SHAME SHITS

A place to share stories of embarrassing, awkward, or shame-inducing shits.  

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Otto's Shame Shit

While walking Otto today, Otto walked up to a tree as if he were going to pee, then swung his leg around and squatted up against the tree, his butt nearly rubbing against the tree. 

Otto then dropped a couple turds, and I had thought to myself, "Man, he is really putting in some effort on this poop." 

He started walking away with a little mini-turd still dangling, and then there was a bigger one attached (practically by a thread) that was coming out as well. Otto dropped the little guy and thought he was all done, but the last turd was still there. 

He turned his head around, very unsure what to do, then kind of jerked and swung his body, particularly his bum, around and the turd flew off and got stuck to a neighbor's fence. 

I had to pry the poop off of it. I took a photo first. 

It was hilarious, and I hope I did the event justice in telling the story.

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Happy New Year from Shame Shits!

How was your new years? Submit your stories at http://shameshits.tumblr.com/submit!

When I was in high school I had knee surgery on December 26 and the combination of immobility and hydrocodone made me super constipated and my mom had to give me an enema. At age 18. Worst NYE of my life. 

The end.

(Story originally posted on Jezebel.)

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Mango Horrors

I had just started a new job in Phoenix. The day before, I had eaten a whole tub of fresh mango that, in hindsight, was probably not all the way ripe yet. So I am at work and suddenly the shit sweats hit me. My body is screaming at me to pucker my butthole and hover my ass over a toilet ASAP!

So I slowly get up from my desk (bungholio puckered real tight because I was afraid of rogue sharts) and I do the quick walk to the bathroom. Not too fast because then my co-workers might figure out that I am about to shit myself, but not too slow because it’s coming out whether I want it to or not. I have about 47 seconds to get across the sales floor and into the women’s bathroom.

I dash into a stall and barely get my pants down before the explosion of poo-slime covered WHOLE CHUNKS OF MANGO came shooting out my ass. It sounded like a muffled machine gun fire coming from the fourth stall in. There was no denying what was going on to anyone else in the bathroom.

It was a wonderful first impression to make on all my fellow female co-workers. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just the new girl shitting out undigested mango chunks, nice to make your acquaintance.’

I proceeded to do the ‘puckered-butthole-swift-walk-mango-machine-gun-shit’ four more times that day. It took me a good year before I was cool with mango again.

- Sara

Originally posted on Sunny Skyz. 

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This is my Life Now: A Peace Corps Story from Micronesia

Let me tell you a story.

On a calm and steamy evening I decided to venture through my village to purchase a much needed phone card. The nearest store to purchase such an item was about a 15 minute walk from my house. I passed many friendly neighbors and greeted them kindly as I strolled down the windy, tin-hut-lined road to the store. All was right with the evening until about 10 minutes into the walk when I passed my school...and my stomach started to rumble.

"Ah well" I thought (as this is quite typical on a diet of questionable meat) “I'll be ok. I can make it to the store, and then I'll stop back at the school on my way back and use the bathroom.”

I continued my journey, but as I reached the store, the situation worsened and my stomach became my adversary.

"OH NO!" I thought, as I purchased my card "This is not good, THIS IS NOT GOOD!”

And then...it happened. Down my legs, an unstoppable avalanche of embarrassment raced toward the ground. With the excrement covering my legs, my steps never faltered and I continued walking the final few yards to the fence hoping that no one would see or notice. But as I reached the gate my heart dropped and I noticed it was locked.

With no other option, I climbed the fence, and determinedly walked across the lawn and strait into the ocean. I whispered an unheard thank you to the local staff for placing me at an ocean-front school and I slowly lowered myself into the cool water. As I began to wash the feces off of both my body and my clothes I watched the sunset against the beautiful palm dusted mountains and thought to myself “...this is my life now.”

I continued to watch the beautiful citrus colors as they melted into the water, until finally I stood up, walked back across the lawn, and climbed back over of the fence. On the way back, and with the darkness to hid my dampness, I again passed my friendly neighbors, waved, and wished them a good night.

This is a story was originally posted on Reddit.

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Everyone Poops

by Dave Milner

Everyone poops. It’s just that most people make it to an appropriate receptacle first.

Usually, when nature calls while I am running, my digestive system gives some kind of polite 10-minute warning. If that is not heeded quickly, it then sounds a more serious 5-minute warning, perhaps with a warning shot being fired off, before going to DEFCON 3, at which point there had better be a toilet within a quarter-mile, because an explosion is imminent.

Four miles into yesterday’s scheduled 9-mile run, and approximately three hours after washing down a breakfast burrito and a plate of hash browns with an iced coffee drink called a Mood Elevator, I felt a deep, seismic shift in my lower gut. But unlike on previous runs, there were no warnings. This was it. Judging by the cold sweat that had descended up on my brow, I figured I had maybe 30 seconds to find somewhere to unload the after-effects of my late lunch at a coffee shop that will – for the sake of its reputation - remain nameless.

Anal leakage. Before today, the term was confined to the side-effects of the over-consumption of non-fat potato chips with the wonder ingredient Olestra. Anal leakage was something that happened to other people, not me. But here it was, in a split second, before I had time to take evasive action, happening. To me. In my shorts. My mood was no longer elevated.

After the first leak, I knew there would be more, and I spotted a drainage tunnel wide enough for me to run in to. As fast as I could move while keeping my sphincter closed, I made for the tunnel, dropped my shorts, and finished what I hard involuntarily started. I glanced to my right to see the black silhouette of what appeared to be a car seat. A moving car seat? Wait! There’s someone on the seat. As he turns my way, I see the light bounce off the eyes of a heavy-set middle-aged bearded man sitting on the seat. He doesn’t say anything, but surely he sees the silhouette of a skinny, shirtless guy taking a dump in what appear to be his home.

I look around me for some paper. To hell with the potential bacterial infection! I need to wipe with something. But the old man’s house is remarkably free of litter and debris. Now even more embarrassed, I get up and leave the tunnel.

My run is going from very bad to worse. Anyway I slice it, I am four miles from my house, and at least 2 miles from the nearest fast-food restaurant, gas station, or other establishment at which I might be able to clean up. So, sticking to my originally planned route, I begin heading back home. Perhaps someone will have dropped some toilet roll along the way. You never know.

I pass a couple of runners along Sawyer Brown Road. Usually I make a concerted effort to make friendly eye contact and wave to my fellow runners, but on this occasion, when they look at me and nod, I act like I don’t even see them. I am too ashamed for human contact, even if it is just a visual acknowledgement. After all, I just took a shit in my shorts.

The smell is bad, but the chafing soon pushes the odor way to the back of my mind. Within three or four minutes, it feels like I am running with sandpaper and broken glass in my shorts. I try to run in a slightly bow-legged fashion in order to reduce the amount of friction in the affected area, but it is no good. My balls, ass, and inner thighs, aside from being coated in poop, are now on fire. What was a blissful early run on a picture-perfect spring evening has turned into a nightmare.

Bellevue, in my experience, has an inordinate amount of litter on its thoroughfares, especially along Highway 70, but in a sick twist of fate, for the next two miles, I cannot find a single piece of paper or cardboard with which to do some much needed cleaning-up.

I decide ‘to hell with it’, I’m going to ‘man-up,’ as much as a grown man who just soiled himself, can ‘man-up’ and just finish up the run. I try to think of a happy place, and picture myself on my couch, feet up, clean underwear, with a cold beer and my favorite sitcom “Two and a Half Men” about to come on. I begin losing focus after about twenty seconds and start wishing I had brought my iPod. Any distraction would, at this point, be worth its weight in gold.

I soldier on, bouncing along Highway 70, legs at 11 o’clock and 1 o’clock, and pass another couple of runners. I muster a forced smile and a ‘hi,’ because the woman is one I see running in my neighborhood quite often, and I don’t want her thinking that faster (than her) runners are snobs. But I give her a wide berth. I don’t want her thinking that faster runners stink either!

After 54 minutes of running (28 minutes of which came after the pooping), my eyes have began watering, and I realize I am dropping F-bombs every couple of painful steps. I cannot take it any longer. I stop running, and begin walking. And it feels sooooo good. I am not so much walking as swaggering, like John Wayne in True Grit. But not because I’m wearing chaps; it’s because I’m chapped.

About ten minutes (and a little over half a mile) later, I enter our subdivision, and started to fantasize about sitting on the bag of frozen peas I keep in our freezer to tend to post-track workout calf soreness.

Just as I turn on to our street, I see my ex walking our dogs. She has stopped to talk to two of our newest neighbors. They moved into the house kitty-corner from us about six weeks ago, but we haven’t formally met yet. She doesn’t see me, but Zola, our 55-pound Siberian Husky does and begins straining at the leash, annoying my wife, who still doesn’t turn to see me. I am in my driveway and just a few feet from sneaking into the house through the open garage door, when Zola pulls at her leash hard enough to make my wife turn and see me.

“Hey! Come over here,” Alisa yells. “No! You come over here,” I reply. Slightly embarrassed, she repeats herself “Come over here, Dave. Meet our new neighbors.” “No. You come over here,” I insist, through clenched teeth. “Why?” “Just come over here,” I repeat, trying to stay calm, forcing another smile.

Our new neighbors must think I am rude and that we are a truly odd couple, but there is no way in hell I am going to be introduced to anyone over the age of two when I have no shirt on and have fresh poopy in my shorts. She comes over, finally, and asks quietly “What’s wrong?” “Trust me,” I say. “I cannot meet the neighbors right now.” She catches a wiff of my shorts and then realizes exactly what the problem is. “Did you poop in your shorts?” she asks, as if it is a regular occurrence. “Yes. Yes, I did.” “Okaaaaay then,” she says, with a roll of her eyes, and returns with the dogs to her unfinished neighborly chat.

Meanwhile, I head into the house, go upstairs, clean-up, tend to my wounds, and take the most painful shower of my life. I reflect on my run, and wonder what excuse Alisa offered the neighbors for my refusal to meet them. Dostoyevsky wrote that “suffering is the sole origin of consciousness.” If he was right, between this run, the morning run tomorrow and the slated track workout tomorrow evening, I expect to be truly aware, absolutely in touch with my being. But if the cold beer in my hand and the ice pack on my nuts begin to numb the edges of that consciousness, and a light mist develops at my mind’s periphery, trust me, I won’t complain a bit.

Besides, as one friend noted, it could have been so much worse. Women's world record holder, Paula Radcliffe, was forced to take a crap on the course of the London Marathon in 2005, in front of thousands of spectators, and milions of TV viewers, and with the clock ticking. At least I had my privacy, except for the homeless dude, and no one was rushing me.

DAVE MILNER IS THE PUBLISHER & EDITOR OF TR. IN 25+ YEARS OF RUNNING, THIS IS THE FIRST TIME THIS HAS HAPPENED, ALTHOUGH HE HAD A CLOSE CALL AT THE 2004 HUNTSVILLE MARATHON.

This story was originally posted on TR Magazine.

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Dirty Laundry

So recently my favourite youtubers have been posting about their worst shit stories, and I've been chuckling to myself because I've never had a bad poop incident and I consider my bowel control second to none.

Literally been thinking about this all day when my first shit experience decided to happen.

Alas, I live with two others. They were winding down for bed and using the single bathroom to brush their teeth, one after the other. I was frantic, trying not to shit my pants while I waited for them to finish, begging them silently to hurry up.

I then realised I wasn't going to make it, and did the only thing I could think of, which was to make haste towards my dirty laundry basket. I whipped my pants down and a vile shitstorm errupted from me. I had hoped that doing it over a towel would catch the worst. Not so much. My shit was all over the LINEN basket. The smell was terrible..

I'm still cleaning it up. I can't believe I shat in my own bedroom.

Originally posted on Reddit.

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The Cairn on Cantana

I was super excited to hike Cantana Peak in Alaska with my friends Carson and Josh. I woke up early, had coffee and breakfast hoping that I'd be able to go before I had to leave to go hiking. That didn't happen. So we start on the hike -- it's about a 6 mile flat approach before you start climbing.

We stopped to pick some blueberries, but still no need to go yet. We start climbing. The first part of the climb is on a really steep, but mossy hill. Then there's a nice plateau with some more moss and some big boulders. It would be really convenient if I had to poop at this point, but I still don't. We keep climbing. 

We've been above treeline for almost all of the climb, and now we're getting to some steep stuff. The last 1000 feet or so is pretty much straight up a very scary looking mountain. (I'm attaching a picture -- whatever it looks like, it was steeper and scarier than that. This was a ridiculous hike).

We find a route up the mountain that involved quite a bit of walking on super skinny ridges with several hundred feet drops on either side. We make it to the top, and it starts raining, then snowing. We can't go down the way we came up because it's too slippery.

So Carson has to find us a different way down this terrifying mountain in a blizzard, basically. I actually have never been so scared ever in my life. Carson keeps climbing down things and then calling back up that he's gotten cliffed out, so we should wait and not follow him.

It's at this point, when it's snowing, I'm exhausted, terrified, cold, and kind of hyperventilating, when suddenly I have to shit. I really don't know why this couldn't have happened earlier, when I wasn't on a super exposed rock face trying not to die, but apparently my body decided that now was the time to poop.

Carson is off route finding, and I tell Josh that I have to go pee and am going to go find a rock. I wander off, trying to find somewhere where I can go with at least some privacy. This is a challenge because:

We're above tree line;

There are scree slopes everywhere;

There are no big boulders to hide behind;

I don't want to wander off too far because I might fall off the mountain and die.

On the other hand, I really really have to poop.

I finally find a medium-sized rock that's maybe 30 feet away from Josh and squat down and just let everything out. Because of similar I-have-to-poop-now occurrences I was carrying toilet paper with me, so that was all fine. The main problem with pooping above treeline is how to bury the poop once you've gone. There are no leaves or anything to cover it, and there's no dirt so you can't dig a hole beforehand, so I end up just pilling a whole bunch of rocks over the pile of shit. It kind of looks like a cairn, which is awkward because it's really just a pile of poop.

I wander back to Josh and Carson and we keep climbing down the mountain. Awkwardly, we do end up walking right past my poop spot. Fortunately, I covered it with a lot of rocks and it was raining and windy, so it didn't smell. Overall, the whole thing was a pretty ridiculous part of an otherwise terrifying hike.

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I Pooped Myself While Running a Marathon and Lived to Tell the Tale

This wonderful story is by Lindsay Patton-Carson. This story and image were originally posted on Jezebel.

I typed the obligatory "Why do you have to poop so much after you run?" search into Google and more than three million results popped up.

Al Roker did it in the White House, Jenny McCarthy did it at a Playboy signing, Jennifer Lawrence did it "so many times" and I did it while running a marathon.

Five years ago, I had no interest in running a marathon. It just wasn't something I thought I could do. I had run a handful of 5ks, but never considered myself a runner. Hell, even after years of playing basketball and lacrosse throughout grade school and college, I never considered myself an athlete. I just wasn't that great at athletics.

Two things got me into running: my dog and a work-sponsored 5k. I needed something to slow my tireless dog down and I wanted to beat my 5k time, so we happily went running together. The reaction I got from my dog when I uttered the words "Does Bowie want to go for a walk?" was all I needed to get out the door.

I started upping my mileage and had a goal to run a half marathon. In January 2012, I ran my first 10 miles. I still remember the feeling I had after hitting that double-digit milestone. I was on a roll and ready to hit my goal NOW.

So instead of signing up for a half marathon, I got overzealous and signed up for Grand Rapids' River Bank Run, the largest 25k (15.5 miles) race in the country. I had a "What's a few more miles?" mentality that got me to 15.5 miles. That same mentality urged me to train for the Grand Rapids Marathon that fall.

As you can imagine, training for a marathon is hard. It's time-consuming, uncomfortable, expensive and you poop. A LOT.

It was around the River Bank Run that I found out about runner's trots. I came back from the race feeling accomplished, proud and needing to drop a deuce so bad every 30 minutes. I typed the obligatory "Why do you have to poop so much after you run?" search into Google and more than three million results popped up. So, it is a thing!

I devoted an embarrassing amount of time learning about pooping and running and how not to do it at the same time. (Spoiler alert: It didn't work.)

Basically, I didn't want to listen to the advice these sites gave. They recommended giving up coffee, alcohol, fatty foods, dairy, bananas, ALL THE STUFF I LIKE. So I just kept doing what I was doing, going for long runs and racing to the bathroom once I got back to my house. I figured I'd be OK on race day if I just listened to my body and took advantage of the Port-A-Potties set out every mile or so.

The morning of the big day, I was full of nerves. It finally hit me how far 26.2 miles is to run. I was so terrified. And I was really concerned about pooping. I didn't want to go so much that it ruined my time. I had a goal in mind (I wanted to finish in four hours) and really wanted to reach it.

There were multiple times I had to mentally slap myself and say, "LINDSAY. YOU ARE RUNNING A MARATHON. TODAY, YOU WILL BE ABLE TO SAY YOU RAN A MARATHON." That was what I needed. Whatever time I got, it wouldn't make the phrase "I ran a marathon" less impressive. I was all of a sudden ready.

The first five miles gave me one of the most exhilarating experiences that I have yet to duplicate as a runner. I kept thinking, "I am really doing this. All my hard work has led to this point and no matter what, I will be a marathon finisher by the end of the day."

Around mile seven, I had a different feeling. One in my stomach. No big deal. The next Port-A-Potty I saw, I jumped in, did my business and got back to it. Throughout the next few miles, I was feeling great. I was keeping a great pace with no sign of fatigue just yet. I was passing my competition and taking in the beautiful October day. I was killing it.

Until mile 19. At mile 19, I made a mistake. In every single training article, book, whatever, I'd read, they said to avoid unfamiliar foods. At mile 19, they were passing out pickle juice. I HATE pickles. But, I heard pickle juice is great for preventing cramping, which my legs were starting to do, so down the hatch it went.

Five minutes later, I had to GO. I still had about a half mile left before I hit another Port-A-Potty. I saw some men peeing off to the sides, but that's just pee and they all covered their business pretty nicely. I was in a situation where there was no way to nicely cover the business. So I just tried to suck it up and hold it until I got to the Port-A-Potty.

Unfortunately, that plan didn't work too well. I was a quarter mile away when I knew I didn't have much longer. Holding it in was unbearable, my eyes started to water and I wanted to quit now.

Then, I saw sweet refuge in my line of sight. Oh, my god, I was almost there. "C'mon, Lindsay. Speed up a little, you're almost there. You can do it, you can do it, you can do... Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no, oh, no."

I was probably 100 or 200 feet away from the Port-A-Potty when I lost all control and all dignity. I wanted to cry. I wanted to stop. I wanted to go back in time and tell past Lindsay not to sign up for this. The short walk to the Port-A-Potty was the ultimate walk of shame. I was even more uncomfortable and I was so self-conscious that the other runners would be able to see a butt bulge or even smell what was happening in my pants.

I shamefully stepped into the Port-A-Potty and tried to salvage my underwear, because they were Victoria's Secret, dammit. It didn't take long to realize there was no chance in saving them. So I undressed my bottom half, tossed my fancy underwear, cleaned myself up and went back out trying to reclaim whatever dignity I had left in my depleted gas tank.

Oh, and I still had 6.2 miles left.

Those last miles were some of the most depressing moments in my life. Not only was I in pain, tired and ready to quit, I had pooped myself in public. I felt disgusting and dirty, and a shower was still so far away. Those feelings made the last miles seem like an eternity.

But then I realized that I didn't put in obnoxious amounts of hours and miles to stop, to walk, to give up. So I pushed hard, harder than I've ever pushed before, while running at possibly the slowest pace I've ever ran. But it didn't matter, I wasn't going to stop and I was going to continue to run, no matter how hard it hurt.

During the last two miles, the pain was so bad that I just zoned out. I was in this weird state I'd never been in where everything felt like a dream and I was vaguely aware of my surroundings. I even almost missed my friends and brother cheering for me a half mile away from the finish line. Luckily, I saw them and they brought me back to reality. I paused to give them hugs, because that's what I really, really needed at that moment. Then I got serious about reaching that finish line.

I crossed it after four hours, 21 minutes and 49 seconds. I was happy with my accomplishment, but more happy it was over. I even heard my name over the loudspeaker!

As I caught my breath and had that finisher's medal placed around my neck, it really hit me what I just accomplished.

I just finished a marathon, and pooping my pants didn't stop me.

This wonderful story is by Lindsay Patton-Carson. This story and image were originally posted on Jezebel.

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Travel Troubles

One time I was visiting my sibling in Europe during their study abroad time. The one night they made a delicious dinner of chicken and rice, we had some tasty beers and then I felt my stomach start to gurgle.

Now unfortunately they only had one bathroom and one of their roommates was getting ready for a night out and was still in the shower. I tried to play it cool, I looked around in a panic and the only thing that caught my eye was the backyard.

It was dark and raining, I went out back and tried to hide from the clear view of the room everyone was in (with an entire wall made of glass) by squatting between a wall and a pine tree, I took a huge, quick dump, used a wet leaf to wipe then went back in like nothing had happened.

No one ever said anything to me so it was either too shameful or I got away with it, I'm going to go with I got away with it.

Originally posted on Reddit.

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Pizza Problems

I'm lactose-intolerant, which is unfortunate since I also love cheese. Sometimes I take Lactaid, which gives me an open window of 30 minutes to indulge in the forbidden lactose-fruit of the gods with few to no repercussions. This one time though... I did not take the Lactaid. I was young and brave and so so stupid.

Oh god. The car ride home was excruciating. I was sweating. It was too cold! Cold sweats. I turn the air off. Oh now it's too hot. Turn the air back on. Open the window. Close the window. Everything hurt and nothing was okay. Finally I couldn't take it anymore. I was only 10 minutes into my drive home when I had to ask myself, "Are you gonna shit in your car or not?" I chose not.

I chose to pull over at the next clearing at the side of the road, which was a little after a big speed limit sign that said 60. Yes. I pulled over, brought my pants down and what had been a storm became a typhoon. After I thought I was done, I found some plastic bags in the trunk of my car to wipe my shamed butt with. Oh but then a second wave came, and I was a prisoner to my capricious poops. I hid behind my open car door. I don't know how helpful that was. More plastic bags to wipe the poop away. I just left them there in the grass. The wind dragged them away. The butterfly effect weighed heavily in my mind as I drove off.

I threw away my pants, my underwear, and dignity.

Originally posted on Reddit.

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Give a sh!t. Save a life.

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Jury Dooty

Jury duty. Raised my hand in the middle of court.

Me: May I be excused for the Restrooms?

Judge: Court is in session, no breaks, hold it.

Me: But i've been holding it and its not urination...

Judge: Okay let's take a break.

I was really embarrassed.

This story was originally posted on Reddit.

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Where's Todd? #RunnerProblems

My aunt is a runner. One day while she was running through town, she really had to go to the bathroom. So she decided to stop at a cousin's house because she was in their neighborhood. She had just visited them the month before at their home, but not the kind of family that talks every day.

She knocks on the door, no answer. Then she notices the door is unlocked, so she let's herself in. As she's scurrying to the bathroom, she notices they had refurnished and reorganized the house, but has to go too bad to even really think about it.

"Um hello?" 

"Todd?!" said my aunt (expecting her cousin but realizing it doesn't sound like him).

"No, they moved out." 

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! Todd is my cousin, I was just here last month! I was running and really had to go! I'll clean the bathroom! I'm so sorry!" 

"I can't wait until my wife gets home to tell her about this!" They both start cracking up.

This story was originally posted on Reddit. Image via Healthy Tipping Point.

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Beware of Grouse

Three summers ago I found myself leading a field-based science program in the north woods with my high school biology class. I had spent the first three days in a state of continual anxiety; it wasn’t just that my students were trying to start the largest forest fire of 2011. I had to shit, and didn’t know how to find:

A) a few minutes away from the 17 year olds I was escorting and

B) a suitable spot I could take care of my business.

On day 4, I decided I needed to go. I headed off past the mosquito filled latrine, deep into the woods away from my students.

I squatted down.

My bowels began to move.

I must have chosen my squat spot over a grouse nest. If you didn’t know, grouse are the original angry bird. Grouse are extremely territorial and known for being combative. From my yonder behind, two baby grouse chicks sprinted through my legs. The squawk behind me told me they weren’t alone.

As I turned my head, I saw in my periphery a large and very angry, protective mother grouse charging at me. She beelined for my behind, flapping her wings and ramming her beak toward me. By this point, I was scrambling to escape, but being mid-poo my pants were around my ankles and my movement was severally limited. Hands to the ground, I ended up army crawling through the brush and away from the mamma grouse.

Before you head into the woods, they tell you to watch out for momma bears protecting their cubs, but neglect to warn you about wrathful birds.

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Christmas Shopping: The Joy of Mall Restrooms

To continue celebrating the Christmas season, here is another Christmas shopping story. This is an except from The Best Bathroom Story Ever, by Stephen.

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 Shitter. I wasn’t happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty 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 ass 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.

[shameshits]

Coffee, Christmas, and POOP!

Thanksgiving has passed, and it's officially Christmas season! To celebrate, here's an excerpt of a Christmas shopping trip from Melissa, originally posted here. Enjoy!

I blame all the other parents involved… At the time, I didn’t think anything of it, but now I look back and think “They are a@#holes,whose brilliant idea was it that the Mom, with a newborn and a 16 month old, should also be responsible to help the 6 year old, 12 year old, and the 14 year old, 5 days after giving birth, finish Christmas shopping?”  

I was super tired, and I could FINALLY drink COFFEE!!! I was super excited! So why not go for the strongest, best I could get… STARBUCKS! YES!

Aahhh, the sweet, sweet taste of a good coffee, loaded with caffeine, of which I hadn’t had in months…. I’ve had better ideas…

For some reason after having a child, I am terrified of going #2, you know pooping! It scares me, I don’t know why. People suggest laxatives,  I have a better idea for new Moms, Coffee…just make sure you are very close to a toilet…

My mind started racing… where would be the quickest place… I gripped the steering wheel, I had to hold it, I HAD to…

My sister lives close, I could go there.

Belly: “Um… too far! You won’t make it!”

I started sweating.. This isn’t going to be good.

A big Fart slipped out… (After not just one, but 2 children in 16 months, you really don’t have much muscle control.)

My bonus daughter looked at me…

I looked at her, and said, “This isn’t going to end well if I don’t find a bathroom, and quickly”

Her: “Where should we go, you can’t HOLD it?”

Me: “I’m trying! I don’t know if I can make it, oh, there is a Maverick right down the road”

Beads of sweat started pouring, I was shaking from trying to hold it!

ME: ” STUPID light! PLEASE turn Green!” There was so much traffic! URGH why would I come to Layton during full swing, panic mode Christmas shopping!

It turned green… I started to turn, and as I did, my bowels decided this was the perfect time to let go off a couple days of buildup… It came out with a loud, long juicy sound. I would say I “sharted” myself, but truly it was bigger, MUCH much bigger than that…

Bonus Daughter: “Are you ok?”

Me: “No, No I’m not….”

Someone from the back, “EWWW, I think one of the babies POOPED!”

Me: “No, no it wasn’t them, it was ME!”

LAUGHTER, laughter, my bonus daughter looked at me, trying so hard to hold back her laughs, “I’m sorry, it is funny?”  then she and the oldest, BUSTED up LAUGHING! I’m sure I was red with embarrassment, but really… I couldn’t hold it, soon, we were all LAUGHING!

I pulled in to a gas station, trying to figure out what to do… Thankfully I had kids old enough to sit in the car with all the kids…

I took a receiving blanket and wrapped it around myself…

Do you really want me to go into HOW I had to CLEAN MYSELF up, in a PUBLIC restroom, right off a busy highway?

Remember, don’t take yourself too seriously,and sometimes, when life hands you “SH*T!” It helps to laugh! 

[shameshits]

Happy Thanksgiving from Shameshits! Who knew you could do so much with a toilet paper roll?