Management Joke

...let us know what you think, free speech!
Post Reply
Necrix
The Hacker Wolf
The Hacker Wolf
Posts: 746
Joined: 09 Apr 2005, 16:00
16
Location: United States
Contact:

Management Joke

Post by Necrix »

Johnny wanted to have sex with a girl in his office.....but she

belonged to someone else...

One day Johnny got so frustrated that he went up to her and said I'll

give you a $100 if you let me have sex with you..

The girl said, " NO."

Johnny said, " I'll be fast. I'll throw the money on the floor; you

bend down, and I'll be finished by the time you pick it up."

She thought for a moment and said that she would have to consult her

boyfriend. She called her boyfriend and told him the story.

The boyfriend said, "Ask him for $200. Then pick up the money very

fast. He won't even be able to get his pants down."

She agreed and accepted the proposal. Half an hour went by and the

boyfriend was waiting for his girlfriend to call. Finally after 45

minutes the boyfriend called and asked what happened......

She said, "The bastard used quarters!"

**Management lesson: Always consider a business proposal in its

entirety before agreeing to it and getting screwed!
Image
Anime-Planet.com - anime | manga | reviews

User avatar
LaBlueGirl
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Posts: 513
Joined: 22 Mar 2006, 17:00
15
Location: Brussel
Contact:

Yo momma

Post by LaBlueGirl »

Yo Mama So Fat:

Yo mama's so fat, when she ran away, they had to put her picture on the milk truck.

Yo mama's so fat, when she hauls ass, she has to make two trips.

Yo mama's so fat, when she dances at a club, she makes the band skip.

Yo mama's so fat, on Halloween she trick or treats two houses at a time.

Yo mama's so fat, I had to take a train and two busses just to get on her good side.

Yo mama's so fat, when she ran away, they had to use all four sides of the milk carton.

Yo mama's so fat, she fills up the bath tub, and then she turns on the water.

Yo mama's so fat, they had to grease a door frame and hold a Twinkie on the other side to get her through.

Yo mama's so fat, when she gets in an elevator, it HAS to go down.

Yo mama's so fat, when she was diagnosed with the flesh eating disease, the doctor gave her 5 years to live.

Yo mama's so fat, her picture takes two frames.

Yo mama's so fat, when your dad climbs on top of her, his ears pop.

Yo mama's so fat, every time she wears high heels, she strikes oil.

Yo mama's so fat, her blood type is Ragu.

Yo mama's so fat, when I climbed up on top of her, I burned my ass on the lightbulb.

Yo mama's so fat, the back of her neck looks like a pack of hot-dogs.

Yo mama's so fat, she DJ's for the ice cream truck.

Yo mama's so fat, when she takes a shower, her feet don't get wet.

Yo mama's so fat, she can't wear Dazzey Dukes. She has to wear Boss Hoggs.

Yo mama's so fat, the shadow of her ass weighs 50 pounds.

Yo mama's so fat, the bitch jumped in the air and got stuck.

Yo mama's so fat, her lipstick comes in a spray can.

Yo mama's so fat, she sat on a dollar and made change.

Yo mama's so fat, her skates went flat.

Yo mama's so fat, when her beeper goes off people think she is backing up.

Yo mama's so fat, when she was born, she didn't get a birth certificate, she got blue prints.

Yo Mama So Ugly:

Yo mama's so ugly, her shadow quit.

Yo mama's so ugly, she could only be Yo mama.

Yo mama's so ugly, they filmed "Gorillas in the Mist" in her shower.

Yo mama's so ugly, they push her face into dough to make gorilla cookies.

Yo mama's so ugly, when she looks in the mirror, the reflection ducks.

Yo mama's so ugly, her birth certificate was an apology letter from the condom factory.

Yo mama's so ugly, she looks like she's been in a dryer filled with rocks.

Yo mama's so ugly, she looks like her face caught on fire and they put it out with a fork.

Yo mama's so ugly, her mom had to be drunk to breastfeed her.

Yo mama's so ugly, she couldn't get laid in a prison with a handful of pardons.

Yo mama's so ugly, when she moved into the projects, all her neighbors chipped in for curtains.

Yo mama's so ugly, they rub tree branches on her face to make ugly sticks.

Yo mama's so ugly, her mama had to tie a steak around her neck to get the dog to play with her.

Yo mama's so ugly, even the tide won't take her out.

Yo mama's so ugly, people go as her for Halloween.

Yo mama's so ugly, when she cries, tears run down the back of her neck.

Yo mama's so ugly, she has to creep up on her makeup.

Yo mama was such an ugly baby, her parents had to feed her with a slingshot.

Yo Mama So Stupid:

Yo mama's so stupid, she spent twenty minutes lookin' at an orange juice box because it said "concentrate".

Yo mama's so stupid, she put lipstick on her forehead because she wanted to makeup her mind.

Yo mama's so stupid, she thought Grape Nuts was an STD.

Yo mama's so stupid, she saw a billboard that said "Dodge Trucks" and she started ducking through traffic.

Yo mama's so stupid, she uses Old Spice for cooking.

Yo mama's so stupid, she thinks sexual battery is something in a dildo.

Yo mama's so stupid, the first time she used a vibrator, she cracked her two front teeth.

Yo mama's so stupid, when she took you to the airport and a sign said "Airport Left," she turned around and went home.

Yo mama's so stupid, she thought she could get food stamps at the post office.

Yo mama's so stupid that under "Education" on her job application, she put "Hooked on Phonics."

Yo mama's so stupid, it takes her 2 hours to watch 60 Minutes.

Yo mama's so stupid, on her job application where it says emergency contact she put 911.

Yo Mama So Old:

Yo mama's so old, I told her to act her age and the bitch died.

Yo mama's so old, she owes Fred Flintstone a food stamp.

Yo mama's so old, the key on Ben Franklin's kite was to her apartment.

Yo mama's so old, her memory is in black and white.

Yo mama's so old, her social security number is 1.

Yo mama's so old, her birth-certificate expired.

Yo mama's so old, she has a picture of Jesus in her yearbook.

Yo mama's so old, she knew Mr. Clean when he had an afro.

Yo mama's so old, she's got Jesus' beeper number.

Yo mama's so old, when she was in school there was no history class.

Yo mama's so old, when she reads the bible she reminisces.

Yo mama's so old, when she was born, the Dead Sea was just getting sick.

Yo mama's so old, she called the cops when David and Goliath started to fight.
"Hey, Crash!
Ever tried walking with no legs?

It's real slow!"
~Crunch, Crash Bandicoot TTR

User avatar
DNR
Digital Mercenary
Digital Mercenary
Posts: 6114
Joined: 24 Feb 2006, 17:00
15
Location: Michigan USA
Contact:

Post by DNR »

Yo momma is so fat, when she wore a Malcom X t-shirt to the beach, a helicopter tried to land on her!

:wink:
-
He gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to the discerning. He reveals deep and hidden things; he knows what lies in Darkness, and Light dwells with him.

Necrix
The Hacker Wolf
The Hacker Wolf
Posts: 746
Joined: 09 Apr 2005, 16:00
16
Location: United States
Contact:

Post by Necrix »

haha..
anyone else care to fire off some jokes?

Maybe have some Flame wars in here? :P
Image
Anime-Planet.com - anime | manga | reviews

User avatar
LaBlueGirl
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Posts: 513
Joined: 22 Mar 2006, 17:00
15
Location: Brussel
Contact:

Flame

Post by LaBlueGirl »

Necrix wrote:haha..
anyone else care to fire off some jokes?

Maybe have some Flame wars in here? :P
THIS IS A FLAME


Dear

[] dork [ ] dummy [ ] ignorant snot [ ] stupid [ ] nerd [x] Elvis
[x] AOL-er [ ] computer geek [ ] retard [ ] sycophant [ ] Samuel Stoddard

You are being flamed because

[] you continued a boring useless stupid thread
[x] you repeatedly posted to the same thread that you just posted to
[ ] you posted a "test" in a non-test group
[ ] you used vi and left a whole bunch of editing garbage on the screen
[ ] you posted a request for an article which was posted three times in the
past week
[ ] you claimed to have the original GGBJ
[ ] you posted some sort of religious junk that doesn't belong in this group
[x] you posted an article that was not funny, unoriginal and very boring
[x] your mother dresses you funny

To recant, you must

[] actually post a humorous article
[ ] give up all your worldly possessions and become a Tibetan monk
[ ] hang yourself by the big toe for 72 hours
[x] abstain from sex for a month (shouldn't be too hard for you)
[x] shave your head, paint a target on it, and go to Iraq
[ ] give your MP (Congressman in U.S.A., I guess) a donation of three hemp
plants to decorate his office
[x] become politically correct and demand that manholes be renamed to
peroffspringopenings
[ ] cut your testicles (or breasts, if you're a woman) off
[ ] _________________________________________________

Thank you for the time you have taken to read this.



END FLAME
"Hey, Crash!
Ever tried walking with no legs?

It's real slow!"
~Crunch, Crash Bandicoot TTR

User avatar
LaBlueGirl
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Posts: 513
Joined: 22 Mar 2006, 17:00
15
Location: Brussel
Contact:

Microsoft Tv Dinners

Post by LaBlueGirl »

Microsoft TV Dinner Product Insert
You must first remove the plastic cover. By doing so you agree to accept and honor Microsoft rights to all TV dinners. You may not give anyone else a bite of your dinner (which would constitute an infringement of Microsoft's rights). You may, however, let others smell and look at your dinner and are encouraged to tell them how good it is. If you have a PC microwave oven, insert the dinner into the oven. Set the oven using these keystrokes: <mstv.dinn.//08.5min@50%heat//
Then enter:
<ms//start.cook_dindin/yummy|/yum~yum:-)gohot#cookme. If you have a Mac oven, insert the dinner and press start. The oven will set itself and cook the dinner. Be forewarned that Microsoft dinners may crash, in which case your oven must be restarted. This is a simple procedure. Remove the dinner from the oven and enter <ms.nodamn.good/tryagainagain/again.crap. This process may have to be repeated. Try unplugging the microwave and then doing a cold reboot. If this doesn't work, contact your hardware vendor. Many users have reported that the dinner tray is far too big, larger than the dinner itself, having many useless compartments, most of which are empty. These are for future menu items. If the tray is too large to fit in your oven you will need to upgrade your equipment. Dinners are only available from registered outlets, and only the chicken variety is currently produced. If you want another variety, call Microsoft Help and they will explain that you really don't want another variety. Microsoft Chicken is all you really need. Microsoft has disclosed plans to discontinue all smaller versions of their chicken dinners. Future releases will only be in the larger family size. Excess chicken may be stored for future use, but must be saved only in Microsoft approved packaging. Microsoft promises a dessert with every dinner after '98. However, that version has yet to be released. Users have permission to get thrilled in advance. Microsoft dinners may be incompatible with other dinners in the freezer, causing your freezer to self-defrost. This is a feature, not a bug. Your freezer probably should have been defrosted anyway.
"Hey, Crash!
Ever tried walking with no legs?

It's real slow!"
~Crunch, Crash Bandicoot TTR

User avatar
LaBlueGirl
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Suckopithicus chickasaurus
Posts: 513
Joined: 22 Mar 2006, 17:00
15
Location: Brussel
Contact:

Post by LaBlueGirl »

Grieving Husband

This guy's at work when he receives a call from the hospital informing him that his wife's been in an accident. He rushes to the emergency room where he's met by the doctor. They sit down in the waiting room and the doctor, with a very solemn look on his face starts to speak. But before he can, the guy interrupts.

Guy: "Doc, don't tell me my wife's dead. I just can't take it. Really, I can't take it. I love her."

Doctor: "Well, sir, I do have some bad news." Again the guy interrupts.

Guy: "Doc, just tell me, did she make it?"

Doctor: "As I was saying, we did all we could. Right now she's in a vegatative state, which is likely where she'll remain for the rest of her life. She can stay here overnight, but after that, you'll have to take her home because your insurance doesn't cover this type of thing."

The guy slumps, just crushed.

Doctor: "With the right care, which will include you feeding her five times a day, cleaning her and giving her constant care on a daily basis, she'll likely live for at least another 30 years."

The guy sinks even lower, just crushed, and starts to cry.

Doctor: "As I said, your insurance doesn't cover this kind of care, so you'll have to make some sort of arrangements to purchase the equipment you'll need for your wife. I would suggest you put your house on the market today and sell it as quickly as possible and buy a mobile home. You're gonna need the excess cash. It should be enough to buy the equipment your wife needs and for you to live on for the next couple of months. By then, you should be able to qualify for welfare and other forms of state and federal aid."

By this point, the guy is sobbing uncontrollably.

The doctor reaches over, puts his hand on his shoulder and says, "Hey, look at me."

The guy looks up and the doctor smiles and says, "I'm just fucking with you, she's dead."
"Hey, Crash!
Ever tried walking with no legs?

It's real slow!"
~Crunch, Crash Bandicoot TTR

User avatar
sternbildchen
Fame ! Where are the chicks?!
Fame ! Where are the chicks?!
Posts: 421
Joined: 26 Apr 2006, 16:00
15
Location: Germany

Post by sternbildchen »

Evil :(

User avatar
Gogeta70
^_^
^_^
Posts: 3257
Joined: 25 Jun 2005, 16:00
15

Post by Gogeta70 »

LMAO i haven't heard that one in SO LONG. That was a good one... woo.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It works on my machine...

User avatar
Gogeta70
^_^
^_^
Posts: 3257
Joined: 25 Jun 2005, 16:00
15

Post by Gogeta70 »

Lol, oh man, over at genmay.com forums, this guy told this story...
Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth.

Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you - in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first I thought it was only gas, which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shit. But in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire-cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shit.

I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical portions. I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shit at the exact same second that one’s ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about halfway into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night. It was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events is a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus.

Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass.

But remember, I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force, and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat, that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall - at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already halfway to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls - unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shitting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweatpants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended. Yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shit that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no fucking toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels.

Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed, in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
LMAO...
¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It works on my machine...

User avatar
Gogeta70
^_^
^_^
Posts: 3257
Joined: 25 Jun 2005, 16:00
15

Post by Gogeta70 »

Another one:
Tis a teal deer, But it will have you rolling.

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.

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!"
¯\_(ツ)_/¯ It works on my machine...

Post Reply