Must read - funny as hell!
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Must read - funny as hell!
I live in the eternal wasteland described as Wild and Wonderful West Virginia. I went to college in Georgia and still have good friends there. Last year I went to visit with my friends when "the incident" happened. My wife and I went over to my old bosses house in a rather affluent neighborhood in Atlanta. The dinner party was for about 12 people, all refined people with good jobs, that is except for me. 6 years of college has qualified me to drive a truck over the road. Its not a bad life but rough on the body. This becomes relevant to my story in that if you ask any trucker what the roughest part of the job is, he'll tell you its keeping on a regular **** schedule. Out on the road you are either constipated or you got **** practically running down your leg. During my vacation south, I was so ****ing constipated I thought I was going to die.
My wife and I got to the party and I knew right away I was in trouble. I hadn't **** for about 3 days yet I was farting badly. I knew I was a bomb waiting to go off. Shortly after we arrived, the host lit the fuse. She served these ****ing hors d'ouvres that were full of some kind of fish and garlic ****. One bite was all it took to break my long suffering bowels loose. As delicately as I could, I grabbed the ass of my pants and went in search of a ****ter. The one in the hall was occupied so I figured there had to be one off a bedroom, so I made my way to the master bedroom and found one.
As soon as my ass hit that seat all hell broke loose. I swear I thought the first huge gaseous explosion scorched the porcelain. I sat there dumping out what can best be described as the motherlode of all ****s. This son of a ***** was as big around as a beer can and as long as a goddamn loaf of bread. The hardest part was the first 6 inches. Any trucker will tell you that bouncing around on the air seat all day has a rather interesting effect on your ****s. To see this, take some Play-Doh and roll it into a **** sized log, then bang the end on a table. Trust me, trying to pinch that blunted end out of your ass is no picnic.
Anyway, after all the crap was gone, I was very weak and needed to rest, so I just sat there on the ****ter. As I was sitting, I ripped off about 6 or 8 loud, wet farts. They were brutal in both sound, smell, and texture. Soon, I figured I had been away from the party long enough, so with one last thunderous fart I got up. As soon as I looked in the toilet I knew I was in for trouble. Even this high priced, super powered toilet had no chance of choking down that wad. I flushed that sucker and nothing happened. Not one peice of **** went down the pipe. I looked all over for a plunger to no avail. I did see a toothbrush on the counter and figured no one would ever know, so I used the handle to bust up the **** logs. Man, I stuffed that bastard all the way as far as I could down the trap of the toilet, breaking up crap as I went. Finally, I gave the toilet one more flush, and with a mighty gulp, the **** of a lifetime went away. I rinsed off the toothbrush and went back to the party.
It was strange, as I went into the dining room everyone looked rather pale, and I noticed a somewhat noxious stench in the room. Thinking that someone must have farted, I went about my business of eating dinner. Conversation was non existant and no one would look me in the eye. Shortly, the host left the table to use the bathroom. It was then I realized what was going on. As she entered the same bathroom I had used, you could hear everything she did. It turns out that the contractor that built the house was a real dumb****. To save time and money he linked some of the ductwork together. The ****ter I used and the kitchen shared a common wall, so this ******* tied the bathroom fan duct and the range hood duct together. As well as amplifying any noise in the bathroom, if the bathroom fan was running and the kitchen's was not, the exhaust from the bathroom emptied into the kitchen. So, those poor people not only heard me crapping my brains out, the smell was dumped directly into the eating area.
My wife and I left soon thereafter and on the way to the hotel she told me all about what happened. She said the hostess almost passed out when I let the first blast go, and everytime I farted, the other guests practically jumped out of their seats. I guess the metal ductwork was like a megaphone so it sounded like I was taking a **** inside a metal trashcan.
Even though I did have a good laugh, I feel bad since I have never been invited to their house again. That's okay since I can't look her in the face without remembering that the toothbrush she uses on her pearly white's was the same one I used to bust up my ****.
I would appreciate your not using my name or e-mail in this. If my other friends read this, I would never get another dinner invite again.
My wife and I got to the party and I knew right away I was in trouble. I hadn't **** for about 3 days yet I was farting badly. I knew I was a bomb waiting to go off. Shortly after we arrived, the host lit the fuse. She served these ****ing hors d'ouvres that were full of some kind of fish and garlic ****. One bite was all it took to break my long suffering bowels loose. As delicately as I could, I grabbed the ass of my pants and went in search of a ****ter. The one in the hall was occupied so I figured there had to be one off a bedroom, so I made my way to the master bedroom and found one.
As soon as my ass hit that seat all hell broke loose. I swear I thought the first huge gaseous explosion scorched the porcelain. I sat there dumping out what can best be described as the motherlode of all ****s. This son of a ***** was as big around as a beer can and as long as a goddamn loaf of bread. The hardest part was the first 6 inches. Any trucker will tell you that bouncing around on the air seat all day has a rather interesting effect on your ****s. To see this, take some Play-Doh and roll it into a **** sized log, then bang the end on a table. Trust me, trying to pinch that blunted end out of your ass is no picnic.
Anyway, after all the crap was gone, I was very weak and needed to rest, so I just sat there on the ****ter. As I was sitting, I ripped off about 6 or 8 loud, wet farts. They were brutal in both sound, smell, and texture. Soon, I figured I had been away from the party long enough, so with one last thunderous fart I got up. As soon as I looked in the toilet I knew I was in for trouble. Even this high priced, super powered toilet had no chance of choking down that wad. I flushed that sucker and nothing happened. Not one peice of **** went down the pipe. I looked all over for a plunger to no avail. I did see a toothbrush on the counter and figured no one would ever know, so I used the handle to bust up the **** logs. Man, I stuffed that bastard all the way as far as I could down the trap of the toilet, breaking up crap as I went. Finally, I gave the toilet one more flush, and with a mighty gulp, the **** of a lifetime went away. I rinsed off the toothbrush and went back to the party.
It was strange, as I went into the dining room everyone looked rather pale, and I noticed a somewhat noxious stench in the room. Thinking that someone must have farted, I went about my business of eating dinner. Conversation was non existant and no one would look me in the eye. Shortly, the host left the table to use the bathroom. It was then I realized what was going on. As she entered the same bathroom I had used, you could hear everything she did. It turns out that the contractor that built the house was a real dumb****. To save time and money he linked some of the ductwork together. The ****ter I used and the kitchen shared a common wall, so this ******* tied the bathroom fan duct and the range hood duct together. As well as amplifying any noise in the bathroom, if the bathroom fan was running and the kitchen's was not, the exhaust from the bathroom emptied into the kitchen. So, those poor people not only heard me crapping my brains out, the smell was dumped directly into the eating area.
My wife and I left soon thereafter and on the way to the hotel she told me all about what happened. She said the hostess almost passed out when I let the first blast go, and everytime I farted, the other guests practically jumped out of their seats. I guess the metal ductwork was like a megaphone so it sounded like I was taking a **** inside a metal trashcan.
Even though I did have a good laugh, I feel bad since I have never been invited to their house again. That's okay since I can't look her in the face without remembering that the toothbrush she uses on her pearly white's was the same one I used to bust up my ****.
I would appreciate your not using my name or e-mail in this. If my other friends read this, I would never get another dinner invite again.