VeeshanVault

I'm falling apart. I'm closing in on 38 yet still eat like I'm seven-years-old and my folks are out of town.

I hid a Sam's Club box on mini-Éclairs from my wife the last time I went to Sam's. Put them in the bottom of the freezer and thaw out only the éclairs I 'need' at the moment of weakness. Last night was a 13 mini-éclair moment.

Problem was, I ate all 13 but failed to eat dinner. Sweet Jesus, they were good and I was full … who needs nutrients?

Fast-forward to work today and my belly is peculating. It sounded exactly like the 'surprise cake' in the old Little Rascals show with Stimey in it. You know, the cake they put rat traps and shoes in? It eventually exploded, but we'll get to that in a sec.

I was heading to the John to take care of this cacophony of bile when I was pressured by workmates to head to the catfish joint up the street. I ordered the three-piece Catfish, Fries, Hush Puppies and a slice of Key Lime pie. That's right folks, I greased the skids.

Heading back to work (we walked) the audible belly sounds became a kicking baby of dung. I had to stop three times, cheeks pursed, to keep any choco-dablooms from escaping. Concern came from my coworkers as they thought it was my heart or a cramp. I dare not tell them.

Walking very upright I make it to the first floor handi-stall. At this point my ass knows where I am and there is no time for seat maintenance (a cleansing swipe with paper and perhaps a courtesy flush).

If squeamish, please read no further.

I did not have to push at all, this fecal matter had a mind of its own and new its home. I let out such a violent rush of pre-processed ass stew that the flow hit the toilet water and geysered up through the space between my anal cleft and the lip of the toilet seat. That's right, I shit on my own back - at work. I now know what it feels like to be a chick (or gay dude) and have someone pull out while doggie-style. I didn't like it a bit.

At first I though, no hoped, it was simply water. A quick check with the paper proved otherwise.

What to do? Do I put an end to the session and commence with the cleaning up? Do I continue and pray nobody enters? Do I just pretend it didn't happen and go through the remainder of my career as 'Stinky'?

Well, I chose to sit there, finish and started the clean up. Thank God our dispenser has two giant rolls of TP. I start high and dabble low. One side, then the other. Two flushes, three flushes, four flushes of varying amounts of dirtied toilet paper. Thank you Lord for not clogging the drain.

Finally a clean swipe, then another clean swipe and I'm free. No witnesses.

I slather my hands and arms with soap, doing my best representation of a heart surgeon preparing for a transplant. I leave the bathroom and am greeted by two of my co-workers making sure I was okay.
They were smiling because they heard the six total flushes and knew I just gave birth to something heinous. I limped to the elevators and nothing was said.

So .. marking down my calendar .. at 37, bodily functions falling apart. It’s all downhill from here. I’ll keep you posted of my next fascinating shortcoming.

Classic.

that was a truly amazing post Seebs!

thank you

haha greatest ever

lol

It's such a shame that the best creative writing on these boards comes in the form of diahhrea and/or masturbation stories

http://www.veeshanvault.org/forums/viewtopic.php?t=6873

I never touch myself in this story.

what you didnt simultaneously vomit into your sweatpants while they were around your ankles?

Only possible if sub-standard steak and mac and cheese are involved.

Damn Seebs, I am the same age and I know exactly what you went through short of the splash on the back. As matter of fact it was today. I won't attempt to describe it, as I could never follow your story and hope to come close to its greatness. Although I will say that I was delivering 21" monitors to an upper floor using the stairs. There was a prairie dog sticking his head out of my asshole with each step. I had to leave the monitor at the person's desk and run to the bathroom to take care of business.

We are falling apart.

Old men and bodily functions...Truly a great story though.

That's right folks, I greased the skids.

Brilliant. That little phrase, and the use of the word cacophony, made this the best post I've read in quite a while.

Thanks, Seeb. I plan on naming my next great BM after you to pay homage /em looks into the toilet "From this day forth you will now be known as Paul Muad'Seebs"

Truly a great story,

Ducru

That was awesome seebs...

Close 2nd to the mac and cheese article that aranuil and kyou are hinting at... but impressive none the less !

a very moving tale

this needs to be archived.

Thanks Seebs

Watch out, this thread is getting too popular. Ninja mod lock INCOMING!!!!

Haha! What an entertaining read.

ROFL!!!

Thx I can now go to work with my head held high knowing others have this problem also~


Ps,

And Bubba that prairie dog comment had me spitting coffee at my Monitor..




Thx~

Here is a little something I found on the Onion that also fits this thread fairly well.

Depends ain't so damn dependable.

By Lenny Gramsched
Lately, I've been getting pretty tired of having to change my pants constantly. It's no fun having to go put on a pair of fresh trousers every time a dog barks or a door slams too loud.

So, the other day, I was watching TV in the nursing home's rec room when one of those Depends commercials came on. You know, the ones with the happy-looking gray-haired couples riding bicycles. They seemed to really be enjoying the diapers, so, figuring it was worth a shot, I headed over to the local Walgreens and picked myself up a 12-pack.

When I got back to the senior center, I strapped a pair on, and, at first, it seemed pretty promising: Snug around the legs with plenty of room for cargo in the back, the Depends felt like they just might be the answer to my troubles.

But I quickly found out something—Depends ain't so damn dependable. I don't know what those confounded things are made of, but I didn't have them on more than 30 minutes before they fell halfway to my knees, sopping wet and stained the color of lemonade.

I was more than a little irate. After all, I could have spent that money on Brach's sourballs or a new TV Guide. My mind set on a full refund and no less, I headed straight back to the Walgreens.

After a barrage of questions that, I must say, were very personal, the lady at the photo-finishing counter determined that I had put on the Depends incorrectly. She said I was supposed to have the plastic side with the wetness-check strips on the outside, not the inside.

For the next few days, her advice seemed to do the trick: With my newfound understanding of how to properly put on the undergarment, I was able to successfully manipulate the various straps, buttons and sticky strips each morning and be worry-free until sometime in the middle of the day. At that point, I simply had to remove the diaper, its innards loaded down with waste materials but its outside dry and shiny, and heft it into the garbage. Then I simply replaced it with a fresh one from my late wife's macrame bag, and, presto, I was set through the start of the CBS prime-time line-up.

Unfortunately, the smooth sailing did not last: I started having major problems with the Depends on Friday, which is taco day at the nursing home. While they had worked fine on typical "light flow" days—three urinations at five-hour intervals and a small defecation in the evening—they were not equipped to handle a Friday load, which is almost always much heavier, what with my difficulties digesting meat.

An hour after a nice lunch consisting of a taco, fruit cup and scooter pie, the trouble began. I barely made it back to my room when I felt a warm, spongy feeling creeping down my leg. Sure enough, on my good dress slacks, there was a yellow line running from my privates to my slippers, with an enormous brown circle in the back. Apparently, the Depends' safety straps had collapsed under the weight of what I consider to be merely a medium-sized defecation.

Furious, I marched right back into the Walgreens and demanded my money back, placing the offensive article on the checkout counter, thoughtfully placed inside a Denny's doggie-bag I'd been saving under my bed. After some discussion, the store manager agreed to give me my refund, and I left with my $8.99 in hand.

I will shop at Walgreens again, because I feel they have a good return policy—within 14 days with receipt and your full money back—but I'll tell you this: You'll never catch me diaper-shopping in the "adult needs" section again. Me and Depends, we're through.

Truly classic Seebs, I'm just glad I didn't stop by the RiverMarket today to run in an go to the bathroon

Marb

Sorry for bringing this one back up but I found a picture that might be appropriate.

Haha Seebs I haven't laughed that hard in a while thanks bud!

rofl