Taking a crap and enjoying the stink
Found this on some blog. Won't post the link b/c he gets real boring after about 2 1/2 minutes, but this rant is classic. :D
This morning I took one of those ***** that really, really smelled bad. It smelled like a homeless person had crawled up my *** in the middle of the night, vomited a couple of times, then died and started to rot. And it had the consistency of play-doh. You know, one of those ***** where you feel so like you’re squeezing a tube of toothpaste that you try to bend your neck a lot to get the last bit out of your ***.
I am somewhat comforted by the fact that many men take bad, stinky ***** every now and then. I know because I go to public restrooms on occasion. And public men’s rooms stink. This morning, my bad crap was in my own bathroom. But more than once, I have been forced to take bad ***** in public restrooms. I apologize to you all.
What I don’t understand are the guys who have no problem using public toilets just like they are at home. They grunt and fart and moan as they take the smelliest crap ever, and then when they have finished and stand at the sink next to you, they say something to themselves like, “But, damn, that was a good burrito.”
I used to work in an office with a guy who brought the newspaper with him every morning. Then, sometime after lunch, he would grab his newspaper and head for the toilet. It was ******** time!
As he headed down the hall, New York Post under his arm, every man in the office would take note of the time. We all knew to avoid the bathroom for at least a half-hour, but preferably for an hour. I don’t know what Mr. ******** Time ate, but he regularly took ***** that smelled like the ******* morgue. The Paris morgue!
I, for one, do not like taking ***** in public restrooms. It’s just not my thing. But when I do have to **** in public, I try to make it quick and quiet and I prefer that nobody else is in the restroom.
Every now and then, when you take a dump, the turd falls from your sphincter with a delightful confirmatory splash only to send water from the toilet bowl shooting right into your exposed *******. And then, toilet seat cover or not, you are left wondering what dreaded species of gonorrhea or flesh-eating virus has just begun to multiply up your ***. At those moments, herpes doesn’t seem so bad.
