fumes through a straw. - After inhaling the fumes, you snort the remaining droplets of sambuca from the table. I did this five times over the next hour, and (as per usual) I had gone from happy drunk Voice to puking lunatic who could hardly remember his own name. I woke up the next morning on a white-leather couch in the living room. The first thing I noticed was that there were three of four others scattered around the floor, fast asleep. The next thing I realize is that I am covered in my own piss. My jeans? Soaked. Shirt? You guessed it. The cushions on the couch? Covered in urine. At that point I had two options: 1) Tell the host the truth, and pay for a couch cleaner or new cushions. 2) Flip both cushions over and get the fuck out of that house before anybody saw me. I obviously chose option two.
You're doing it wrong, if you're letting the shot burn out, there is no alcohol left in it, just like when you flambe food.
How loose of a sphincter do you have dude? Stop catching and start pitching or something. Focus: Back during the Atkins craze there was a glut of low carb and sugar free stuff on the market, and my mom must have bought just about everything. One day I came home and found a big bag of jelly beans on the counter. I figured that my mom had got them for me since she couldn't eat candy, and I love jelly beans. She was going down to San Diego for a couple nights, so I imagined it was some sort of enjoy your time while I am gone gift. I put on a movie and started munching down on them, and deciding what way I was going to rail the girl I was seeing at the time that night, when I felt a gurgle. I thought nothing of it, and kept eating. I then noticed my stomach was starting to hurt and I looked at the bag. They were Sugar Free. Now they might be sweetened with Splenda or whatever, but to actually have texture, sugar free candies use sugar alcohols, which have a laxative effect. After 30 minutes of bubbling, and feeling liquid drain from my kidneys I run to the bathroom and start shitting like there is no tomorrow. I didn't shit as much as have whatever was inside me take a running start and just escape. Food I hadn't even eaten yet probably came out. And it kept coming. After a while there was nothing solid in me, just fluids draining out of me. This kept going on and on all afternoon, and I had to cancel the night with the lady friend. About 4:30 though, it finally just turned into the occasional toot, so I figured why let the night go to waste, so I called up a friend, and he brought some booze and a movie, so we hung out. However I did not take into account the effect the dehydration would cause on my ability to drink, and I ended up fucking wasted. So I started drinking water, and stuffed my face with 3/4th of a box of Frosted Mini Wheats and passed out. Spoiler However the farting hadn't stopped as slept, and I had eaten I high fiber food and when I awoke in the morning apparently I had sharted out pure Mini Wheats into my underwear.
I told this story on the old board, but I'll give it here again. In 6th grade, I shit my pants in school. It was the last period of the day and being the lazy and awesome guy my teacher was, he allowed us to hang out for the last half hour of class instead of doing anything productive. I was talking with some friends of mine when I felt the onset of the serious trouble brewing inside of my gut. Lunch that day--whatever the terrible cafeteria food was--had transformed into an intestinal monster, whose battle cry screamed through my skin. Its blood-curdling WE WE WE WE WE WE we we we we served as a preview of the porcelain pyrotechnics that were going to occur. Five minutes after the first cart wheel that my organs decided to take, I approached my teacher and asked to go to the bathroom. "There's 10 minutes left in class, you can wait," he said. "Um...it's kind of an emergency," I pleaded. "You can wait," he chirped back. Upon hearing that the demon was not going to be released as soon as I had hoped, its pleas to exit my body grew and grew, to the point where I was doubled over in a sweaty, meditative stance, clenching my cheeks with all of my might. Suddenly, as most pressure-related situations are wont to succumb to, there was a massive and unexpected breach in the containment zone and I quickly realized that I was in trouble. Worse yet, I wasn't done and the pressure was building once again. Backing away into my desk in the corner, I waited for the bell to ring. My pants were hot and terribly uncomfortable. I was counting seconds. I was counting tenths of seconds. Finally, as if Jesus had come into the room and sang for us himself, the bell released us into the hallway. The act of walking apparently stirred the stew in my underwear and resulted in a seriously toxic smell emanating throughout the hallway. My locker was next to a smelly fat kid, so I attempted to blame it on him with little success. You see, the problem with blaming a shit smell on someone else when you've been sitting in liquid shit for roughly 5 minutes is that it's very clear, when observing the pants, who is really at fault. When it was made clear that I was at fault, I bolted to the nearest bathroom. At this point I didn't care if shit was flying out of the bottom of my pants as I sprinted. There was more to come, and the sollace of a bathroom stall was all my weary mind could focus on. Once I was locked inside that sanctuary, all was good in the world again. I ended up waiting 45 minutes in the bathroom so I knew most of the people would be gone. Naked from the waist down, I scrubbed my jeans in the sink. The boxers? They were dead to me. I wrapped them in paper towels and threw them away. I walked home with wet jeans, but my gut was calm and I could breathe again. I was called "little shit" for about 3 weeks until some girl either peed herself or bled through her pants during her period. After that, I was forgotten by the masses.
I pooped on my dog's head. I was living in Tampa at the time and my buddy was friendly enough to let me store my boat on the boat lift behind his house. Saturdays and Sundays were usually spent fishing in the morning and boozing in the afternoon. Further, being a drunk guy with a boat and a kickass dog was a great way to meet women and I took new people out frequently. Personally, I pack light- a case of beer, a fresh T Shirt, and some flip flops and that's about it. The friends who I took with me brought beach chairs, umbrellas, components for mixed drinks, and picnic food- fried chicken, potato salad, etc. We had a great day on the water. We drank, we ate, and we laughed. As the sun was setting, I realized that I needed to poop and I should be able to make it back to my buddy's house without any problems, even while taking the bumpy ride back in consideration. I wasn't quite sweating when we got back to my buddy's, but I wasn't feeling real sporty either. I walked up the two flights of stairs to his back door to find that he was gone and all of his doors were locked. All of them. I couldn't just leave the boat and all of the stuff and the people I took out were gracious enough to help clean everything up before we parted ways. I jumped in the truck and hauled ass back to my house. The dog and I jumped out of the truck and I penguin ran to my door. As it creaked open, the dog bolted for the bathroom and dunked his head in the toilet, obviously thirsty. Little did he know that I was hot on his heels with my pants coming off mid-stride. My ass muscles relaxed as I squatted over the toilet and a jet of shit shot straight for what should have been the water. Instead, a stream of shit landed on my dog's head. In one motion, I continued to sit and grabbed my dog's head knowing that he would shake and cause an even bigger issue. I opened the sliding shower door with my foot and wrestled the now paniced, shit covered Labrador into the shower. After clearing my bowels, I climbed into the shower with him and gave him a bath while we both tried to avoid eye contact. That, my friends, is how you shit on a dog.
A to be young again, I went out drinking with a group of friends, and it was just going to be a few beers and then back home. Well, as we all know when we go out for just a few, somebody orders a round of shots, and then you're all hammered telling each other how awesome you all are. This ended up as one of those nights. I don't remember how I got home, but when I woke up, it was still dark. And all I could hear was running water. I started muffling for someone to shut the fuck up with the water, and behind me I heard my my asking what the hell I was doing in her room at 4:30am? Apparently, I decided that taking a piss in her room at 430am was a better option than pissing in the toilet. What was even better was that I was pissing on our old photo albums that she had out and was looking through earlier in the week. I told her I wasn't do anything, and then kinda kicked at the albums (soaking my foot) and hobbling back to bed. After this, I woke up 45 minutes later in my living room ass naked with my brother and mom looking down at me like I was a leper. Yay for being able to hold my booze!
Oh boy. Where to start? Probably my most miserable moment came when I was 11 or 12. We were skiing up in Vermont and had gone out to dinner, where I made the fateful mistake of ordering sushi. Everything seemed fine; we got back and I went to bed, anxiously awaiting our last day of skiing the next day. At about 2, I woke up nauseous as hell, so I ran to the bathroom and threw up, got a glass of water and went back to sleep. Maybe an hour later, the scene repeated itself, except this time my mom woke up and heard me in the bathroom. She came in to see what was wrong, and went to get me some water. About this time, I realized that I needed to shit. Badly. Since I was violently throwing up at the time, I wasn't going to be able to hold it in much longer and figured I would be better off getting up on the toilet and puking into a garbage can. This would have been all well and good except my mom came back and saw me trying to stand up mid-puke and, for reasons not clear to this day, put her hands on my shoulders and held me down until I was done throwing up, by which point I had covered the inside of my boxers with a layer of food-poisoning shit. That was not a fun shower. Edit:: Forgot another one. In college, I gained a bit of a reputation for pissing in inappropriate places. The worst (or at least most amusing) was when I came back to the dorm completely blacked out one night. In the middle of the night, I got up to pee, but for some reason went into our walk-in closet and started pissing on the tile floor and all over my dirty laundry. I guess my roommate was awake, because he started yelling at me to cut it out and go to the bathroom instead. I stopped, mumbled something about being finished and not to worry, and got back into bed. But I wasn't finished, and around 10am, I got up again to go to the bathroom and went right back into the closet. The roommate woke up again and started throwing things and screaming at me to stop. I ignored this, finished up and went back to sleep. When I woke up a few hours later, I didn't remember any of this and refused to believe him until I saw the puddle in the closet and several neighbors confirmed that they heard him yelling at me in the middle of the night. Whoops. There's a couple more, but I'll leave it at that for now.
I was a goalie in squirts. I also have a mild case of crohn's (that I didn't know of at the time). This had a recipe for disaster. Those of you who played hockey at youth levels you probably know this - on the younger teams there is generally only one goalie that plays. Thus, if anything happens to that goalie, they have to put a position player in nets (which guarantees you a loss). During my second season as a squirt goalie (think I was 9), we were in a heated championship game. We were up 2-1 on the other team and play was going back and forth as fast as it could for a bunch of 8 and 9 year olds. I've always had issues with nervousness/adrenaline giving me a stomach ache (and ultimately making me need to take a shit). Well, midway through the second period, I was given that gift. I got nervous and instantly had to take a shit. I remember taking slow, deep, breaths and kneeling down during play stoppages. I didn't want to come out of the game and let my team down. With about 3 minutes left in the second period, that's when it hit. BOOM! I couldn't hold it anymore and released what seemed to be a potato sack worth of shit into my breezers. I couldn't believe it. I had just shit my breezers, I didn't know what to do. I stayed in the rest of the game. Everytime I had to go down to stop a puck, I was super careful about squishing around the steaming pile I had resting in my jock. That didn't stop it from getting smeared everywhere in the remaining 15 minutes of the game. Hey, we won 3-2 though. I've never got undressed faster, and more secretive, in my life. Luckily, I was still at the age when parents come into the lockerroom. I whispered to my mom that I crapped my pants and she just gave me a look of udder shock. I stripped down, wiped my ass off with my skate towel, threw on my sweatpants and got out of there as fast as I could. Somehow, some way, no one figured out that I had shit my pants. That was my last year of goalie, I moved to forward the following year.
There are truly some points in life where honesty is simply not the best policy. The above is one of them. FOCUS: I'll keep mine short and sweet. I was 14 years old, a freshman in high school. I wasn't the most charming or attractive of guys and keeping a low profile as to avoid awkward situations was my battle plan for teenage survival. This was just before Christmas, and every year my school had a talent show. These were always classic. I wasn't feeling so hot, but decided to go anyways, sit with some friends and have a couple of laughs. Should've gone home. Half an hour in, and 3 performances later, I started feeling sick to my stomach. I didn't think much of it until I got the feeling that I was going to puke. I started to get up as some chick was onstage singing a Britney Spears cover and my ass hadn't even been lifted off the seat when I puked all over the back of the chair in front of me, narrowly missing the person sitting there. I then proceeded to shit myself as the second volley of puke was fired. It wasn't your normal cornlog either. Quite frankly I'm not sure what it would've looked like had I not been fully clothed, but I'd wager it would've resembled chocolate mousse. I finished puking, looked around the room at all the people staring in pure horror and gasping for fresh air, and then booked it out the gym double doors and ran outside to my car. Needless to say, I didn't win the talent show. However, I find it interesting to note that some people thought my "performance" was better than the Britney Spears cover.
My most embarrassing incident came when I was a Freshman in highschool. After school, we had a baseball game and it wasn't until about halfway through the game I started to feel it. Thinking that I've been in this situation before, I felt confident that I could hold it. Boy was I wrong. The game felt like it was slowing down significantly and the turtle head was getting closer and closer to poking out. Since the score in the game wasn't close, our coach took substituted all our reserves so everyone could get some work. Feeling relieved, I began to look around for somewhere to go. The field was no where close to the school, and, to my surprise, there were no biffs either. The only place around was a thin line of woods down one of the foul lines. Seeing that we only had a couple innings left, I decided to cringe on the bench and wait it out. Our pitcher could not have picked a worse time to pitch the worst/longest inning of his life. Allowing lord knows how many runs and letting our opponent back in the game. Since we were allowed to re-enter, our coach put me and a few others back in. This only made it more embarrassing. After only two batters, I think, I had to remove myself from the game and made a break for that thin line of woods. Since there were houses on the other side, I tried to set up shop in the middle. To this day I don't know if anyone from the houses saw me, but players in the field could see me squatting. An explosion of pain and relief ensued, I grabbed all the leaves I could find, wiped, and got the hell out of there. Lucky for me the game had ended so I could go home and shower.
Just poopin My shitty situation is something that I will continue to tell for the rest of my life. I was 23 at the time, out at the bar for a happy hour (the bar is Sweeney's which I'm pretty sure has herpes crawling on their toilets). I used to live 3 blocks away, but the house is still occupied by my former roommate, Ben. I have another buddy, Steve that lives 3 houses away. After about 3 plates of nachos, buffalo wings, meatballs, and 4 beers, I start to feel a little tingle in my stomach. On a scale from 1-10, it was a 3. Nothing serious. I called Ben to see if anybody was home, and he thought some of his roommates were. I thought "Great, if this gets out of control, I have an option. Within 5 minutes, I realized I needed something closer, so I called Steve, and found out that he wasn't home, but thought his roommate was. At this point, I was at a 6/10. I start walking towards Steve's house, 7/10. I get to their front yard and I see that all of the lights are out, and I don't even waste my time going upstairs. Now, I'm 2 blocks from Ben's house, and I'm at an 8/10. I have to walk through a park, and I'm hoping there's a biffy somewhere, but there isn't one. I debate taking a shit on the slide, but decided against it. In the middle of the park, I suddenly hit a 9.5/10. I had to stop, get on my tip toes, and just to get a strong enough clench of my ass cheeks. It goes back up. I take 4 more steps, 9.5/10. This happens 4 times. I start running 30 feet at a time, stopping to clench. I finally see the end in sight (15 minutes later). Ben's house. It's a duplex and they live on the second level. The whole time, I'm just thinking, if I have a countdown to the blast off, I'm fucked. I'll lose it at the top of the steps. So, I relax myself. I go to the top of the steps (9.3/10) only to find out that the door is locked. I immediately think "back door, STAT" so I run down the steps, out the front door, into the front yard (9.8/10), get into the back yard and I can't clench anymore. I quickly pull down my pants and spray Ben's back yard/house with the most wrench diarrhea I have ever had. I think I lost 4 pounds in that one shit. So, there I am, thinking "ok, now my ass is full of shit, what do I do?" I take off my pants and start walking around his backyard bottomless to find leaves or something. I found about 20 decent leaves, wiped up (standing), then got back to the bar. I should say, it was daylight when I shat all over Ben's backyard...
I somehow became a rogue sleep pisser for a few months around the time I turned 21. I would get really drunk and eventually pass out, then wake up in the middle of the night, and wherever I was just drop my pants, start pissing, and have no recollection of it in the morning. It happened three different times, and then never happened again. I have no idea why. The first time, I was passed out in my bed, when my roommate told me he heard a bunch of noise in the middle of the night. He looked up and I was stumbling across the room, knocking a bunch of shit over. I get over near my roommate's bed, and apparently I thought I found the toilet, because I start unbuttoning my pants in preparation for a nice piss. Apparently my attempted golden shower was enough to jolt my roommate fully awake, and he jumps up, shoves me into the bathroom, where I proceded to piss for a good 90 seconds. The second time, a girl had just moved into our apartment, and she was gone for the weekend. Again I have no idea what happened, but I wake up in the morning, in her bed for some reason, and my pants feel rather damp. I look down and there is a huge puddle of piss in the middle of her bed. You want an awkward conversation? Try telling your brand new female roommate that you pissed in her bed while she was gone. Luckily she was pretty cool about it, and just made me dryclean all her sheets. And finally, a few months later, I get way too drunk again, and end up passed out on my couch, and one of my friends is passed out on our other couch. I wake up in the morning to everybody looking at me and laughing. Great. Once again in the middle of the night, I got up, and let loose a huge piss, all over the coffee table. My friend who was passed out on the other couch, told me he woke up because he thought it was raining outside, and he looked over at me, and I just was just showering the table, I then proceded to zip up, and immediately passed back out. Needless to say, cleaning your own piss off of a coffee table is rather depressing. Never happened before, never happened since. I don't know if my body was trying to tell me something (stop drinking so much) or what, but the days of the rogue sleep pisser was short lived. Thank god.
The same thing happened to my roommate and I our sophomore year. Except instead of going to the bathroom after I yelled at him, he turned around and walked back over towards his bed and stood there pissing all over it. And then climbed back into bed on top of the puddle and went back to sleep.
Two posts in a row that used a word that I've never heard. I had to google what a goddamn biffy was. Focus: Thankfully, I'm quite good at peeing out of doors. In fact, I kinda enjoy it. I've been known to even hike up a skirt and pee in a parking lot (lines are long in womens bathrooms). However, taking a shit outside isn't my idea of fun. Twice in the past couple of years I've been driving in the middle of nowhere when the urgent need to poop arose. The first time, I was on my way to my parents house and didn't make it further than the off ramp's shoulder. Thankfully it was dark and I just opened my passenger side door and turned off the interior lights. The second time was much the same but I did manage to get to a deserted country road. **Just remember, whatever you're doing, make sure your feet are far enough apart and that hard surfaces (concrete & asphalt) cause splashes and splatters.
I've had a couple situations where I was blacked out and ended up pissing in stupid places. The first time, I was studying abroad in Spain and woke up one morning without a clue as to what happened the night before. I looked up as my roommate walked out of the bathroom and yelled at me to clean it up. Apparently, I woke up in the middle of the night, went into the bathroom and decided that it would be more fun to piss all over the floor, rather than in the toilet. The second time was this past Super Bowl. We had probably about $200 worth of beer, along with another $200 worth of hard alcohol that was split between 12-15 of us. Naturally, a few of us finished the majority of the alcohol. The next morning I woke up and one of the guys I live with told me that I had walked into his room at 4 am, pissed on his floor and walked out to go back to sleep. The only reason we knew is because his girlfriend woke up and saw me, but she didn't say anything until the next morning.
Three and a half 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.
About 2 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?
My buddy and I were spending a weekend camping in Colorado's Chicago Basin. The night before a climb of 14,000-foot Windom Peak, he made his campfire speciality: chili with extra beef and extra extra chili sauce. Terrible idea, but whatever, it was delicious and I'd shit in the backcountry plenty of times. The next morning we woke up before sunrise, broke camp, and started on the trail. From our starting point it was about a 7-mile round trip with more than 3,000 feet of elevation gain to the summit. My stomach started grumbling before it was even light, and by the time we reached the halfway point at 12,500 feet, my bowels were about to erupt. I barely had time to pick a spot behind a boulder and sling my pack on the ground before I was making soft-serve poop pudding. This was a chili shit. Surrounded by high peaks, my farts were literally echoing. Anyone within a two-mile radius probably thought a bike rally was rolling through the Needle Range. High in the mountains during a perfect morning, the sun yawning between two eastern peaks, the sky to the west still a murky people, I felt at the center of Creation. I am JGold. Hear me roar. I finish up and wipe. While I'm putting my pack back on, I yell from behind the boulder to my friend, "Dude, that shit was a fucking religious experience." I step out. Awaiting me on the other side of the boulder is a group of about 20 dumbfounded college students. They're summer volunteers working on the Chicago Basin's trail networks. Some of the girls, surprisingly, are pretty hot. And horrified. One of the guys, apparently a team leader, tilts his head, removes his bandana and tries to sound pissed despite an obvious smirk. "Did you at least pack out your toilet paper?"
I told this story on the old board, but it fits here. My ex and I had a big and expensive house. The master bedroom and master bath were separated by an archway, but no door. The toilet was in its own separate little room which I guess is the classy way of doing things. How the hell would I know about that shit? I'm a hillbilly and would piss in the living room if the need arose, but apparently this is how classy people handle their waste. This one night I was sound asleep and felt the urgent need to piss so I got up and headed to the bathroom. I was barely awake so I put the seat down and decided to pee like a woman lest I fell over and peed all over the wall like a walrus trying desperately to melt his way out of an ice cave. It was a brilliant plan. And then I was startled in to full awareness by my ex shrieking "What the hell are you doing?" My initial thought was "What the fuck do you think I'm doing?". quickly followed by "How the hell can you see me on the toilet? It's in another room. With a door." That's when reality set in and I realized I was probably doing something I shouldn't be doing, so I pulled out my best Mel Gibson I'm so fucked defense. I yelled back at her that I knew exactly what I was doing. I probably wouldn't have been so quick with my defense if I'd truly realized what I was doing. I had stumbled into the bathroom more asleep then awake, pulled out her make up drawer, sat on it, and proceeded fill the drawer with piss.