So today...

so i was sitting in my philosophy class trying to crack my back in my chair and this hot girl saw me. i'm talking smokin' hot. 10/10 hot based on anyone's standards. i've had a thing for her for a couple of months, we've smiled at each other here and there but haven't really said anything more than 'hello'.

anyways she saw me doing this thing to my back and i gotta guess since it was before class and the room was fairly empty she came over to me and offered to crack my back. it was a little weird but why not, i didnt even she'd be able to pick me up (187 6'1"). so i stand up and she crosses my arms in front of me and stands right beind me. sort of picks me up and bounces me (i can't explain it unless you've actually seen this before)

it wasn't really working, so she tried some atomic bounce. something popped REALLY loud and when she set me down i couldn't feel my legs almost as if i took an hour long shit and they were completely numb. i collapse into this awkward heap on the ground, my legs going off in all sorts of weird directions. then all of a sudden i heard the loudest, wettest most disgusting fart known to man and proceeded to throw 3 metric tons of diarrhea into my pants. i looked up at her face and she was just utterly disgusted. everyone in the room was trying to see WTF was going on so i tried to get up and run away, but my legs were blocking every signal my brain was sending to them. i couldn't move. so, over the next thirty seconds or so my colon emptied itself into my pants. the professor was livid at this point and thought i was just some freak man lying on the floor shitting everywhere. after a bit they realized i wasn't kidding and finally called the ambulance

i went to the hospital and it turns out that when she cracked my back she somehow pinched my spinal cord between my vertebrae. they straightened it out with some surgery and now i'm completely fine.

i i'm going to transfer to another school

. Ya and stay away from some Hott Broad with a home remedy

Good story Man

that would really suck i would have to leave the state if it was me

Fucking Shit is hilarious!!!!! ahhhhh

My job is so fucking unbelievable. I'll try to sum it up by first telling you about the folks I work with:

First, there is this supermodel wanna-be chick. Yeah, okay, she is pretty hot, but is she completely useless. The girl is constantly fixing her hair or putting on makeup. She is extremely self-centered and has never once considered the needs or wants of anyone but herself. She is as dumb as a box of rocks, and I still find it surprising that she has enough brain power to continue to breathe.

The next chick is completely the opposite. She might even be one of the smartest people on the planet. Her career opportunities are endless, and yet she is here with us. She is a zero on a scale of 1 to 10. I'm not sure she even showers, much less shaves her "womanly" parts. I she might be a lesbian, because every time we drive by the hardware store, she moans like a cat in heat.

But the jewel of the crowd has got to be the fucking stoner. And this guy is more than just your average pothead. In fact, he is baked before he comes to work, during work, and I'm sure after work. He probably hasn't been sober anytime in the last ten years, and he's only 22. He dresses like a beatnik throwback from the 1960's, and to make things worse, he brings his big fucking dog to work. Every fucking day I have to look at this huge Great Dane walk around half-stoned from the second-hand smoke. Hell, sometimes I even it's trying to talk with its constant bellowing. Also, both of them are constantly hungry, requiring multiple stops to McDonalds and Burger King, every single fucking day.

Anyway, I drive these fucktards around in my van and we solve mysteries and shit.
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ya Scooby Doo where are u

For those of you who have lived in Texas, you know how true this scenario can be. There is actually a Chili Cook Off in Texas about the time Halloween comes around. It takes up a major portion of a parking lot at the San Antonio City Park. In this little story, Judge #3 was an inexperienced Chili Taster named Frank, who was visiting from Springfield, IL.

Frank: "Recently, I was honored to be selected as a judge at a chili cook-off. The original person called in sick at the last moment and I happened to be standing there at the judge's table asking for directions to the Coors
Light truck, when the call came in. I was assured by the other two judges (Native Texans) that the chili wouldn't be all that spicy and, besides, they told me I could have free beer during the tasting, so I accepted."

Here are the scorecard notes from the event:



CHILI # 1 - MIKE'S MANIAC MONSTER CHILI...

Judge # 1 -- A little too heavy on the tomato. Amusing kick.
Judge # 2 - Nice, smooth tomato flavor. Very mild.
Judge # 3 (Frank) - Holy smokes, what is this stuff? You could remove dried paint from your driveway with it. Took me two beers to put the flames out. Hope that's the worst one. These people are crazy.



CHILI # 2 - AUSTIN'S AFTERBURNER CHILI...

Judge # 1 -- Smoky, with a hint of pork. Slight jalapeno tang.
Judge #2 -- Exciting BBQ flavor, needs more peppers to be taken seriously.
Judge # 3 -- Keep this out of reach of children! I'm not sure what I am supposed to taste besides pain. I had to wave off two people who wanted to give me the Heimlich maneuver. Shoved my way to the front of the beer line. The barmaid looks like a professional wrestler after a bad night. She was so irritated over my gagging sounds that the snake tattoo under her eye started to twitch. She has arms like Popeye and a face like Winston Churchill. I will NOT pick a fight with her.



CHILI # 3 - FRED'S FAMOUS BURN DOWN THE BARN CHILI...

Judge # 1 -- Excellent firehouse chili. Great kick.
Judge # 2 -- A bit salty, good use of peppers.
Judge # 3 -- This has got to be a joke. Call the EPA, I've located a Uranium spill. My nose feels like I have been sneezing Drano. Everyone knows the routine by now and got out of my way so I could make it to the beer wagon. Barmaid pounded me on the back; now my backbone is in the front part of my chest. She said her friends call her "Sally." Probably behind her back they call her "Forklift."



CHILI # 4 - BUBBA'S BLACK MAGIC...

Judge # 1 -- Black bean chili with almost no spice. Disappointing.
Judge # 2 -- Hint of lime in the black beans. Good side dish for fish or other mild foods not much of a chili.
Judge # 3 -- I felt something scraping across my tongue but was unable to taste it. Sally was standing behind me with fresh refills so I wouldn't have to dash over to see her. When she winked at me her snake sort of coiled and uncoiled --- it's kinda cute.



CHILI # 5 LISA'S - LEGAL LIP REMOVER...

Judge # 1 -- Meaty, strong chili. Cayenne peppers freshly ground, adding considerable kick. Very impressive.
Judge # 2 -- Chili using shredded beef, could use more tomato. Must admit the cayenne peppers make a strong statement.
Judge # 3 -- My ears are ringing and I can no longer focus my eyes. I belched and four people in front of me needed paramedics. The contestant seemed hurt when I told her that her chili had given me brain damage. Sally saved my tongue by pouring beer directly on it from a pitcher. Sort of irritates me that one of the other judges asked me to stop screaming.



VERA'S VERY - VEGETARIAN VARIETY...

Judge # 1 -- Thin yet bold vegetarian variety chili. Good balance of spices and peppers.
Judge # 2 -- The best yet. Aggressive use of peppers, onions, and garlic. Superb.
Judge # 3 -- My intestines are now a straight pipe filled with gaseous flames. No one seems inclined to stand behind me except Sally. I asked if she wants to go dancing later.



CHILI # 7 - SUSAN'S SCREAMING SENSATION CHILI...

Judge # 1 -- A mediocre chili with too much reliance on canned
peppers.
Judge # 2 -- Ho hum, tastes as if the chef literally threw in a can
of chili peppers at the last moment. **I should take note that I am worried
about Judge # 3. He appears to be in a bit of distress as he is cursing uncontrollably.
Judge # 3 -- You could put a hand grenade in my mouth and pull the pin and I wouldn't feel it. I've lost the sight in one eye and the world sounds like it is made of rushing water. My clothes are covered with chili which slid unnoticed out of my mouth at some point. Good, at my autopsy they'll know what killed me. Go Sally, save yourself before it's too late. Tell our children I'm sorry I was not there to conceive them. I've decided to stop breathing, it's too painful and I'm not getting any oxygen anyway. If I need air I'll just let it in through the hole in my stomach. Call the X-Files people and tell them I've found a super nova on my tongue.



CHILI # 8 - BIG TOM's TOENAIL CURLING CHILI...

Judge # 1 -- The perfect ending, this is a nice blend chili. Not too bold but spicy enough to declare its existence.
Judge # 2 -- This final entry is a good, balanced chili. Neither mild nor hot. Sorry to see that most of it was lost when Judge #3 passed out, fell over and pulled the chili pot down on top of himself. Not sure if he's going to make it. poor feller, wonder how he'd have reacted to really hot chili?
Judge # 3 - No Report
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good one there where ya finding this shitt at keep em coming man

Good stuff sean

Guys this is probably the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me. I was at my in-laws house Sunday for dinner, and shortly after i had to go #2. My wife's brother was in the downstairs bathroom, so i went upstairs to use the master bathroom. I was about to take a dump, and I remembered something my friend told me called AC Slatering. AC Slatering is when you take a dump facing backwards on the toilet, just how on saved by the bell AC Slater always sat backwards on a chair. So when I was taking a dump, My stomach was facing the back of the toilet, and my back was facing the door. I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and began to get nervous. Since AC Slatering is a tough position to get into, it requires taking off your pants. So there I am sitting in my wife's parents bathroom taking a dump with my pants off and facing the wrong way on the toilet. My dump was about halfway out when the footsteps became closer. I then turned around to see that I had not locked the door. Trying to finish as quickly as I could, I began pushing harder and harder. Suddenly, the door opened, and my mother-in-law stood there in shock staring at me. We made eye contact for a split second, and I was so embarrassed I wanted to die. I quickly finished up, got dressed, and ran out of the house as quickly as I could. I am so embarrassed and I hope my wife doesn't blabber about this, Ill die if anyone else finds out.
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A few years ago, a mother and father decided they needed a break, so they wanted to head out for a night on the town.

They called their most trusted babysitter. When the babysitter arrived, the two children were already fast asleep in bed.

So the babysitter just got to sit around and make sure everything was okay with the children. Later that night, the babysitter got bored and went to watch TV, but she couldn’t watch it downstairs because they did not have cable downstairs (the parents didn’t want children watching too much garbage).

So, she called them and asked them if she could watch cable in the parent’s room. Of course, the parents said it was okay, but the babysitter had one final request… she asked if she could cover up the David Bowie statue outside the bedroom window with a blanket or cloth, at the very least close the blinds, because it made her nervous. The phone line was silent for a moment, and the father who was talking to the babysitter at the time said, “Take the children and get out of the house… we will call the police. We do not have a David Bowie statue.”

All of a sudden an electric guitar cut through the air. “KEEP YOUR ‘LECTRIC EYES ON ME BABE!” howled a voice from outside.

The babysitter dropped the phone and ran to the window. “David Fucking Bowie!” she screamed, watching the statue as it came to life, shredding chords on its electric guitar. “Put your ray gun to my heeeeeead!” The babysitter ran the children outside where they watched an impromptu Bowie concert that was so awesome that afterwards the children had sweet dreams forever more and the babysitter was given a bonus for her efforts.
__________________

We have the standard 6 ft. fence in the backyard, and a few months ago,
I heard about burglaries increasing dramatically in the entire city. To
make sure this never happened to me, I got an electric fence and ran a
single wire along the top of the fence.

Actually, I got the biggest cattle charger Tractor Supply had, made for
26 miles of fence. I then used an 8 ft. long ground rod, and drove it
7.5 feet into the ground. The ground rod is the key, with the more you
have in the ground, the better the fence works.

One day I'm mowing the back yard with my cheapo Wal-Mart 6 hp big wheel
push mower. The hot wire is broken and laying out in the yard. I knew
for a fact that I unplugged the charger. I pushed the mower around the
wire and reached down to grab it, to throw it out of the way.

It seems as though I hadn't remembered to unplug it after all.

Now I'm standing there, I've got the running lawnmower in my right hand
and the 1.7 giga-volt fence wire in the other hand. Keep in mind the
charger is about the size of a marine battery and has a picture of an
upside down cow on fire on the cover.

Time stood still.

The first thing I notice is my pecker trying to climb up the front side
of my body. My ears curled downwards and I could feel the lawnmower
ignition firing in the backside of my brain. Every time that Briggs &
Stratton rolled over, I could feel the spark in my head. I was
literally at one with the engine.

It seems as though the fence charger and the piece of **** lawnmower
were fighting over who would control my electrical impulses.

Science says you cannot crap, pee, and vomit at the same time. I beg to
differ. Not only did I do all three at once, but my bowels emptied 3
different times in less than half of a second. It was a Matrix kind of
bowel movement, where time is creeping along and you're all leaned back
and BAM BAM BAM you just crap your pants 3 times. It seemed like there
were minutes in between but in reality it was so close together it was
like exhaust pulses from a big block Chevy turning 8 grand.

At this point I'm about 30 minutes (maybe 2 seconds) into holding onto
the fence wire. My hand is wrapped around the wire palm down so I can't
let go. I grew up on a farm so I know all about electric fences.....but
Dad always had those pieces of **** chargers made by International or
whoever that were like 9 volts and just kinda tickled.

This one I could not let go of. The 8 foot long ground rod is now
accepting signals from me through the permadamp Ark-La-Tex river bottom
soil. At this point I'm thinking I'm going to have to just man up and
take it, until the lawnmower runs out of gas.

'Damn!,' I , as I remember I just filled the tank!

Now the lawnmower is starting to run rough. It has settled into a loping
run pattern as if it had some kind of big lawnmower race cam in it.
Covered in poop, pee, and with my vomit on my chest I 'Oh God
please die... Pleeeeaze die'. But nooooo, it settles into the rough
lumpy cam idle nicely and remains there, like a big bore roller cam EFI
motor waiting for the go command from its owner's right foot.

So here I am in the middle of July, 104 degrees, 80% humidity, standing
in my own backyard, begging God to kill me. God did not take me that
day.....he left me there covered in my own fluids to writhe in the
misery my own stupidity had created..

I honestly don't know how I got loose from the wire...I woke up laying
on the ground hours later. The lawnmower was beside me, out of gas. It
was later on in the day and I was sunburned.

There were two large dead grass spots where I had been standing, and
then another long skinny dead spot where the wire had laid while I was
on the ground still holding on to it. I assume I finally had a seizure
and in the resulting thrashing had somehow let go of the wire.

Upon waking from my electrically induced sleep I realized a few things:

1- Three of my teeth seem to have melted.

2- I now have cramps in the bottoms of my feet and my right butt cheek
(not the left, just the right).

3- Poop, pee, and vomit when all mixed together, do not smell as bad as
you might .

4- My left eye will not open.

5- My right eye will not close.

6- The lawnmower runs like a sumbitch now. Seriously! I our little
session cleared out some carbon fouling or something, because it was
better than new after that.

7- My nuts are still smaller than average yet they are almost a foot
long.

8- I can turn on the TV in the game room by farting while thinking of
the number 4 (still don't understand this???)..

That day changed my life. I now have a newfound respect for things.. I
appreciate the little things more, and now I always triple check to make
sure the fence is unplugged before I mow.

The good news, is that if a burglar does try to come over the fence, I
can clearly visualize what my security system will do to him, and THAT
gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling all over, which also reminds me to
triple check before I mow.

ya gotta put a warning on this thread may be harmful to ur health by causing large amounts of laughter

shit is good

Ryans Steakhouse

A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall.

In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.

I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no fucking toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.