wow, some co-worker never turns on the bathroom vent!
 

AND i dont think he eats enough healthy veggies. yowza! i am about to borrow moses's recip saw and install a window. i put up a friendly sign to remind folks to crank up the fan, but some people must love the smell. i elected to use the blue construction outhouse to pee this morning. gross.

Sorry, my bad.

figured we should see this again

"All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething
cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over
forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the
process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal,
following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch
at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with
subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things
would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.
I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have
numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

1.Occupied.

2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.

3.Poo on seat.

4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.

5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of
toilet.

Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trousers and
sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful ****ter. I wasn't happy about being
next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds
of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone
conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of
Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. ****ter was blathering to Mrs. ****ter about the ****ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.

Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer
cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand
against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded
with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone
ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not
unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency
of the stall, and it shook gently.

Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's
continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the
bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a
gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had
ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear
that (gag)??"

Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear
that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and
blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in
me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later,
in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to
ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now,
all I could do was hang on for the ride.

Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made
themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up...
in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..."
followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at
the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding
down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear
words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.

There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I
could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal
announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily
into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a
fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him
running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage.
I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew
that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that
unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.

As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl.
Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom
with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a
face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom."


__________________

Wow!!!
Thanks for making me laugh so hard I have to dry up the tears that dripped into my keyboard :)


-Nick

With all of the electronic sensors available, one would think someone would have invented a stenchometer which would automatically turn on the fan and spray Lysol.

Nostril´s story was one of the most funny - yet accurate and plausible descriptions I have read in a long time. On that particular subject, that is..

You must work with the same ignorant morons I do. They think it is a great joke to make everyone else gag, on a daily basis.
Once a month is funny, 5 times a day is just showing thier upbringing.

My assembly guy gives new meaning to the phrase "Smells like ass"

Reeks like hell

I suspect that it's due to his 99% meat diet.

Our company's finish Specialist has an office by the mens room. What's worse, he has the A/C intake instead of a output vent overhead. :p

Well, if he's not wiping close enough, maybe, but the all meat diet actually reduces emmisions...

Cliff, you really have a thing about leaving stinkers, don't you? Remind me never to eat burritos when you're around. :D

Oh, no way. I can't believe that. His gas reek just as bad. Noxious stuff.
It's not *his* smell after the fact...it's the leftover smell in the privy that'll send you into convulsions.

Maybe the smell is stonger, but "wind" comes from the carbohydrates. It's one of the side benefits of the Atkins diet.

Now if you add some butt dandruff to the mix, things quickly spiral out of control.

Why do people talk on the cell phone when they are on the throne anyway? A few weeks ago I got one side of a very detailed conversation between an engineer in the next stall and who must have been his boss on the other end. He actually said something to the effect of "I'll get to that in just a bit; I'm actually taking a ***** right now". My god...

I used to work in a mezzanine above a factory floor. There is an open foyer with access to the caffeteria and the rest rooms, along with access to one of our larger conference rooms. Some genius designed the men's room entrance with no doors; just kind of a zig-zag path to follow from the foyer. This may very well work with the ladie's room, but...

I have lost track of the number of times our meetings (often with customers) have adjourned and spilled out into this foyer. Nothing better than having everyone milling about the foyer when some guy lets 'er rip in one of the stalls, echoing as it does out of the resonance chamber known as a toilet bowl. Adds a certain "profesional touch" to our meetings.

regarding the meat i can say you DO NOT want to follow a crunchy into the ****ter. i'll follow a meat eater over a veggie nut any day.

and thanks for the story, i actually had to grab a tissue to dry my eyes. brilliant.


i do not understand, however, the need felt by the narrator to hold it in while the neighbor was on the phone. to me a person on the phone in the ****ter is just begging for some noise! i mean, sharing the sounds of a cereal/bean dump with stallmates is fun enough but if somebody is giving you the opportunity to share with someone who isn't even in the bathroom?!! Well game on baby!!!

+1

That's funny, because he's nuts about not eating carbs. Like - zero carbs if he can help it. No bread, no buns, no sugar, no potato, already reading lables and avoiding anything with even "reasonable" amounts of carbs.