I crapped my pants in fifth-grade around thirty other ten-year-olds. To this day, eleven years later, the resonating pre-pubescent chorus of, "EWWWW, HE POOPED HIS PANTS!" still sends douche shivers down my spine. But I figure, therapeutically, this story is bound to come out of me at some point-- so rather than regaling it to some underage Chinese whore in a Motel 6 as she does lines of coke off my chest, I'll plaster it on the web. And here we go--
When I was ten I had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. For some ridiculous reason I felt compelled to have the cleanest asshole on the planet. (I think it started one night when, after itching my crack, I smelled my fingers and blacked out.) None the less I had a whole policy worked out involving sanitizing wipes, hand lotion, and only taking dumps in the sanctity of my home. I was what you might call a "loser" or "freak". Whereas most guys my age were concerned with girls and sports, my concerns laid in maintaining a morning poop cycle.
So it came to pass one fateful autumn morning that I woke up on the brink of dumping in my pajamas. I was chauffeured in late by my mother after expelling about eighty kegs of liquid crap and thinking there was nothing left. I was wrong. Every thirty minutes a wave of diarrhea would rush down the barrel of my ass making me stiffen up like a Prairie Dog to prevent from discharging. (If you've ever had diarrhea in a public place you know how quick it sneaks up on you-- one minute you're gleefully shopping at Bloomingdale's, and the next you're running around the store clenching your ass like a vice and praying to God you don't shit all over their floor.) Some of the waves were so bad in fact, at one point during the day I found myself trembling over a dilapidated public school toilet and trying to cover the seat with as much 1\8 ply public school toilet paper as possible. After a couple failed attempts, I rationalized once again why I shouldn't even be shitting there in the first place:
A. There aren't any sanitizing wipes. I could soap up some toilet paper, but someone might walk in on me as I'm waddling from the toilet to the sink.
B. There isn't any lotion. The soap will chaff my ass and if I don't have a lotion up there I'll be wildly uncomfortable for the rest of the day.
C. I'm too vulnerable in this stall. If someone busted down the door and began kicking my ass, there's nothing I could do. I mean my feet would be all wrapped up in my pants, my penis would be flopping about, I'd have poop in my crack; I'd probably just have to take the beating.
Then came the last class of the day, P.E. I was about an hour away from tranquility of my own toilet. But first, indoor kickball.
The instant my foot contacted the ball, my sphincter relaxed and I shit my pants. (Probably the most awkward moment in my life.) Anyway, as I stood there thinking, I just shit my pants, a quick wave of adrenaline rushed over me and I began running to first. That's right, I began running to first. Even though within seconds I was presenting a Hansel and Gretel-esk shit trail, at first no one really noticed; the ball was in play and much of the class's attention was focused on throwing me out. It was when, even though thrown out at first, I continued running towards second that kids started to catch on. By the time I rounded second crying like a bitch, practically the entire class was privy to the fact that I had moved a monster bowel on the floor (evident by the "EWWWW HE POOPED HIS PANTS" shrills.) As a matter of fact, the only kid who really had no idea what was going on was the third baseman, who was furious that I wasn't acknowledging he had thrown me out. "YOU'RE OUT STEEEEVE! YOU'RE OUT!" he kept yelling. It wasn't until I passed him at third on my way home and dropped some shit on his shoes that he shut up and joined the other kids in holding his nose and trying to get as far away from me as possible. I crossed home plate in a blaze of toxic fumes and ran straight out of the gym to the locker room, where I cried on the toilet until the gym teacher brought me loner pants to wear to the bus; I wore light blue corduroy bell-bottoms home that day.
So what can you learn from my experience? If you are out in public, (Bloomingdale's or wherever) and you do shit on the floor, you've officially reached the point of no return. Run like the wind and don't look back (chances are you'll catch of a glimpse of the poor bastard who's gonna be cleaning it up).
peanut butter Posted: 5/26/2005by: The Evil Bosini I shit my pants last year, I was living with my gf and came home one morning after a long night of drinking rum and cokes and eating bar peanuts. It is a long walk to my apartment and my butt began to twitch when I was about four blocks away, needless to say when my gf opened the door I was sweating profusely and had crap pouring out of the bottom of my pants, I made her wash them. We don't see each other anymore. Ms. Posted: 5/26/2005by: Heather This is some funny shit yo, gross, but HILARIOUS
