>>> Subj:     Shit Joke - Supplements (Gz)                  (Includes 2 jokes and articles)

Calvin in The Toilet from flovilla@Samlink.com

Subj:     The 5-Second Rule! (S555 in Food-Supp)           From: darrellvip on 9/8/2007

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Subj:     Having An Accident At A Restaurant (S526b)
          From: LABLaughsAdult on 2/1/2007

 Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me.  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
 them.

 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 bit too much, however.  I had not really been
 feeling well all day, whatwith 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 frontrim 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, unlike 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 think 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 being 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 under-
 wear, 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 think 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.

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Subj:     Short Shit Jokes Top

Subj:     The Acrobat (S600b)           From: LABLaughsAdult           on 7/8/2008

 Source: http://www.lablaughs.com/adult_toon.php?id=A20050209
 This animated GIF is stupid, but cute.  You can see
 it at the above source, or on my site by clicking 'HERE'.
 

Top

Subj:     Crappy Monday (S578c in Contractor)           From: tom           on 2/18/2008

 This short movie is funny, as long as it isn't you.
 Click 'HERE' to view it.
 

Top

Subj:     The Poop Song (S576c in Kids5)           From: LABLaughsClean           on 1/15/2008

 Source: http://www.toilette-humor.com/baby-song2.html
 These baby rappers sing about dirty diapers.  It is very
 cute.  You can view it at the source above, or on my web
 site by clicking 'HERE'.

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Smiley Looks from Millan.net

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