MY FIRST PRAYER GOES OUT TO POSTER GAVLAM..WHO HAS A MEAN CASE OF THE SCREAMING MEANIES AND HE MUST GET RID OF THESE BY TONIGHT...FROM THE POOP REPORT
After reading many of the stories posted here, including my own, I have noticed that the majority of them share a common thread: racing to beat the diarrhea drop. Most of the victims eat or drink something that fuels this watery fire, and are suddenly faced with an emergency evacuation situation. Believe me, there is nothing worse than trying to hold back this type of bowel movement. I refer to this explosive reaction as the Screaming Meanies.
The Screaming Meanies stink, they burn, and they make you question your mortality. They are bad enough when they hit at home or near a poop-friendly location; having a case while being uncomfortably far away from a friendly toilet is the worst feeling in the world. No matter how capable a shitter you are, there's always the chance for a misfire. With the popularity of thrill seeking activities, I vote we designate Screaming Meanies as an Extreme Sport and have ESPN cover it.
Although Screaming Meanies usually make for the most entertaining stories, we shouldn't forget about another area of crapping that holds equal standing: smell. I will be the first to admit that my poop is foul, foul, foul. Actually, my wife, my sister, and my former roommates would all be the first to admit it. So would my co-workers. And my old classmates, too. This list could go on, but you get the point -- when I poop, I bring the heat. Allow me to share a story illustrating this point.
I was the HR guy for a small company last year. We were hiring some day laborers to set up booths at a trade show. After a morning of talking with 'team players', I downed some Chinese food for lunch and made a mad dash back to work for the inevitable. Luckily the handicap stall was empty, so I set up shop and began the music.
This bathroom was shared by the dozen or so businesses on the second floor, and you had to jockey for position after lunch. About mid-turd, two guys entered to take a piss, one on the urinal and the other in the single stall next to me. I had my ass cranked to reek factor five and climbing, and the aroma smothered the room like a thick blanket.
One of the guys moaned, one of those long, "Mmmmmmmms." I choked back a giggle at this. Then he did it again, and said, "Damn, somebody shittin' up in this motherfugger." I did let a giggle slip out at that.
The other man said, "Yeah they is," in agreement. Then one of them said, "Damn, damn, damn." At this I started laughing uncontrollably. Before they left I checked the shoes of the guy next to me, and saw they were a pair of funky blue Nikes.
I composed myself and made my way back to the office. Sitting in the lobby were two guys filling out applications. One of them had the blue Nikes on. I smiled at them on my way through to my office. I paged the secretary and told her to tell them I would review their application and be in touch.
I told this story to some co-workers a few days later, and they thought it was hysterical. It seems our salesman was unfortunate enough to be in the bathroom with me and my stench gave him the dry heaves. He in turn told everyone there, including the owner, and my story validated this point.
In this day of CGI, Reality TV, and Vin Diesel wannabes, it's easy to get caught up in the race to be bigger, better, and louder. But let's not forget the basics. Our exploits with the Screaming Meanies produce some great stories, but there is more to pooping than launching an ass cannon. Sometimes it's enough to just stink.
-- Mad Shittah
