Whoops
Halah
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 the little
bastards.
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 a bit too much, however.
I had not really been feeling well all day, what with 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...
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 front rim 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 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 crouched 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 bring 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 underwear, 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.
--
Halah
"I AM" is so utterly fantastic in appearance that in our present
state one would go mad upon the true sight of Him."
-Alan W. Craft, 5/11/00
Cardinal Feng
says...
I'm sure as fuck not going in the bathrooms, though.
'Course, your little incident doesn't sound half as bad as the time I
entered a bathroom wherein some strange septic system anomaly had occurred,
causing several gallons of raw sewage to back up into the toilets and spray
the ceiling and walls. There was water all over the floor, and chunks of
shit *everywhere* - floating on the floor, stuck to the ceiling, sliding
down the walls. There's no describing the smell... Bury your nose in a
baby's diaper after he's taken a power dump in it, and that might smell
about the same. I sure as fuck hope nobody was in there when it happened.
You know those white, full-body suits with gas masks that you see people
wearing when they're dealing with toxic waste? They (the public health
department I presume) had to send a team of guys suited up in the same duds
to check out that gawdawful bathroom and clean it up.
Happydog
Know". Another reason for leaving the Star City, people like this.
Maybe that is the reason I am single and have three exwives. My
relationships with them were never comfortable enough that I could involve
them in my private body functions and mishaps.
Happydog:)
Cardinal Feng
says...
> I believe this comes under the heading, "More Information Than I Want To
> Know".
Nobody gives a moldy shit what you do or don't want to know. Do the world
a favor: Go drown yourself in a cesspool.
Joe Davidson
<alla...@roanoke.infi.net> wrote:
>I believe this comes under the heading, "More Information Than I Want To
>Know". Another reason for leaving the Star City, people like this.
Well, If you were so damn smart and had a higher "edukashun" like you
said and were smarter than everyone else. You would know Ryan's is in
Christiansburg, not Roanoke.
.....And if you cant realize what a joke, sarcasm is then you, sir, do
not have a better "educaskun" than everyone else in this valley.
>Maybe that is the reason I am single and have three exwives. My
>relationships with them were never comfortable enough that I could involve
>them in my private body functions and mishaps.
Well if you never shared your private body fluids with your ex wife,
perhaps that IS the reason they left you. After all most people share
body fluids before they are married these days. After all those girls
had to get it somewhere now didn't they?
T. Barabola
> Sure, it's an old story, but WTF?
Kind sir,
thank you for two things.
First, although it is an old story, thanks for providing the proof
that Black:White as Jar Jar Binks Lollipops is to Ryans
and (B), posting the single most interesting post that roanoke dot
talk has seen in two, maybe even three years time
Also, while some Roanokers know how to access Cubey's stuff on usenet
without the x-posting,
all attempts to do so are appreciated, because SPOG is infinitely more
interesting than the monopolistic hold the low-rated Don Terp and
Happydog show have on these groups. Most times, more logical sounding
too.
Yeah, there is nothing much to do here, but to visit the star.
Oh, except for the fact they are filming a movie, "Identity Lost", in
town this week. They had a casting call for a hundred extras in
formal wear. Fewer than fifty showed.
Sad, really
Good night
Halah
> Halah <godwank@*hotmail*.com> wrote in message news:<MPG.16044a6a3...@news.alt.net>...
> > Sure, it's an old story, but WTF?
>
> Kind sir,
>
> thank you for two things.
>
> First, although it is an old story, thanks for providing the proof
> that Black:White as Jar Jar Binks Lollipops is to Ryans
>
> and (B), posting the single most interesting post that roanoke dot
> talk has seen in two, maybe even three years time
>
> Also, while some Roanokers know how to access Cubey's stuff on usenet
> without the x-posting,
> all attempts to do so are appreciated, because SPOG is infinitely more
> interesting than the monopolistic hold the low-rated Don Terp and
> Happydog show have on these groups. Most times, more logical sounding
> too.
>
I was just out having fun one day and stumbled upon the place. I used
to live in Lynchburg, so I was just kidding about the star thing :)
Glad I could liven things up a bit.
> Yeah, there is nothing much to do here, but to visit the star.
>
> Oh, except for the fact they are filming a movie, "Identity Lost", in
> town this week. They had a casting call for a hundred extras in
> formal wear. Fewer than fifty showed.
>
> Sad, really
> Good night
>
--
Halah
"Hope God helps you, cause I sure can't." Vogel, 8/30/99
Happydog
Happydog
I didn't say anything about sharing body fluids. If you are sharing the fluids
you mentioned with females you are sicker than you seemed before.
I've read about people like you.
Happydog
wearing t-shirts and jeans when it plainly said black tie. I doubt there are over fifty people there
who own formal wear.
Identity Lost is a good name for a movie to be made there, but "Identity Never Had" would have been
closer.
Joe Davidson
<alla...@roanoke.infi.net> wrote:
>Isn't there a Ryan's at Valley View?
No, There Is a Logans, Sagebrush and a Texas Steakhouse, Applebee's,
Ruby Tuesday's, TGI Friday's, IHOP, Olive Garden, Shakers, Chick Fila
(or whatever it is)
But, nope , no Ryans. Sorry.
>I didn't say anything about sharing body fluids. If you are sharing the fluids
>you mentioned with females you are sicker than you seemed before.
>I've read about people like you.
Oh, you read about us heterosexual people?
Science lesson. when two people have intercourse (sex, knockin'
boots, f---king, getting busy, getting putang, and so forth) the
body emits fluids and when contact is made (assuming you do not have a
full body condom on, or a condom, or other birth control
methods.)Your body will absorb fluids though the skin or other holes
in the body.
..and many (a majority) of the couples engage in sexual activity other
than the missionary position.
Joe Davidson
<alla...@roanoke.infi.net> wrote:
>I understand the light turnout. When I lived there the Center in the Square affairs drew people
>wearing t-shirts and jeans when it plainly said black tie. I doubt there are over fifty people there
>who own formal wear.
>Identity Lost is a good name for a movie to be made there, but "Identity Never Had" would have been
>closer.
Sorry, Roanoke has a long lasting identity.
Just people like you have to go around bad mouthing the town because
the town didn't elect you or didn't do something for you.
Cardinal Feng
says...
> You make my point about Roanoke more than any words I could express.
Haven't you guzzled a gallon of gasoline *yet*? What the hell are you
waiting for?
Happydog
Science lesson. when two people have intercourse (sex, knockin'
boots, f---king, getting busy, getting putang, and so forth) the
body emits fluids and when contact is made (assuming you do not have a
full body condom on, or a condom, or other birth control
methods.)Your body will absorb fluids though the skin or other holes
in the body.
..and many (a majority) of the couples engage in sexual activity other
than the missionary position.
You were talking about feces and urine. I don't think there is a lot of
coming and going in those fluids, at least by most.
Don't try and wiggle out, hahaha!
Happydog:)
Happydog
"Sorry, Roanoke has a long lasting identity.
Just people like you have to go around bad mouthing the town because
the town didn't elect you or didn't do something for you."
You're right, the town does nothing for me. You can have it all.
Happydog:)