not my story, but its sooo fucking funny.. I reccomend you to read it !!
I hadn't realized how supremely shit-housed I was until we stumbled
into our room at the Embassy Suites. You ever been so drunk you forgot
that you have to shit until the last minute? Well I was at that stage.
I nearly had my pants completely off when SlingBlade snaked past me and
got into the toilet first. Fine, I go get out of my bar clothes and
change into a t-shirt and pink Gap boxers to sleep in. I wait patiently
for about three minutes, then I start pounding on the door, screaming
at him that I am going to shit on his bed if he doesn't get out of
there.
A short time later he opens the door laughing his ass
off, and says, "That was perhaps the most prodigious shit ever. I just
put that toilet into therapy."
I take a gander into the
bathroom. It looks like Revelations. The toilet is overflowing, brown
shit water is spilling out all over the bathroom floor, and the tank is
making demonic gurgling noises.
THE MOTHERFUCKER CLOGGED UP A HOTEL TOILET!
Hotel
toilets are industrial size; they are designed to be able to
accommodate repeated elephant-sized shits, and their ram-jet engine
flushes generate enough force to suck down a human infant, yet skinny
ass 170-pound SlingBlade completely killed ours.
I nearly panic.
I let loose a flurry of unintelligible curse words at SlingBlade,
punctuated by a "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!," and knock over the
lamp in my dash out of the room. The turtle is sticking his head out,
and he is coming whether I am on a toilet or not.
I figure that
there must be a bathroom somewhere in the lobby, so I shoot down the
hall and hop in the elevator. Once in the lobby I can't seem to spot a
bathroom anywhere. So, I head around the corner to the front desk,
which doesn't face the lobby. It's about 4am, and no one is at the
desk. I furiously hit the bell for at least a minute--CLANG CLANG CLANG
CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG --until some poor lady comes
out with sleep lines all over her face and tells me that the bathroom
in the corner of the lobby.
It is hard to describe, so let me give you an aerial picture of what the lobby looks like:
[IMG]tuckermax.com/archives/images/EmbassyMap.gif[/IMG]
I
turn the corner from the front desk into the lobby and realize I don't
know which side of the triangular lobby she is talking about. I don't
have time to go back and ask her, and I see a white door at the end of
the left-hand side, so I quickly waddle towards it. Why am I waddling?
Because I have to physically hold my butt cheeks together to prevent
myself from crapping all over my pink Gap boxers. I am literally
pressing my ass cheeks together with my hands. One of the prouder
moments of my life.
I nearly bust the door off it's hinges as I
plow through it. I hear a loud, "AYYYY!!," that almost literally scares
the shit out of me. I jump back to see that this is a janitor's closet,
complete with a small Mexican lady janitor. I momentarily contemplate
taking a dump in the janitors bucket, but decide against that, mainly
because of the presence of said female janitor.
I try to be as diplomatic as possible, considering that I am about to crap my pants:
Tucker "WHERE IS THE BATHROOM?"
Janitor "No, no se habla Ingles."
Tucker "WHAT?!? Huh, uh...DONDE ESTA FUCKING BANO?"
Janitor "AYA, AYA!"
She
points across the lobby. About 60 yards from where I am standing, at
the complete other end of the lobby, there is a set of doors that have
a large "Restroom" sign over them. Right where the front desk lady said
it would be, except on the opposite side of the lobby.
I have
about half a second to make a crucial decision: I can either sprint and
hope I make it there before I shit in my boxers, or I can stick my
thumb up into my ass and shuffle the 60 yards to lavatory freedom. The
decision is simple: I break into a full-on dead-ass sprint.
I am
a decent athlete, I played football, baseball and basketball in high
school, and I stay in good shape. I have run from cops before, I have
run from guard dogs, from a legitimate drive-by shooting once while in
Kentucky, but I don't think I have ever run that fast in my life.
Nothing motivates like the prospect of being covered in human excrement.
Unfortunately, I was not fast enough. It went something like this:
-20 yards into the run I feel my boxers start to sag.
-30 yards into the run, about halfway, I feel my ass crack and legs get noticeably wet.
-40 yards into the run, my boxers have slid down to mid thigh. I am struggling to keep it together.
-50 yards into the run, I can feel wetness all over me and little specs of something hitting the back of my head and ears.
By the time I get to the bathroom door, the end of the 60 yards, I have completely lost it.
I am shitting myself. Full on crapping in my pink Gap boxers.
I
step out of my boxers as I crash through the door. Shit is puddled in
the seat. I blindly hurl them away from me, and nearly break the door
to the first stall. I plop down on the seat and immediately slide off,
because my ass is covered in slimy, runny feces. All the while, my butt
hole is spouting forth waste. I finally get situated on the toilet and
lose perhaps 20 pounds in the next 2 minutes.
During a short
respite in my nearly superhuman flow of crap, I notice that the toilet
is almost completely full of shit, so I flush. Predictably, the toilet
overflows. Great. I move to the next stall, and continue my little
adventure, except this time I courtesy flush every few seconds.
By
the time I finish, I am physically exhausted, completely dehydrated,
and my eyes are tearing up from shitting so hard. I laugh at the
inadequacy of toilet paper to clean my body. I take my shirt off and
see that the back of it is completely covered in little specks of shit
that my heels kicked up from the diarrhea that ran down my legs as I
ran. I throw the shirt in the trash, and then see the mirror. My pink
Gap boxers are crumpled in a ball on the sink, with a thick black
streak leading from the top of the mirror down to them. This is their
final resting place.
Completely naked and covered in my own
poop, I chuckle, because at this point if I don't laugh I have to cry.
As I open the bathroom door to the lobby, I think to myself, "Who else
on earth could be having a worse night than me?"
My question is immediately answered.
I
see a trail of shit, starting very wide at my feet, getting
progressively smaller until it apexes at the chunky white shoes of none
other than the small Mexican lady janitor.
Her eyes met mine. We
may have been separated by numerous religious, language and
socioeconomic barriers, but the "What the fuck just happened?"
expression on her face crossed all boundaries.
Now
really--picture this scene: I am butt-ass naked, crap plastered all
over my ass, legs, back and head, standing about 20 yards away from a
Mexican maid, with a trail of black liquid shit leading from her
directly to me. What would you do? I wasn't sure. I don't think there
is any defined etiquette for this situation.
I shrug my
shoulders, say, "Uhh, sorry. I mean, uh--lo siento. Good night. Buenos
noche--or whatever," and calmly walk to the elevator.
From the
glass window in the elevator, I can see her sobbing. The rest of the
lobby tells me why: Not only had my legs kicked shit up on the back of
my ears and head, they had sprayed little specs of poop all over
EVERYTHING. The couches, the walls, everywhere.
Come to think of
it, she wasn't sobbing. I believe "hysterical crying" would be a better
descriptive term. Oh well, someone has to clean up my messes, and it
sure as shit isn't going to be me.
When I get back to the room,
SlingBlade is already in bed. He rolls over, takes one look at me and,
never one for sympathy, begins laughing uncontrollably. He literally
has to stop laughing because he strains his abdominal muscle. It takes
him five whole minutes before he can get the words out,
SlingBlade "Where--where the fuck are your pants?"
Tucker
"FUCK YOU ASSHOLE. This is all your fault, Mr. Rhino Dump. If you
hadn't had that miscarriage in our toilet I wouldn't be COVERED IN
SHIT!"
He couldn"t stop laughing long enough to respond. I took
what remained of my dignity and got in the shower. As I was cleaning
the poop off my back, I could hear him yell out:
"This is clear proof that there is a God, and he is just!"
