Neanderpundit

Tuesday 24 Jul 2007

Dog law

3 comments Og | Uncategorized

3 Responses to “Dog law”

1. on 24 Jul 2007 at 5:38 pm   RobC
   
   

   So true!
   By the way… this may amuse you Og, was posted on our armytalk pub discusion group.
   Hope it is not being repeated… :-)
   “All in all, it hadn’t been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning
   computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething
   cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been
   over forty-eight hours since I’d last taken a dump. I’d tried to
   jumpstart the
   process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal,
   following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden
   lunch at Nandos. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me
   know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart
   that Big Things would be happening soon.

   Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. I completed
   this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the
   car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, “Everything Must Go!”
   This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent
   cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go.

   I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I
   have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:

   1.Occupied.

   2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it’s next to the
   occupied one.

   3.Poo on seat.

   4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on
   seat.

   5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near
   base of
   toilet.

   Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped
   trousers and
   sat down. I’m normally a fairly Shameful ????ter. I wasn’t happy about
   being
   next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.

   I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet
   sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and
   then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a
   cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it
   needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut.

   The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. ????ter was blathering to
   Mrs. ????ter about the ????ty day he had. I sat there, cramping and
   miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged
   on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy
   day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me
   know in no uncertain terms that if I didn’t get crapping soon, my day
   would be getting even crappier.

   Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no
   longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced
   my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my
   might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude — a cross
   between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and
   of plywood being torn off a wall.
   The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM
   tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the
   resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.

   Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became
   apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon’s
   continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the
   bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a
   gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way
   under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial “herald”
   fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.

   “Oh my God,” I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of
   choking, and then, “No, baby, that wasn’t me (cough, gag), you could
   hear that (gag)??”

   Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could
   swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes,
   poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The
   amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with
   tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I’d see that liquid
   poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the
   side on to the floor. But for now all I could do was hang on for the
   ride.

   Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he
   desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation
   made themselves heard over my anal symphony: “Gotta go… horrible…
   throw up…in my mouth… not… make it… tell the kids… love
   them… oh God…”
   followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.

   Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one’s phone and wipe one’s bum
   at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was
   winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by
   string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone
   into the toilet.

   There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly
   quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A
   final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks
   plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I
   heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was
   thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the
   door behind him.

   After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the
   damage. I felt bad for the janitor who’d be forced to deal with this,
   but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world
   could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor
   flooded with filth.

   As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the
   bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the
   bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.

   I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around
   for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my
   supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my
   anonymous poop-mate. I think it’ll be a long time before he can bring
   himself to poop in public — and I doubt he’ll ever again answer his
   cell phone in the loo.

   And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in
   the bathroom.”

2. on 24 Jul 2007 at 5:39 pm   RobC
   
   

   Sorry Og… I did not realise how drawn out the story was! :-)
   Feel free to dump it if it is taking up too much room in your comment closet.

3. on 25 Jul 2007 at 7:05 pm   ktreva
   
   

   I never thought of it that way, but that is an excellent point!

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