Shitting Stories

[Widge]

Yoda you have simply made my day, superb, I salute you.

[yoda]

Yoda you have simply made my day, superb, I salute you.

I wish I could say the same

[Kieran]

Up until this morning, I hadn't shit in three or so days - I had really noticed that until last night when just before I went to bed I thought "Hmm I haven't shit in a few days I wonder what's up?". I'm not one to try and force out a shit, I just answer when nature calls and release the shit when it wants to be released. It don't dare try and remove it's free will, I respect it and hopefully it respects me back - it's a cosy wee relationship. However this relationship could well be over, war is close to being declared after the events of this morning at roughly 0800 hours.

I awoke ready for the day ahead, my first day at uni which involved lectures. "I don't wish to be late today", I thought to myself. My bowels must have heard me and perhaps they had other plans. I don't know the full details of their plan and I probably never will, but I felt the full force of their power today.

I wandered to my bathroom for a pre-shower and pre-breakfast piss. As I relived myself and whistled "These Boots Are made For Walking" by Nancy Sinatra (cracking tune by the way), I felt a twinge in my bowels. The first fart of the day emerged, closely followed by another one, and then another slightly wet sounding one. This was a warning alarm, a shot across the bow if you like, but in my foolishness and naivety this warning went unheeded . I turned to exit the bathroom and thanked my lucky stars that I have to turn my arse over the toilet seat for me to exit the bathroom after a piss because what happened next was undesirable, but I will do my best to describe it you, the readers and fellow proud shitters of P&B. A shite blitzkrieg is all I can do to try and paint the (rather messy) picture of what happened in the opening stages. Guderian himself would have been proud of this perfectly executed attack, I had no reply for 5 or 6 minutes as my arsehole was torn to pieces by a mix of liquid shit and incendiary shit pellets, these were used in conjunction with the horrific smell and the splash-back that I was receiving. Sometimes a bit of splash-back can be okay when it soothes the arse, but not today. The water that was splashing up was essentially shit, it was a rich mahogany colour and it felt like sulphuric acid was being sprayed over my now tender arse. After the initial furious attack had died down and after the tears and stopped flowing down my cheeks (on my face but I wish they had been flowing down the cheeks of my arse), I dared to try and wipe. I bad move. It's an old and often over used cliche that the toilet paper felt like sandpaper, so i won't use that. It felt like razor wire. After a minute or so of painful wiping, I was hit by another wave of bowel twinges. I sat on my porcelain throne and held tight, I was going to take this like a man, I wasn't going down begging for mercy......

I did. God damn me I did. Saturation bombing this time, medium sized shits dropped out at will without facing any resistance, my arsehole was taking more pain than George Michael's will in his entire prison stretch. I couldn't let out any noise though, I could not let others know of what was going on - this was my battle and no one else needed to have any involvement. After a few minutes (keeping track of the time was the last thing on my mind) there was a lull. I waved my white flag and it seemed as though my bowels had seen enough, even they couldn't put through anymore. Right? Wrong! These preliminary stages must have been attempting to lubricate my arse for the main event, the grand finale. Something was coming and I had an idea what it was. The biggest fucking shit I have ever pushed out arrived without warning. After 7 minutes of pushing and straining - and ultimately, pain - "Little Boy" (as I christened it, it was the least I could do for this monumental shit) was dropped with an enormous "SPLASH". I wasn't even allowed to wipe the sweat from my brow when another one of these big fuckers came along. Fittingly I christened this one "Fat Man". After more sweat, tears and toil (thankfully no blood) this one was dropped. There will be small islands in the Pacific Ocean that have been lost because of the tsunami caused by the splash created by "Fat Man". This was it, a ceasefire had now been called. It was all over, almost 45 minutes after it had started. I wiped carefully as to not cause anymore damage to my tender and fragile bum. I then proceeded to have a cold shower to try and cool my body down after the struggle beasting I had received.

I still managed to get to my lecture in time. However I sat through two today in fear, my arse cheeks clenched together tighter than a virgin's fanny. The smell is still in my bathroom and my window is wide open in case any penetrates my room, it will serve as a reminder of the events of Tuesday September 28th, 2010 AD for a while to come (not even Oust can defeat this smell and I don't want to try anymore just incase I gas myself). The scars however, will never heal. The events of today will last long in my mind and my arsehole.

I realise that you are a County fan, my mortal enemy if you will, but that is simply superb; your arse deserves a massive pile of talcon powder for that effort, think Tony Montana with his Ben Nevis of cocaine at the end of Scarface. Congratulations, mon frère

[well fan for life]

Foamy Greek shit, was it orangey coloured? I was in Rhodes a couple of weeks ago and I had that. It's different from the usual foriegn Gary Glitters. I was never ill, but you don't get much warning. Poolside farts were out of the question.

Aye, orange coloured and there was a good tonne of it. I reckon it was all the alcohol barreling through me at 100 mph.

It also was stuck to the pan and wouldn't flush away. Thoughtfully the shower was literally within pissing distance of the toilet so I could shower the b*****d down the toilet.

[Benjamin_Nevis]

I've recently taking a greater liking to Indian food than i used to (yes, it's relatively obvious where this one's going).

Last Saturday i was out for a meal at a local Indian place called The Swan. Now i'm not one for acting the big man, and asking for the hottest meal in creation, so I ordered a fairly reasonably Jalfrezi Chicken with Pilau Rice. This was in all likelihood NOT the cause of the problem. Nope, i'm blaming the starter. They serve you a poppadom with a selection of dips, one of which although looking quite appealing, and smelling darn good, had the unfortunate side effect of tasting like molten lava. Now this may or may not be a long-standing plot to increase consumption of Cobra, but it fucking worked.

Anyway, thanks to the soothing powers of said pint(s) of Cobra, the poppadom was wolfed down with accompanying lava-type sauce. This was followed by a slightly tangy but fucking tasty main course. And more Cobra.

Sunday morning. I woke at 9am, no hangover, no dodgy guts, feeling in fact like a potentially useful member of society, as opposed to the usual zombified corpse on most Sundays. I got up, had some cereal, made a cuppie, had a fag, and sat down to watch a spot of Ryder Cup action (or not as it turned out). I was sitting there, eeking out the occasional minor but tuneful fart, then decided to have another fag. I'd barely taken my draw on the fucker when i felt a build up of pressure in the lower abdomen. My brain had barely processed the words "What", "the" and "f**k" when erupted a quite magnificent air biscuit. You know those ones, which start off loud as f**k, then gently tail off into a tiny "parp".

Well this doesn't ALWAYS happen. No, sometimes it tails off into something entirely unexpected and unwelcome. In my case on Sunday, the quickest dash to the toilet in my life. Usain Bolt wouldn't have kept up. I think i shat out an entire week's worth in roughly 5 seconds. Worse was to follow. There's usually a few seconds of delay before the smell rises up from the pan to melt one's notrils. THIS one was utterly disgusting. I was trying to squeeze out the last remnant of my Rogon Splosh, and simultaneously trying to suppress my urge to vomit. A moment or two later it was over.

Stage two of the horror show was about to begin. Wiping. This is possibly the worst thing on god's earth when you've dropped off the Mexican Screamers. Before that however came the all-important post-tollie inspection. Good lord it was terrible. Imagine the mud of Passchendaele, but condensed into a toilet bowl, and smellier, and you've got the idea. So, pained and traumatised, i began the ordeal of Co-op Toilet Roll. It felt like the equivalent of soothing one's arse with battery acid after being unceremoniously fucked up the arse by John Holmes. I had to dampen the toilet paper with cold water to ease my pain. The whole clean up operation took about 10 minutes. Ten fucking minutes.

To make matters worse, i had to jump in the bath to get ready for a Christening 20 minutes later, in a bathroom which smelled unspeakably bad, before walking up the town in pishing rain, with a bad case of Japanese Flag, before spending an hour sitting on a wooden bench in one of the local churches.

Luckily, getting massively pished rescued what would otherwise have been a truly miserable day.

[mattydfc]

Jupe you're like a poet, your way with words can make a grown man cry.

Excellent.

[well fan for life]

I drank copious quantities of Strongbow last night, then consumed a munchy box on the way home.

I kid you not I farted earlier and my mate spewed .

[Benjamin_Nevis]

I drank copious quantities of Strongbow last night, then consumed a munchy box on the way home.

I kid you not I farted earlier and my mate spewed .

Good god man. Have you been declared a Biohazard yet?

[well fan for life]

Good god man. Have you been declared a Biohazard yet?

See the stuff Hitler was using in World War 2.

This stuff was even more toxic. I cleared my living room as well trying to let out a sneaky one.

Then it came, the solid. Well, I say solid. It was essentially a foam with a surface temperature touching boiling point.

Thank the lord for Aloe Vera bog roll.

[KnightswoodBear]

I had a few beers watching the footy last night. Nothing too adventurous. This morning I've now done 5 proper shites. They are also accompanied by some of the loudest farts I've ever experienced.

And I don't think I'm done yet

[Adolfo Rios]

Well that was fucking horrific. Sitting "working" away around 15 minutes ago, I heard the call of the porcelain throne. So off i trotted. I opened the door to the gents and walked in avoiding a grinning gentleman as he left. He seemed awfully pleased with himself but I assumed he had maybe went for a monkeys fag break.

Anyway, I reached the cubicle where It all became apparent why the smiling assasin was so pleased with himself. He befouled the throne in a manner which I have never seen and hopefully never see again. Despite obviously flushing, there was shit smeared all over the crapper. That was nothing compared to the smell though. Couldn't breathe in through my noise due to the putrid smell, so I took the decision to breathe through my mouth instead. Big fucking mistake. I could taste it. The heat in the cubicle was something else too. If I could've held on I would've left and came back when it was safe but I was already 4/5 engaged. There was no returning. There was only one thing to do, hold my breath and push like I had never done before. I still had to come up for air once or twice but thankfully it was over relatively quickly.

Despite the trauma involved, I would gladly shake the guys hand. God knows how he survived his arsepocalypse.

[Benjamin_Nevis]

Well that was fucking horrific. Sitting "working" away around 15 minutes ago, I heard the call of the porcelain throne. So off i trotted. I opened the door to the gents and walked in avoiding a grinning gentleman as he left. He seemed awfully pleased with himself but I assumed he had maybe went for a monkeys fag break.

Anyway, I reached the cubicle where It all became apparent why the smiling assasin was so pleased with himself. He befouled the throne in a manner which I have never seen and hopefully never see again. Despite obviously flushing, there was shit smeared all over the crapper. That was nothing compared to the smell though. Couldn't breathe in through my noise due to the putrid smell, so I took the decision to breathe through my mouth instead. Big fucking mistake. I could taste it. The heat in the cubicle was something else too. If I could've held on I would've left and came back when it was safe but I was already 4/5 engaged. There was no returning. There was only one thing to do, hold my breath and push like I had never done before. I still had to come up for air once or twice but thankfully it was over relatively quickly.

Despite the trauma involved, I would gladly shake the guys hand. God knows how he survived his arsepocalypse.

[yoda]

Not really a story as such, and perhaps not worthy of gracing this fine thread but I can't exactly post it anywhere else.

I have now nicknamed my arse "Mons Meg".

"Why?" I hear you ask. Well, I will tell you why.

Every morning for the past week I have woken up at 7:30am on the dot to go for a morning shit. It's like clockwork. And a useful substitute for an alarm clock.

[Widge]

Just remembered a story from a trip to a foreign country, mate of mine waited until everybody left the room and went for a shit.

Forgetful me went back to the room and I hear a yelp of pain, I knock on the door and ask him if he is alright. His reply was.

'No, I've tried to shit so hard I have burst a bloody blood vessel in my nose', the bathroom was a state, but he was even worse, it just wouldnt stopn, it was hilarious.

[djchapsticks]

I went to a mates 21st in town a few Fridays ago. Much merriment was had in the halls before we all toddled off to Strathy Union.

Once in, I'm queuing at the bar and some student buys a tray of shots and turns around to give them out to his friends. I, being slightly drunk and a bit of a dick, decide to take one. He questions my actions and I drunkenly respond "I have a job, my tax paid for this " Whether he saw my point or not, he shrugged, me and his mates clinked glasses and a shot was consumed. Back to the queue. Next person orders some tequilas, so I leer over "Get us one mate," "err...why?" "because my tax pays for you to come here." Again he thinks about it, agrees and sends a shot my way.

I may have been drunk but I start to see a pattern emerging and take to hanging around the bar harrassing anyone I can grab the attention of, badgering them for drinks and generally being a prize cockend. Unfortunately for me as more and more free shots are consumed the more and more forceful my badgering becomes, and eventually someone takes offense and dobs me in to security, who promptly find me and escort me from the premises.

No problem, I thought. I'll phone my mate and get him to come out and rescue me... only my phone's not there, I'd left on my mates desk when I got changed. I'm now stranded, I have no clue where the halls are. I then figure the best bet is to ask passers by if they know my friend and try and get his number. So I set about slurring his name to anyone unfortunate enough to pass me.

Eventually I speak to this girl who says she doesn't know him however I am welcome to come back with her and facebook him. I don't have a facebook or even know how to work it, but she says she'll do it for me so off I toddle with her and her mates; two guys, two girls. It takes a good 20 minutes walk to get back and we're all talking, turns out one of the guys was a Thistle fan and one of the girls was as much a South Park freak as me, so we're all having a good laugh. Finally we get there and fire off a facebook message, to which my mates responds to pretty much straight away (thank f**k for Blackberrys) with his block and flat number. So she writes it down for me, I put it in my wallet and was about to set off when one of the guys asks if I would like to accompany them for pizza, beer and Fifa. Well I'm not refusing that, am I? Eventually the ladies retire to bed and we get out some vodka and we have some shots of that. However the extra beer and vodka now sees me uber-fucked. So I ask if I can sleep in their kitchen. Them also being fairly well cut, too cut to understand the ramifications of letting a stranger stay in their kitchen, agreed. My night was saved.

Next thing I know, I had just woken up. It was light outside and I had a massive headache but something was wrong. I'd gone to sleep with my breeks on, and now they were off, as were my boxers. I sit up in an attempt to find my boxers and see them in a neat pile on the floor, next to a tea towel caked in shit. "Nmmmm," I think. "I really should get rid of that" I get up and go to grab something to pick it up with, when I notice that there's several dried shit marks running down my leg. No worries, thinks I, and head to the sink to wash it off. After succesfully washing my legs I turn around to see a shit covered wire cage with it's roof slightly bent. I stumble over it and find the contents of the cage are also plastered with shit. Theres shit covered straw, a shit covered feeding bowl and one shit covered rabbit nonchalently munching a shit covered carrot

Needless to say I quickly put on my pants and ran out of there as fast as I could. I still expect one of them to remember my mates address and exact their revenge by coming round and shitting all over his beloved family pet, but they haven't as yet. I bet they won't be having any more strangers to stay though

For a good 5 minutes there I honestly thought I was about to pass out from laughing. The tears are actually blinding me.

Absolutely wonderful.

[Stuka]

After a night at the curry house, dined on a large balti, garlic nan bread, and several bottles of Cobra beer, I found myself on a train heading back to London from Stevenage (1/2 hour). My guts rumbling, I steadied myself grasping my belly and wobbled down the carrige to the toilet. Of course no sooner than I sat down a shower of liquid shite hit the pan like a shotgun blast and following that was a torrent of pure evil, fettid crap. It was one of those sessions where I knew I needed a bit of time to complete this vile task but of course London was approaching so my straining was hurried and extremely uncomfrotable.

Luckily by the time the train got into Kings Cross I was just about done so I wiped (with that cheapo bog paper they always have on trains) and stood up. I'd actually blocked the toilet with pure shit. It was rammed. The paper was just like a superficial decoration atop this hellish stool.

Oh well so I went on my way having sanitised my hands for good measure with that alcohol gel you get in chemisits.

[yoda]

I just had a monumental shit. The kind of shit you will tell your grandchildren about.

I had been needing a shit since perhaps 16:30. I was on the train back north and there was more chance of Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus and Keira Knightley offering me one hell of a night, then there was of me going for a shit on a train. I don't fancy moving at high speed whilst shitting, nor do I want to be on the fucking edge whilst doing a shit paranoid that at any moment that lock might fail and I get revealed like the grand prize on the world's seediest and most fucked up gameshow (probably presented by Noel Edmonds). The train arrived into Inverness - the Capital of the Highlands - at 19:35. By this time the shitting sensation had passed and I thought no more of this shit until 10pm. "Why 10pm?" I hear you ask? I said "WHY 10PM?" I HEAR YOU ASK. Well 10pm happened to be when I felt like I needed a good shit. The type of shit that is worth writing home about, or in this case, the type of shit that is worth telling complete strangers about over the internet.

As I dropped the jeans and the underwear and placed my arse on the cold plastic seat I let out a wee "oohh" of surprise. A cold seat always strikes when it isn't expected. So a word of warning to you folks out there, always expect the unexpected before placing your cheeks on that plastic seat (or wooden seat). As I sat deep in thought in the comfort of the toilet (I turned the towel radiator to full so I could be kept warm whilst shitting, you know to relax) the first bowel movements occurred. I shat gleefully for 5 minutes solid before, all of a sudden and without warning, all fell silent. That horrific feeling of "Oh no. I'm going to have to force this one out" passed over me, leaving me numb. That last shitting episode (see previous page for that tale) had left me scarred for life in regards to forcing out a big one.

After a few deep breaths and some motivational thought ("Be the shit, be the shit") I began to try and push this thing out. Friends, countrymen, lend me your ears, because this next part was either going to make or break me as a person. Nay. Man. I began to sweat as I tried to force this thing out of my body. The attempt to make my self relax by turning up the radiator was a foolish move. The heat made me sweat more and began to irritate me. Not only did I have to deal with the intense heat, but this shit still hasn't for moving. After 7 minutes of labour, I could feel the shit poking it's head out to have a look at what lay in store for it - this was my chance to force the thing out. Alas my brethren, the shit was one step ahead and withdrew back inside to the safety of my rectum much like a tortoise might when scared. I began forcing again and I knew that either this shit went or my arsehole went, such was the strain I was putting on my poor bum. As I felt some encouraging movement I muttered to myself, "I think I'm going to need a bigger bowl". I know that some of you reading this will have watched "Still Game". Well this felt like I was forcing out a shite that would rival Big Innes' Monster Shite. I knew that by the end of this ordeal, I would have planted something resembling a giant redwood in my toilet. Time seemed to fly by. I had been locked in this struggle for nigh on 30 minutes. This shit was my Moby Dick and I was Captain Ahab. Eventually after a titanic struggle of man versus shit (there could be a TV programme in here...) I unleashed one final push. I can only liken it to the German army's Operation Nordwind. One final push.

Unlike the German army, I actually succeeded and forced this supernatural shite from my body - at last I was cleansed. But imagine my emotions when I realised that this "monster shite" was no more than a wee tiddler in the shitting stakes. If it was a fish, I would have had to throw it back. A massive anti-climax. However I didn't care, mainly because I couldn't. I was drained both physically and emotionally.

[harrington]

Up until this morning, I hadn't shit in three or so days - I had really noticed that until last night when just before I went to bed I thought "Hmm I haven't shit in a few days I wonder what's up?". I'm not one to try and force out a shit, I just answer when nature calls and release the shit when it wants to be released. It don't dare try and remove it's free will, I respect it and hopefully it respects me back - it's a cosy wee relationship. However this relationship could well be over, war is close to being declared after the events of this morning at roughly 0800 hours.

I awoke ready for the day ahead, my first day at uni which involved lectures. "I don't wish to be late today", I thought to myself. My bowels must have heard me and perhaps they had other plans. I don't know the full details of their plan and I probably never will, but I felt the full force of their power today.

I wandered to my bathroom for a pre-shower and pre-breakfast piss. As I relived myself and whistled "These Boots Are made For Walking" by Nancy Sinatra (cracking tune by the way), I felt a twinge in my bowels. The first fart of the day emerged, closely followed by another one, and then another slightly wet sounding one. This was a warning alarm, a shot across the bow if you like, but in my foolishness and naivety this warning went unheeded . I turned to exit the bathroom and thanked my lucky stars that I have to turn my arse over the toilet seat for me to exit the bathroom after a piss because what happened next was undesirable, but I will do my best to describe it you, the readers and fellow proud shitters of P&B. A shite blitzkrieg is all I can do to try and paint the (rather messy) picture of what happened in the opening stages. Guderian himself would have been proud of this perfectly executed attack, I had no reply for 5 or 6 minutes as my arsehole was torn to pieces by a mix of liquid shit and incendiary shit pellets, these were used in conjunction with the horrific smell and the splash-back that I was receiving. Sometimes a bit of splash-back can be okay when it soothes the arse, but not today. The water that was splashing up was essentially shit, it was a rich mahogany colour and it felt like sulphuric acid was being sprayed over my now tender arse. After the initial furious attack had died down and after the tears and stopped flowing down my cheeks (on my face but I wish they had been flowing down the cheeks of my arse), I dared to try and wipe. I bad move. It's an old and often over used cliche that the toilet paper felt like sandpaper, so i won't use that. It felt like razor wire. After a minute or so of painful wiping, I was hit by another wave of bowel twinges. I sat on my porcelain throne and held tight, I was going to take this like a man, I wasn't going down begging for mercy......

I did. God damn me I did. Saturation bombing this time, medium sized shits dropped out at will without facing any resistance, my arsehole was taking more pain than George Michael's will in his entire prison stretch. I couldn't let out any noise though, I could not let others know of what was going on - this was my battle and no one else needed to have any involvement. After a few minutes (keeping track of the time was the last thing on my mind) there was a lull. I waved my white flag and it seemed as though my bowels had seen enough, even they couldn't put through anymore. Right? Wrong! These preliminary stages must have been attempting to lubricate my arse for the main event, the grand finale. Something was coming and I had an idea what it was. The biggest fucking shit I have ever pushed out arrived without warning. After 7 minutes of pushing and straining - and ultimately, pain - "Little Boy" (as I christened it, it was the least I could do for this monumental shit) was dropped with an enormous "SPLASH". I wasn't even allowed to wipe the sweat from my brow when another one of these big fuckers came along. Fittingly I christened this one "Fat Man". After more sweat, tears and toil (thankfully no blood) this one was dropped. There will be small islands in the Pacific Ocean that have been lost because of the tsunami caused by the splash created by "Fat Man". This was it, a ceasefire had now been called. It was all over, almost 45 minutes after it had started. I wiped carefully as to not cause anymore damage to my tender and fragile bum. I then proceeded to have a cold shower to try and cool my body down after the struggle beasting I had received.

I still managed to get to my lecture in time. However I sat through two today in fear, my arse cheeks clenched together tighter than a virgin's fanny. The smell is still in my bathroom and my window is wide open in case any penetrates my room, it will serve as a reminder of the events of Tuesday September 28th, 2010 AD for a while to come (not even Oust can defeat this smell and I don't want to try anymore just incase I gas myself). The scars however, will never heal. The events of today will last long in my mind and my arsehole.

lovely stuff!

[Benjamin_Nevis]

I had corn on the cob with my dinner on tuesday night, That's it JUST left the system.

Tracer fire?

I'm dreading tomorrow's digestive transit. Madras on Friday night, Tiger Chicken Tikka last night, and an absolute fuckload of alcohol. A bit worrying i haven't felt so much as a twinge yet, but i can guarantee Mr Brown will be at the window 5 minutes before i play football tomorrow.

[Jeek]

Survival Guide for Taking a Dump at Work.

Memorize these definitions and pooping at work will become a pure pleasure.

ESCAPEE: A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of panic/embarrassment. This is similar to the hot flash you receive when passing an unseen police car & speeding. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter at the urinal, pretend that you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee, it is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

JAILBREAK (Used in conjunction with escapee): When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun's pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen do not panic, remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom so to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

COURTESY FLUSH: The act of flushing the toilet the instant the nose cone of the poop log hits the water and the poop is whisked away to an undisclosed location. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

WALK OF SHAME: Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk-up the shitter. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with all farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of a COURTESY FLUSH.

OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER: A colleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out of the Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under their arm. Always look around the office for the Out OF THE CLOSET POOPER before entering the bathroom.

THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (PFN): This is a group of coworkers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPERS and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVEN: A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR: A pooper who does not realize that you're in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that occur when taking a dump at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the TURD BURGLAR leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact. TURD BURGLARS have been know to cause premature pinchage, which inevitably causes you to pinch one off in the middle.

CAMO-COUGH: A phony cough which alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON or to alert potential TURD BURGLARS. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

ASTAIRE: This is a subtle toe-tap that is used to alert all potential TURD BURGLARS that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an ASTAIRE, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.

WATERMELON: A turd that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a WATERMELON coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

HAVANA OMELET: A load of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an escapee. Try using a CAMO-COUGH with an ASTAIRE.

UNCLE TED: A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An UNCLE TED makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to drop your load when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.

FLY BY: The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in, check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

DEFENTIONS OF Poop

· GHOST Poop: The kind where you feel the Poop come out, but there is no Poop in the toilet.

· CLEAN Poop: The kind where you Poop it out, see it in the toilet, but there is nothing on the paper.

· WET Poop: The kind where you wipe your butt 50 times and it still feels un-wiped, so you have to put some toilet paper between your butt and your underwear so you don't ruin them with a stain.

· SECOND WAVE Poop: This happens when you're done Pooping and you've pulled your pants up to your knees, and you realize that you have to Poop some more.

· POP-A-VEIN-IN-YOUR-FOREHEAD-Poop: The kind where you strain so much to get it out, you practically have a stroke.

· LINCOLN LOG Poop: The kind of Poop that is so huge you're afraid to flush without first breaking it into little pieces with the toilet brush.

· GASSEY Poop: It's so noisy, everyone within earshot giggles.

· DRINKER Poop: The kind of Poop you have the morning after a night of drinking. Its most noticeable trait is the skid marks on the bottom of the toilet.

· CORN Poop: (Self-explanatory)

· GEE-I-WISH-I-COULD-Poop-Poop: The kind where you want to Poop, but all you do is set on the toilet and fart a few times.

· SPINAL TAP Poop: This is when it hurts so badly coming out you'd swear it was leaving you sideways.

· WET CHEEKS Poop: (The Power Dump). The kind that comes out of your butt so fast, your butt cheeks get splashed with water.

· LIQUID Poop: The kind where yellowish-brown liquid shoots out of your butt and splashes all over the toilet bowl.

· MEXICAN Poop:It smells so badly that your nose burns.

· UPPER CLASS Poop: The kind of Poop that has no odor.

· THE SURPRISE Poop: You are not at the toilet because you think you are about to fart but...oops...a

· Poop!!! THE DANGLING Poop: This Poop refuses to drop into the toilet even though you know you are done Pooping it. You just pray that a shake or two will cut it loose.