Sh*t Stories Are The Best Stories

May 17, 2019 | No Comments » | Topics: Funny Pictures

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poop stories

1. I have shit myself numerous times in my life. From sharting myself in college class to full on explosive diarrhea in my pants on mission while deployed, and various unfortunate poops in between. I don’t know where to start so I’ll start with what I personally think is a funny and traumatic oops I crapped myself true story that happened to me.

My friend and I were in Cozumel to dive, I made friends with one of the girls who worked at the resort we were staying at who had a sister equally as hot as her. My friend and I piled into the backseat of her car one night and the four of us drove in to town. After a night long of dancing, drinking, more drinking then tacos and some more tacos it was apparent my stomach was not doing so well. Bubble guts, yeah that was happening big time and I knew it was only a matter of time before I had to explosively shit. [side note I ABSOLUTLEY REFUSE to use public toilets] Things between all of us were progressing well, the chica was defiantly in to me, he sister into my friend. Everyone was making out, feeling one another up and all that good stuff. WIN.

THEN they decided they wanted to go skinny dipping off some dock they knew of which was around the time I began sweating like a smallpox victim due to having to poo so damn bad. Well the ladies stripped down and dove right into the dark moonlit water with zero hesitation. I was sweating so bad and my gut hurting so bad that when I bent over to take my shoes off I sharted myself. It was not a little shart either, it was a throw your underwear away and deny everything shart. So I threw those underwear right into the ocean and jumped in. (the sister asked what I just threw, my reply was simply -fuck underwear!)

As soon as my toes touched the water I began shitting. I mean total explosive type pissing out my ass shitting. It was horrible, traumatic and so goddamn amazing and heavenly all at once. Liberating. As I treaded water under the beautiful moonlit sky I just kept pissing out my ass wondering if this would ever end all while secretly/shamefully being happy I got to experience such a liberating feeling. Well the girl I was with began swimming over to me which happened to be around the same time these swarms of small fish started eating the poop exiting my body. I quickly swam away leaving a trail of poo behind me, fish still feeding. Well somehow, I don’t know if it was the current or divine poo intervention or what but when she caught me and wrapped her legs around me we were literally treading water in my shit. At this same time my friend and the girl he was with swam over to us as well. So there I was, one of my best friends from the Army, a hot naked Latina with her legs wrapped around me, and her hot sister all swimming in my shit. As if that was not bad enough she squeezed her legs around me all innocent flirty like which caused me to once again shoot poo out of my ass with the velocity of a bullet. I started to panic when she started to feel on me because I mean come on, we were literally swimming in human shit. My shit. To play it off I just pushed her off me and swam away really fast saying I thought something brushed against my leg and I was afraid of sharks etc etc – really it was a fish that kept pecking my ass trying to get poo from the source. Eventually they all swam over to a less polluted part of the ocean near me. It was magical. It was divine. It was horrid.

 

 

2. When me and my fiance were first dating he raved about this upscale diner/restaurant, how everything is so delicious and the self proclaimed foodie that I am, would not be disappointed. So about 3/4 months into our relationship, we decide to go there, I had fettuccine Alfredo and he had the chicken pot pie, for reference of course. So we get back to his place and my stomach isn’t feeling well, so I excuse myself and head to his bathroom and start shitting my brains out, explosive diarrhea streaming from my asshole, but about 3 minutes into this streaming diarrhea, I started feeling nauseous. So I start vomiting into the sink next to the toilet while simultaneously shitting my brains out. The sink started to clog, so in quick thinking i ripped off my clothes, went into the shower and just let both ends do their thing. So I’m standing there vomiting and shitting in someone’s bathtub who I met 3 months prior. I’m crying hysterically because well, I clogged his sink with vomit, there was diarrhea all over the toilet, and I felt absolutely and terribly sick. But in the midst of this, he hears my crying and decides to open the door to ask if I am okay, his eyes met mine, while I was standing in my own shit and vomit in a bathtub, with a sink full of vomit and a toilet full of shit next to me. I screamed to him to gtfo and I just cried harder. We’ve been together for 7 years and getting married in September!

 

 

3. It was time for that high school transformation. New school in a new state, braces off, exercise reformed and showing. First day and I was really looking forward to school. We had moved into an old people neighborhood and this was nearly pre-internet.

My stomach was not sitting right this morning. Ten minutes on the toilet left my legs numb and the toilet empty. Ok, no big deal, this is jitters. It better be, because I have to hustle to the bus stop.

A 1/2 mile walk there and it wasn’t the jitters. My stomach is flipping its shit and my asshole is playing russian roulette. The bus should be here in a minute though and the ride to school will barely be more. Of course the bus is late. Later, later, later, fuck.

Have you felt that last warning clench? This is your sphincter speaking, all passengers disembarking in 10…9….8….and I am sprinting away from the 5-10 people gathered at the stop. I made it about 100 feet into a wooded area and was spraying butt juice before my pants hit my ankles.

And there is the bus, of course. Yank everything back up and sprint back over to follow the last person up the steps. Unwiped and reeking of shit. It was not even a trailing odor, this smell seemed able to precede me down the isle.

I wiped up as best I could before my first class. Went through the rest of the day in shit smeared shame and finally made it home. First order of business was to throw my skid marked underwear into the wash and erase all physical evidence.

…and then I saw it. I had been so caught up with wiping shit off myself and the inside of my underwear I never even thought to look. Clear brown leak through all the way to the outside ass of my pants. I had walked around all fucking day like this.

I really know how to make a first impression.

Now I could only really accept my shame and infamy, right? Wrong, it became the ultimate mindfuck that will have me wondering for the rest of my days. NOBODY ever said a single fucking word about this. Not anyone who became a friend, not anyone who tormented me. I have no clue if my shame has been secret until this moment or the very well kept laugh of an entire school.

A question in conclusion: If you shit your pants and nobody says anything, does it leave a stain?

 

 

4. It was the summer of ’96 and i remember it like it was yesterday. I was a football player in high school but my closest buddies were all soccer players. It was a beautiful sunny day at the Jersey shore and my friends and I were playing a pick up game of soccer. 7 on 7. I’m playing goalie because, shit, I’m a football player and I’m not running around a scorching hot field trying to kick a ball around.

The game going along at a good pace and we decide to take a break. A 5 minute half time. My buddy, we’ll call him Matt, says to me, “let’s go get something to eat at the pizza joint across the street”. I agree and we walk over with a half dozen guys to grab a bite. Now we’re all trying to hurry up so were grabbing pre-made slices or something already made. Matt decides to order a cheesesteak because that’s the type of guy he is. But before the cheesesteak is ready he eats 2 slices of pizza. We’re about to leave and Matt’s cheesesteak is ready and he proceed to eat the entire thing in about 3 bites. Probably finished it in under a minute. A pretty impressive feat.

So just for the record, my buddy has eaten 2 slices of greasy pizza and an even greasier cheesesteak in probably about 6 minutes and returns to running around a soccer field in 92 degree heat.

After about 10 minutes of second half soccer my buddy starts yelling for me to head to the car. “We’re leaving, let’s go!” So I jog to the car and get in and I ask him why we just left in the middle of the game. He replies ” I gotta go home and take a shit”. I’m thinking to myself great we gotta drive the 20 minutes home so this asshole can drop a deuce. Now he’s the type of guy that will do everything in his power NOT to take a shit in public. Including driving 20 minutes home while passing like 28 perfectly acceptable places to pinch a loaf. He’s a textbook CPABH. Can’t poop anywhere but home.

So were headed home in the car and he starts showing visible signs of shit stress. The classic pain and worry face, you guys know what I’m talking about. 10 minutes into the ride he is now in serious distress and I’m starting to think he’s not going to make it. He got to the point that he started punching himself in the leg because adrenaline can dissipate the feeling that your going to shit all over the car that you’re currently driving. After that he settles down for the rest of the trip and I’m feeling relieved that I’m not going to be in the car and witness a grown man shit his pants for no good reason.

Now anyone whose been in this position is aware that your asshole knows when you get home. You relax just a bit as you pull in the driveway thinking, “I made it, whew”. And then you race to the bathroom before shitting yourself. This was my buddy’s downfall. As we pull down his street he starts getting visibly distressed again. We pull into the driveway and I’m expecting him to jump out of the car and run inside but he doesn’t. He sits there for a second and then I realize he is trying to use every ounce of his willpower not to shit his pants. I jump out of the car because I’m not sitting around to watch this train wreck up close. He finally musters enough guts to get out of the car and attempt to waddle inside with clenched butt cheeks. He takes about 4 steps up the driveway and then he just bends over at the waist and says “oh no”.

What follows next is the funniest real life scenario I’ve ever seen. Matt begins shitting his pants right there in the driveway. The shit is running down both of his legs and making 2 majestic piles at his ankles. it’s now covering his shin guards and cleats. I, predictable am laughing hysterically because who wouldn’t at this point. I also begin to notice his neighbor from across the street stop doing yard work and start taking notice of the situation going on right here. My buddy now is almost in tears and he has no idea what to do. Well the next thing we know his garage door starts opening and there is Matt’s dad standing there looking in abject horror, witnessing his grown son take a dump in the driveway. “Jesus Christ Matt! What the hell are you doing.” Matt finally decides to run around back to what I’m going to guess is strip naked and hose off. I’m left watching his dad wash the shit off the driveway that his 20 year old son just produced and make small talk to his neighbor.

 

 

5. Haribo Sugarless Gummy Bear Review:

Oh man…words cannot express what happened to me after eating these. The Gummi Bear “Cleanse”. If you are someone that can tolerate the sugar substitute, enjoy. If you are like the dozens of people that tried my order, RUN!

First of all, for taste I would rate these a 5. So good. Soft, true-to-taste fruit flavors like the sugar variety…I was a happy camper.

BUT (or should I say BUTT), not long after eating about 20 of these all hell broke loose. I had a gastrointestinal experience like nothing I’ve ever imagined. Cramps, sweating, bloating beyond my worst nightmare. I’ve had food poisoning from some bad shellfish and that was almost like a skip in the park compared to what was going on inside me.

Then came the, uh, flatulence. Heavens to Murgatroyd, the sounds, like trumpets calling the demons back to Hell…the stench, like 1,000 rotten corpses vomited. I couldn’t stand to stay in one room for fear of succumbing to my own odors.

But wait; there’s more. What came out of me felt like someone tried to funnel Niagara Falls through a coffee straw. I swear my sphincters were screaming. It felt like my delicate starfish was a gaping maw projectile vomiting a torrential flood of toxic waste. 100% liquid. Flammable liquid. NAPALM. It was actually a bit humorous (for a nanosecond)as it was just beyond anything I could imagine possible.

AND IT WENT ON FOR HOURS.

I felt violated when it was over, which I think might have been sometime in the early morning of the next day. There was stuff coming out of me that I ate at my wedding in 2005.

I had FIVE POUNDS of these innocent-looking delicious-tasting HELLBEARS so I told a friend about what happened to me, thinking it HAD to be some type of sensitivity I had to the sugar substitute, and in spite of my warnings and graphic descriptions, she decided to take her chances and take them off my hands.

Silly woman. All of the same for her, and a phone call from her while on the toilet (because you kinda end up living in the bathroom for a spell) telling me she really wished she would have listened. I think she was crying.

Her sister was skeptical and suspected that we were exaggerating. She took them to work, since there was still 99% of a 5 pound bag left. She works for a construction company, where there are builders, roofers, house painters, landscapers, etc. Lots of people who generally have limited access to toilets on a given day. I can’t imagine where all of those poor men (and women) pooped that day. I keep envisioning men on roofs, crossing their legs and trying to decide if they can make it down the ladder, or if they should just jump.

 

 

6. 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 Sh1tter. 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. Sh1tter was blathering to Mrs. Sh1tter about the sh1tty 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
(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.