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pooing on foreign territory (sponsered by fc infesta)

newbie original

We apologize for keeping the yellow too long
Yellow Card
Does that include the time difference?

There is a chance that all three dumplings may have struck the water at the exact same "time".

Time - the final frontier.
 

MaestroZidane

YELLOW CARD: Untrustworthy
Yes it does. I took off from Japan at 6:30 pm their time, landed in the U.S 13 hours later, then six hours after that, I was in Mexico City.
 

Sir Didier Drogba

Head Official
MaestroZidane;3653071 said:
In less than 24 hrs, I took a shit in three different countries. Started in Japan, then the U.S, and finally in Mexico.

now that's worth it as a 7k post :)
I once took a shit over Iran.
 

ShiftyPowers

Make America Great Again
https://medium.com/comedy-corner/wh...essing-room-is-never-a-good-idea-85093f6c8a23

Why taking a dump in a Kohl’s dressing room is never a good idea

I went to Kohl’s today to pick up a couple new pairs of pants and just happened to stumble bass akwards into the second funniest thing to ever happen to me in a public dressing room.

The funniest thing, by the way, involved me, a rogue zipper, and two well-placed and well-needed stitches. I’ll just leave it at that.

So I walk into the Kohl’s dressing room and start trying on my regularly-priced-$79.99-now-on-sale-for-$23.99 pants and hear that someone is entering the dressing room adjacent to mine. I think nothing of it and continue to try to squeeze my 38-inch waist into a pair of 36-inch Dockers.

But a mere few seconds later I can hear this individual — clearly a large man by the grunting and groaning — taking off his belt. The noise a belt makes is quite distinct and it sounded like this guy had a belt buckle the size of a trash can lid. It sounded like he was taking off a parachute with all the clasps, buckles, and snaps he was undoing.

I chuckle to myself and take a deep breath to buckle my own pants when I hear this guy — I’m going to start calling him Dirty Randy from now on — make a couple additional grunting noises.

I’m paying homage to Dirty Randy from “The League.” Great show.

It sounds like this guy — I think to myself — is trying to take a shit instead of trying to take a shirt.

This incredibly crazy idea is only made more plausible by the next thing that happens: Dirty Randy absolutely uncoils a five-star, MVP-caliber fart. It was one of those epic sonofabitches that gets a second wind halfway through and grows louder. It sounded like he was trying to start an old tractor.

At the time I had one leg into my own pants and the commotion in the next dressing room sent me tumbling against the wall laughing hysterically. Here I was busting a gut while this guy was busting ass.

“Son of a bitch,” Dirty Randy mumbles matter-of-factly. And I don’t know exactly what it was about the way he said it, but it sounded like he was saying “Son of a bitch” not as a result of what happened but as a precursor of what was yet to come.

To keep prices low, please don’t shit in the dressing room

And sure enough Dirty Randy lets loose a second fart, this one somehow even more repulsive than the first. The noise was a cross between an old creaky door opening and a Beluga whale. If you don’t know what that sounds like, check out this YouTube video.

Seriously, did this guy think he was walking into the men’s room instead of the dressing room? Is he squatting over a pile of discarded clothes that didn’t fit the last guy who was in there? The image playing out in my head was hysterical.

But the hysterics turned into hysteria when a visitor entered my dressing room. In the interest of full disclosure, I did lock the door before I went in there. But what came into that dressing room cannot be turned back by a $5 door bolt from Home Depot. It came in through, under, and over the door. It seeped through the cracks in the walls and tumbled down from the ceiling.

I’m here to tell you ladies and gentlemen, it was an actual mist. Like in that Stephen King movie. I half expected a monster to come out of it and eat me.

But that would have been the painless way out. Instead, what came out of that mist was a stench so horrific that eight hours later it’s still burned into my nostrils.

“My bad, buddy,” Dirty Randy says from the room next door, real casual-like as if he accidentally walked between me and a TV I was watching instead of purposely filling my dressing room full of Agent Orange. I gasped for air, trying to breathe through my mouth instead of my nose. But all that did was give me a big ole’ taste of whatever it was he ate that caused such a travesty in his lower intestine. It was as if he consumed a whole bucket of sea water and bad Thai food.

I texted my wife and told her I loved her. This is probably the end.

And then as I began to pass out I hear a voice from afar.

“How’s it going in there, Dirty Randy?” It’s his wife, she’s outside the dressing room now. And she didn’t really call him Dirty Randy but it sort of ruins the story if I tell you his real name.

“It’s too big.”

Too big, I think. Is he talking about whatever he’s trying on or whatever he’s trying to get out?

I laugh at the thought of my own joke. It’s starting to pull me from my own haze.

“Randy, pass it under the door and let me take a look at it.”

Now I’m actually laughing out loud. Is this really happening to me? The guy who writes funny blogs just has this fall into his lap.

Or, more appropriately, fall out of the lap of the guy next to me.

“Jesus, Randy, did you just shit yourself?”

Mrs. Dirty Randy echoes my thoughts exactly. Not only do I think he shit himself, but he shit herself and myself and every other self in the Kohl’s men’s section.

“No,” he replies timidly, “I think it was the guy in the room next to me.”

My mouth drops. But then I can taste a wicked combination of burnt lasagna, sulfur, and Skoal. For some reason, in this moment Dirty Randy and I connect. It’s as if I can tell this guy’s wife is going to spend the rest of the day busting his balls for busting his ass. In the spirit of true brotherhood, I decide to take one for the team.

“My bad,” I say.

“Gross,” Mrs. Dirty Randy says and then I hear her leave. What follows next could not have been predicted. Dirty Randy doesn’t thank me, he doesn’t say sorry, but instead he lets loose the third and final blow, a low rumbling noise that sounded like he sat on a fog horn.

“Thank God she left,” he says, “I was trying to choke that one off.”

Needless to say, I didn’t end up buying the pants.
 

Pogba4Now

Team Captain
Btw there was this famous "don't shave your ass hair" thread posted somewhere here. I tried it several times and didn't have any issues at all.
 

Pogba4Now

Team Captain
To the newbies or those who forgot the post:

Friends dont shave your ass hair!
I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble ****ting.

No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my asscheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling. Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can?t-Be-Flushed threshold.

I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. ?Hey! This is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don?t I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!? I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. ?How many Indians could there be?? said by General Custer. ?Looks like a good day for a drive!? by JFK. ?There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!? by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occassionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know.

I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic $!@%- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky $!@%/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm.

Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering ****/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own **** blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: ?It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks.?

Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.

As if that wasnt enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn?t just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends, DONT SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR
 

Mandieta6

Red Card - Life
Life Ban
Haha, thank God you reposted it. I looked for it like 3 years ago and couldn't find it

Anyone got that story about the dude who peed and shat in a shower and someone recreated it with Paint and uploaded it as a gif?
 

Mandieta6

Red Card - Life
Life Ban


Good shit.
 


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