The incident at 130
#33
02-27-2008 | 11:43 PM
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Joined: Nov 2007
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RE: The incident at 130
....
avoid the bathrooms..
unless its a ****.
last time i had to use the bathroom at work..
i was yelled at by the other people who work in the store behind...
I replied in this manner...and this is no joke..i just kinda said it..
"Who are you?! Why are you in my house? Father will be home soon."
Lol the girl..well..
after a few days..she never came back to work...lol.
if anyone has seen Dr. Tran..
i saw it the night before.
avoid the bathrooms..
unless its a ****.
last time i had to use the bathroom at work..
i was yelled at by the other people who work in the store behind...
I replied in this manner...and this is no joke..i just kinda said it..
"Who are you?! Why are you in my house? Father will be home soon."
Lol the girl..well..
after a few days..she never came back to work...lol.
if anyone has seen Dr. Tran..
i saw it the night before.
#34
02-28-2008 | 08:18 AM
Senior Member
Joined: Sep 2007
Posts: 158
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From: Cincinnati
RE: The incident at 130
ORIGINAL: K_carroll03
see i have had a prob with that b4 when i had my gf's daughter and i had to go...i mean what do u do i wasnt going to leave her in front of the door but i felt awkward even taking her in there
see i have had a prob with that b4 when i had my gf's daughter and i had to go...i mean what do u do i wasnt going to leave her in front of the door but i felt awkward even taking her in there
#35
02-28-2008 | 10:47 AM
Joined: Sep 2007
Posts: 60
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RE: The incident at 130
This is at least 9 years old, if not older. I almost die laughing whenever I read it!
The Ryan's Mac-N-Beef Story
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 b*******.
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 satiated. 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 too 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 shiite, 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 wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a dump. 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 **** 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 **** 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 s*** at the exact same second that one's butt is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the load is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the urine 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 b******* 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 w
The Ryan's Mac-N-Beef Story
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 b*******.
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 satiated. 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 too 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 shiite, 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 wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a dump. 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 **** 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 **** 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 s*** at the exact same second that one's butt is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the load is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the urine 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 b******* 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 w
#38
02-28-2008 | 03:26 PM
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RE: The incident at 130
Yea I cant belive I read the whole thing. and wow if i was going to **** and puke at the same time I would try and make it inbetween the whole by my ****. (if that makes any sense at all) and if i had to choose one of the other I think I would sit down and **** and just puke all over myself. Not a good situation however it looks like this guy didnt have a choice
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