My Shitty

I have also been , am and ever will be shy and i cannot help it and believe me its the shittiest thing.
i was in love (i mean proper love not a random crush ) with a guy for 3 years but due to my shitty problem i cud never ask him out i noe he liked me to but then i finally got the courage to ask him one day and he says he liked me too and we were in a relationship .

After 3 weeks i caught the son a bitch eyeballing my best friend i was so angry i decided to confront him but before i cud say anything he said he loved me and ppl were just fabricating stories i really liked him so i believed him but 5 days later he is giving a tonguebath to my bff i got soooo angry and we oviously broke up !!

Later i got to noe that is my bff that back stabbed me by being in a relationship with that asshole now she is my BFF– Boy Friend Fucker and nothin happens this incident ruined my high school and ever since i hav had the shittiest luck with other people i hate my fucking life!!

She was the hottest girl I had ever laid my eyes upon. We had spoken to each other a few times before, but tonight — tonight was the night I was finally going to make my move.

The club was dark, gloomy and stank of stale sweat and cheap beer. She was in her little group of friends chatting away when she noticed me come in. Our eyes met instantly. I had been reluctant to actually go out this night, as when I was getting ready I had a small rumble in my gut; nothing to panic about, but I knew if it progressed into something worst it could lead to a rather embarrassing evening with my date.

Anyway, after a lot of drinks and cringe-worthy small talk I finally got a kiss off this girl. She invited me back to her place, which was great, as my apartment looked and smelled like a fucking soup kitchen.

We arrived at her place her at two a.m. Her parents were away all weekend so it was just us two. We got to know each other better verbally and physically. She laid me down on the sofa and gave me oral: This was great. I was elated and groaning in ecstasy… that was until she deep-throated me, and in doing so headbutted me in my lower abdomen. My intestines retaliated almost instantly and I farted loudly, just inches away from her face. This fart was followed by angry groans and slushing noises from my recently disturbed gut.

I needed to release my anal load, and without delay, while my date continued her act, appearing to ignore the smell that had just been produced from my asshole. I tried to push my gut cramps to the back of my head, but denying my body the right to discharge its unwanted goods wasn’t going to work. I made my excuses and quickly paced upstairs to find the golden throne.

I found the bathroom without too much difficulty. The fresh lemon-lime scent struck me upon first entering the immaculate bathroom. I don’t normally feel comfortable pooping in any toilet other than my own; however this bathroom made me feel at ease.

I positioned myself upon the cold-but-strangely welcoming loo. My load was terribly watery. The noises that my ass made in those short few minutes were alien to me. Feces showered out of my rear end with rapid force, and then the poo then began to come out in a more congealed form much like chocolate spread. I knew I wasn’t finished completely, but I couldn’t keep my date waiting any longer. I was already mortified that I had to take a dump in her house, not to mention on our first proper date.

Now, I only recently found out that my wiping habits were not of the norm; but when I wipe I stand up and lean forwards slightly. This technique has served me well as it allows me to be strategically fully stretched when wiping to take place. I was already quite weak on my feet due to the alcohol, however, so wiping was quite difficult. Then for some awfully cruel freak of nature reason I sneezed.

As I sneezed my entire body contorted, my bowels contracted, and they unleashed their final blast of shit with a vengeance. I had sprayed shit everywhere, and I mean everywhere. The back wall of the bathroom was now totally speckled in brown watery shit, and the once sparkling white tiles were now tarnished with the brown mess.

I froze. I didn’t know what to do. I quickly started to wipe in a panicked manner and then cleaned myself up. This left an unwelcome consequence: no more toilet paper. And since I wasn’t in my own home I couldn’t find the toilet roll cupboard. Everyone has one somewhere!

In a frenzy I grabbed a white bath towel and began wiping the specks of poo of the tiles and from the toilet. All the while I was gagging on the unforgivable smell of wet shit. My nostrils had become bombarded with shit particles, and in that moment I wanted life to end.

I managed to wipe most of the shit up but was left holding a foul, shit-stained bath towel. Without thinking, I opened the bathroom window and threw the towel out. My plan was to retrieve the damning evidence later on and burn it.

I quickly washed myself down with soap once more and headed back downstairs to find that my date had fallen asleep on the sofa. I waited around for about 30 minutes before calling a cab and going home.

The next morning I was totally hungover and feeling just awful about the incident the night before. I looked at my phone and I had a text message from the girl. My heart sank as I read the haunting sentence:

“You just made my dog throw up you stupid, disgusting bastard!”

Needless to say, we haven’t spoken since.

Poop Report

My father just turned eighty-five and came to San Francisco for a surprise visit. He doesn’t look a day over seventy, but he is getting a little hunched over. Still, he golfs everyday. No shit. Nine holes and refuses to use a golf cart. It wouldn’t matter if he disinherited me because he will most certainly outlive me.

He is a whole other person when my eight-three year-old mom isn’t around, though. He reverts back to his childhood when he could say things like “fuckin’ asshole” and not have to apologize for two hours.

We were eating dinner at the Farallon Restaurant, this swanky fish place, when Pop announced he had to use the restroom. The seats at this place are sort of low and he needed a hand to get up, so I helped him up by grabbing him under the armpit. I might as well have pulled his finger, because a rather long but thankfully barely audible pooftie escaped his aging anus. He looked up at me with this ”I can do that kinda’ shit now” look on his face and I, not able to do that kinda shit, tried hard to hold back a belly laugh. I watched him waddle to the restroom and waited patiently for his return.

It was uneventful trip for him. I helped him back in his seat and returned my attention to a Glazed Lake Superior Walleye in some kinda’ sauce.

I had just put a piece of this delicacy into my mouth when out my pop announced, “Jesus Christ… I just shit a box!”

I almost spit thirty dollars worth of fish over the table to the couple holding hands seated across from us. That line and my knowing how constipation can feel, compounded by an eighty-five year-old ass, left me paralyzed with laughter. My pop has the same sardonic sense of humor as I do, and it was this fact that led to a conversation between us of poop stories that dated back to my childhood.

“Remember that vacation in Minnesota when your uncle Carl shit in the hood of his parka?”

“Dad… Stop,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. I was unable to catch my breath. I think the waiter must have thought I was choking on a fish bone.

Pop wouldn’t stop, though. Leaning over, he started again.

“Remember when Jim our neighbor burned his hand propping himself up behind the car on the muffler to take a dump? He couldn’t wipe his ass for a month!”

I almost had to stab my leg with my fork.

“Remember the time your sister tore open your ball bag pulling you off your child seat?” he asked me. The damned thing had a plastic nodule from the manufacturer still on it.

”And then, you told the doctor ‘My sister broke my fligger!’”

It was as if he was on the Tonight Show, and I think it was the most fun that we’d ever had. I was reminded why I love him so much.

He’s back home now… minding his manners… while I, on the other hand, have to remove everything from my house that’s square-shaped.

Poop Report

The kind of shit where you eat really spicy food and your asshole feels like the inside of a cigarette lighter.

As I woke for the day I knew my bowels were going to give me trouble. I had to work later in the evening, so ex-lax would not be able lend me a hand until I arrived home later in the evening.

On my drive to work I decided to stop Tim Horton’s and grab an extra large coffee with triple cream, as sometimes coffee is the only laxative I need. I drank the whole thing on the rest of my drive, but once at work the only thing that wanted to leave my body was the coffee in the form of stinky coffee-smelling pee.

Work was slow. I’m a waitress, and I was able to frequent the Ladies’ room often, but not with much luck. It was so dead they sent the other waitress home. I wished it was me leaving early because I wanted to return home to sit upon my own golden throne; the ones at work were bronze at best. A half
hour goes by, and finally the urge to release the brown demon that was taking over body came. I ran to the restroom, sat my booty down on the toilet, and squeezed with all my might. But what happened next was not what I was hoping for. I felt a rip and the most pain my asshole has ever felt, beating out the pain of a thrusting penis accidentally going in the wrong hole (well at least my boyfriend said it was an accident). Following the pain was the feeling of water pouring out my butt, so I looked into the toilet. I saw with horror that it was full of bright red blood. To make matters worse, the turd that felt like broken glass coming out had only come out halfway; then it went back in, as if it was playing hide and seek. My shit was being a shithead! I slowly rose off the seat and cleaned myself up. I had to get back out on the floor and take care of my tables, because my customers were probably wondering where I was.

The last thing I’d want to tell a table is, “Sorry you’ve been waiting, but a big brown turd just split my ass open. I’ll be right back with your hot fudge brownie sundae that I made from scratch.” (Although I would have loved to see the look on their faces if I did say it.)

Now out of the bathroom, I hobbled. It felt as if I had a knife up there twisting around, and the more I walked the more painful it became to do so. I stood in the wait station contemplating what I should do next, because working for the next four hours seemed impossible. I decided quickly and ran, I mean hobbled awkwardly, to my manager. Thank God she was female. I started balling my eyes out as I struggled to find the words to tell her that my shit ripped me a new one. She understood and thankfully could sympathize. She told me I could go home, but I had to call for a ride. Reluctantly I dialed my boyfriend’s number and explained that – thanks to my ass – I couldn’t drive and he would have to pick me up.

My sweet and caring boyfriend arrived thirty minutes later, and as I got into the car I noticed he had made me a donut out of extra clothes he had in the car. If that isn’t love I don’t know what is. We drove to Walgreen’s and I bought the survival gear that I would need to get through this painful journey: A box of saline enemas, the awful tasting magnesium citrate, and some suppositories for the hemorrhoid that I believe I ruptured. Finally home in my own bathroom I began the process of what would hopefully lead to the release of the rest of the brown demon hiding in my bowels.

First I tried the enema; I’d rather do that then drink the lemon lime syrup. But it didn’t work, which is a first. I believe I even blacked out for a moment from squeezing with such force. Next, I drank the whole bottle of lemon lime yuckiness and waited. It was then time to begin the final process of extracting the demon in my bowels. I sat on the toilet and said a prayer for a quick and painless release. As I began to push I began to scream, cry, and curse in an almost unrecognizable voice. Sweat soaked my body; this wasn’t going to be easy. I stopped pushing for a moment – I had to rethink my method. In too much pain to go on, I decided I was going to give up and try again later. Just as I was about to get up my inner voice said sit back down for one more try. I listened to that voice and pushed, screamed, cried, cursed, and then I vanquished the brown demon. It was gone into the holy toilet water and flushed, never to harm another’s bowels again. I’m sure he has friends, but I will take one victory at a time.

Poop Report