View Full Version : Never use a mobile phone in the bathroom

15th Dec 2006, 07:45
From another forum.

"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 Taco Bell. 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 Shitter. I wasn't happy about being
next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot. No turning back.

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. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he'd had, blah blah blah. 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 my 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 ass 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 itself 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 seriously 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."

Krystal n chips
15th Dec 2006, 07:52
How long does your shrink feel it will be before you leave your little predilection for scatalogical events then ? :E

15th Dec 2006, 07:56

:} :D :ok:

Reminds me of a story I heard a while ago - it might have been here. A woman stopping en route somewhere to have a cup of coffee and a spot of relief goes into the "restroom", goes into a cubicle and sits down.

A voice from the next cubicle says "Hello". :ooh:

Our heroine says "Er - hello"

Next door:- "What are you doing?"

OH:- "Er - the same as you, I guess"

ND:- "Where are you then?"

OH:- "Sitting down next one along from you" :ooh: :eek:

ND:- "Look, I'm going to have to go. Some idiot next door to me is answering all my questions to you."

OH:- :uhoh: :sad:


Standard Noise
15th Dec 2006, 08:08
Cheers garp, I haven't laughed that much in ages, fantastic.:D :)

brain fade
15th Dec 2006, 08:16
Went to bog in the airport after flying.

Sure the Capt in the next cubicle as he'd gone off on a simlilar fire mission.

'That you in there Captain Stinky?'

Came there silence.:ooh:

15th Dec 2006, 10:36
Poo on the seat, yuck. And I'm a big strong rugby bloke.
What, you actually hit the toilet seat, like what were you doing, standing on top of the cubicle or something. You obviously don't know your arse from your elbow.
Never, never, have a poo in a public toilet. It's against God's law.
A wee is fine, as long as you use the normal urinal rules.
Stay as far away as possible from anyone else.
Do not wet yourself by forgetting the inevitable second burst.
But no excessive shaking, could be taken the wrong way.
Absolutely no peeking.
No talking.
Don't pick your nose.

But it's OK to play dive bombers with the yellow smelly thing and try and hit it with wee. See if you can move it.
I need to get a hobby.

15th Dec 2006, 11:05
Which brings to mind The Cold Wax Story. Been over a year since it was posted here. Still brings tears, of laughter, to my cheeks.........

The Cold Wax Story

All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now...the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.

It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I'm not a genius,
but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK?)

So, I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my particulars and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek. (Yes, it was a long strip.) I inhale deeply and brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!

:::Vision returning:::

I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I hear crashing drums???

:::Breathe, breathe:::

OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it.

Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX??? WHERE IS THE FREAKING WAX!!!???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax.


I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair. Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So, I put my foot down.

DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door.

Particulars? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right???


I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to sterilize surgical equipment - I sit. Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together, is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub...in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax. So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter.

"So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or... or who-ha?" She's laughing out loud by now......I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!!

Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor.

Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event. My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the ****ens out of my friend. It's sooo painful, but I really don't care. " It works!! IT WORKS!! "

I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.

I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color......

Buster Hyman
15th Dec 2006, 12:43
I too am a shy, retiring type on the throne. I thought I'd met my match when another person entered the cubicle next to me.

I waited & waited and when I thought he was doing the same thing...he snored!


"Torpedo away!" I shouted & I think the splash woke him. He finished up quickly & left...I hope he didn't think the splash was his....:confused:

15th Dec 2006, 14:22
Thanks for the tear inducing humour! Greatly needed at the moment!

This reminds me of the time I met some old acquaintances in our local Sainsburys and ‘the wife’ asked me if I could accompany ‘Derek’ to the gents, as he was not feeling ‘very well’. (names changed to protect the innocent)

Derek reached the cubicle. (all praise) There followed the most amazing cacophony of sounds. The aroma was truly amazing and eventually he came out of said cubicle. He was duly returned to the spouse feeling 'much better' and I was able to continue with my shopping. Mmm! Lovely!

15th Dec 2006, 14:47
Here's a good one.

Was on a fecking boring conference call some years back. Folks calling in from all over the world. Around 6 or 8 people on the call about some dumb project we were involved in. Halfway through, one chap says he has to get off and go to another meeting. Bye bye, but didn't hear the little bleep that normally indicates attendee hanging up.

We continue without said chappy. Every so often we hear a rustling sound when there was a lull in the conversation.

Then we hear a door open and close. Then another and the sound of a lock. By this time no one is speaking. I'm sat next to my mate and we are looking at each other with furrowed brows.

Then the grunting begins, followed by plop plop. This continues. I cannot hope to compete with the scatalogical description provided above. In any case, when we hear the toilet being flushed everyone on the call pisses themselves laughing.

We then hear the stall door being unlocked and opened. And then another door being opened and shut. Then "Hello, hello...????" We are all silent. Then he hangs up. The pillock had left his mobile connected to the call while it was stuck in his pocket.

And the dirty bugger hadn't washed his hands!!!:ugh: