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Shart 2021: Shit Can Always Get Worse

Prepuce of Doom

By Prepuce of Doom
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Marfa Low Crown

Marfa Low Crown 2547

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8 hours ago, Prepuce of Doom said:

Maybe we all have different thresholds for when a garment is too beshitted to merit an attempt at resurrection, but I have a hard time envisioning a circumstance when I've enshitted my underwear, pants/shorts, and car seat, and yet for it not to be such a crime scene that it was a no-brainer to ditch the tainted clothes. 

But you doodoo you, dude - this is a judgment-free zone! 

That’s fantastic 🤣

Yes. There are limits & a level of enshitment where clothing should just be written off. A lot of it involves environment & circumstance.

I do have a story about how I had to surrender both socks, my underwear, and an undershirt in a gas station bathroom. Although it does take things a little further than the scope of this thread’s purpose, it did begin with a shart. 
 

I can tell the story if you would like but as you are the field commander of this thread I will defer to your judgment. 

 

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956 Worldwide

956 Worldwide 34750

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I’m down. Some friends had me over for brunch and as I got ready to leave, I went to take a leak. I noticed I COULD shit if I wanted…but their bathroom is this tiny, unventilated place right off the kitchen. I don’t want to punish them for inviting me over, and the urge is at the time controllable. 
 

My key error comes when, as I feel the pressure building, in a part of town I rarely visit, I rejoice as a metro train heading my way pulls in right as I hop off the escalator. I slide past the doors as they close and then realize— nope; I only USUALLY ride the line this direction. So ride one stop the wrong way, wait the Sunday delayed schedule for the return train. Metro shitters are closed for “COVID” reasons. Why did I have a second coffee?
 

On the right train, my bowels sense we are getting close. I believe that I feel some pressure drop and an actual fart make its way down. After slightly easing my o ring, I realize my greasy mistake. It is not a catastrophic failure, luckily. I did make it home in time to paint the back of my toilet bowl, no light turned on in the bathroom and the door open. 

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MissingInAction

MissingInAction 25177

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15 hours ago, hookemATL said:

One of the benefits of being forced to work from home during COVID is that while I HAVE shat myself three times in the past ~1.5 years, I have just been able to waltz (waddle) right to the shower. Check. Mate. 

Same. My butthole discipline has suffered greatly during the pandemic. I'm taking chances I never would have before this.

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Marfa Low Crown

Marfa Low Crown 2547

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On 7/31/2021 at 6:28 PM, Marfa Low Crown said:

I do have a story about how I had to surrender both socks, my underwear, and an undershirt in a gas station bathroom. Although it does take things a little further than the scope of this thread’s purpose, it did begin with a shart. 
 

I can tell the story if you would like but as you are the field commander of this thread I will defer to your judgment. 

Alright. With the green light from @Prepuce of Doom I begin. 

This story is a bit long & I vow to truncate it as much as I can but for accuracy a number of things must be mentioned starting with the fulcrum point & that is MSG. 
 

History tells us that MSG is a naturally occurring salt on at least one variety of seaweed available to the coastal peoples in Asia for millennia.

They found in their cooking that if you added this seaweed into a given dish everything just seemed to taste better.

These days we use a synthesized version of it commercially and it delivers the same results. If you reach a point where it does not agree with you it delivers other results and that of course would be the crux of my post.

Almost 20 years ago which is when the story takes place , I kept the company of a mildly schizophrenic friend old enough to be my grandfather. He was one hell of a steel guitar player and we played in a few places around Austin with me backing him up on guitar. 
 

We had a good friendship. in a lot of ways I was the adult but in other ways every bit of his age and wisdom showed. One thing that was evident about his mental condition is that he really had no filter. I mean almost child-like sometimes. That will come in later.

moving forward it was our routine to practice old country and western songs on Sundays. Later I would take him to lunch on my dime because he never had any money.

One Sunday I took him to a then and now popular Vietnamese restaurant in Austin. I loaded up on a big bowl of Pho and didn’t think a thing of it. Why would I? Never had an issue before 
 

about a mile and a half away from the restaurant I could tell that something was wrong. something was definitely different here. I could feel my innards churning like the pre-Krakatoa moment.

about a minute later and only halfway to taking him home I realized I was going to have to shit within the next two minutes. 
 

A lot can be said about making decisions under stress and duress....

The difficulty in staying clear and controlling your nerves & your body in high stress fight or flight situations. People train for this. 
 

i’ve come to realize that when you are about to shit yourself however you have an almost Buddha like total clarity. It’s like in the movie Limitless & the drug NZT featured therein. You see everything. You know exactly what to do & how to do it. You see your steps of action unfolding to avoid a miserable fate and you will always make the best decision. 
 

so while I’m driving I realize I’m not going to make it to his house.

i’m not even going to make it one more minute.

fast math in my head delivers 2 options.

I have the keys to the restaurant I am managing at that time in my pocket. We are going to drive right past it. it’s a Sunday and they are closed. i’m going to have to unlock two doors and disable an alarm. that’s going to take ‘x’ long.

across the street there is a gas station and there is only one door to unlock. That’s going to take ‘x-2’ long. 

pure vision. that’s the answer.

I get a major reprieve when the men’s room is available & i  hurry with the key out of the gas station. if it had been occupied I would’ve asked for the women’s key. If that had been occupied I would have just shit in the parking lot outside of the building. That’s exactly what this came down to. 

Fumbling at the door in complete and total panic I unlock it. As I am unlocking the door, if you would have put a piece of charcoal between my butt cheeks I would have handed you the Hope diamond. 
 

even those primordial deep earth pressures were not enough. A shart that would’ve been worthy of its own post on this thread alone got out before I even turned for the toilet.

at this point physiology comes in to play. I never really thought about it but your ass muscles can only do two things. if you clinch that’s what they’re all doing. if you squat you relinquish your ability to clinch. It’s one or the other. 
 

Prior to this I had walked into public bathrooms very occasionally and I could never comprehend how there was shit on the wall. Seriously I could not wrap my head around it.

Sacrificing my muscular ability to clench my butt cheeks with the compromise of squatting it all made perfect sense.

when I made contact with the toilet seat I didn’t sit. I slid. 
 

at this point I just vacated into the toilet because I knew that I was fucked. might as well go with it and have a nice dump. As a then restaurant manager I know that you have to pay a bill at the end anyways.

there was not one square of toilet paper left on the roll. Not one. No toilet paper in the entire room. 

when I got up I turned around and looked at the toilet. It was like the entire toilet had been placed on a dirt county road next to 2 foot deep mud-filled pothole next to it with regular semi truck traffic. Just... obliteration. 

Alright. 
 

my underwear were already toast so that was the first thing to go. My socks were completely negotiable to begin with so that was the next thing. 

as I spent the next ten minutes pushing my own shit around with my clothing I realize that still wasn’t going to cut it. At that point I sacrificed my undershirt which was a difference maker.

somewhere in this process there was a banging on the door. My schizophrenic friend asking me in his southern drawl.... “Uh... mr. low crown you have been in there for a very long time”

next I heard him talking outside of the door to somebody.

“mr. low crown has been in there for a very very long time.” 
more knocking.

i’m not sure what’s worse. The indignity of cleaning up your own shit with half of the clothes that you put on that day... or the fact that there was now an audience.

I did the best I could and threw all of my clothes into the trashcan.

The bathroom was absolutely the best that I could leave it. it was. 
I didn’t visit that convenient store for three months. then as now I feel like the best thing they could’ve done to that bathroom was just a light it on fire and start all over again. 
 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

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nnm

nnm 36598

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In about 2008 I boarded a flight for Europe. KLM out of Houston. It was a 747, and my seat was upstairs, in the all-business class section. There were at least two colleagues in that same section.

As I boarded I knew I had stomach trouble. I knew I was in for a long flight.  Those 747s take a LONG time to load, so the chemical processes had plenty of time to develop further reactions. The longer the plane took to load, the more trouble I knew I was in. The one or two experimental pressure reliefs I tried let me know that not only was I in huge trouble, but my underwear was going to stay in the garbage in the head.

Finally we were boarded, finally we took off, finally we reached the altitude where I could get up and get to the head. 
I stayed in there a while, letting things work themselves out. A good long while. 
After 15 minutes or so, BANG, BANG, BANG, went the door. “SIR, WE NEED YOU TO COME OUT OF THERE RIGHT NOW!!!”

I’m half disrobed, trying to find some peace, but I react as I should. I madly scramble around, wiping and washing and adjusting clothing. 
The banging on the door continues. “SIR, WE ARE SERIOUS. YOU NEED TO COME OUT RIGHT NOW!!!!”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, give me a few seconds please! I’m not dressed!” I yell back. We exchange these full volume messages a few times while I get myself together. 
Finally I open the door. Three flight attendants are there, two with fire extinguishers. The whole cabin is obviously very concerned, craning their necks to see what the emergency situation is. 
“SIR, YOU CAN NOT SMOKE IN AN AIRPLANE LAVATORY!!!!”

”Um, I wasn’t smoking. Have a look.”
The lead flight attendant pokes her head in, takes a sniff, gags (really, she did gag), and says “Ok sir, you weren’t smoking. You can return to your seat.”

Whatever chemical reactions took place in my bowels, they were powerful enough to trigger the smoke alarm. 
The head was in the front of the cabin. My seat was near the back. I got to take the walk of shame past all my fellow passengers, including two of my colleagues. 
do-not-go-in-there.gif

Edited by nnm
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Fudge Nuggets

Fudge Nuggets 19219

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On 7/31/2021 at 10:32 PM, hookemATL said:

One of the benefits of being forced to work from home during COVID is that while I HAVE shat myself three times in the past ~1.5 years, I have just been able to waltz (waddle) right to the shower. Check. Mate. 

The fuck is wrong with you, man?  GD savage. 

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Prepuce of Doom

Prepuce of Doom 21102

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On 3/10/2021 at 3:37 PM, Prepuce of Doom said:

Doomlet isn't allowed on Surly until he's 10, but he's checking in by proxy right now while crying in the bathroom. 

He's been forcing farts for years with the reckless abandon of someone who doesn't understand the stakes of the game he's been playing, so I'm mostly just surprised that it's taken so long for the inevitable to occur. 

One soiled pair of size 4t Jurassic Park underpants in the trash... 

Another 4t pair of Jurassic Park undies in the trash. 

"I forced a hot fart. But I didn't think it was dangerous." 

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Marfa Low Crown

Marfa Low Crown 2547

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3 hours ago, Prepuce of Doom said:

Another 4t pair of Jurassic Park undies in the trash. 

"I forced a hot fart. But I didn't think it was dangerous." 

At his age, & the rate he’s learning these lessons his buttcheeks will be forged harder than the gates of hell & he’ll have wisdom to boot. There’s hope, man. 

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MissingInAction

MissingInAction 25177

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On 8/3/2021 at 9:29 AM, hookemATL said:

Two of them happened during conference calls for work. I’m an invalid and goddamned proud of it. 

Teams call today. Camera on and they ask me what challenges I'm facing this quarter. 

Mind you I'm wearing nothing but a polo shirt and underwear. I'm sitting on a towell so I don't stick to my leather chair.

Been eating a lot of apples and drinking lone star.

That towel is now in the dumpster.

Yep. Full bodied shart right in the middle of my presentation.

Luckily I muted the mic just in time.

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Superhero

Superhero 8834

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But does anyone have trouble keeping their butthole clean?

It doesn't matter if I wipe and wipe and wipe, then hit it with a couple of wet wipes if there are available. When I get home, inevitably I have to do a "safety" wipe to remove the mud slathered in my crack.

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nnm

nnm 36598

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1 minute ago, Superhero said:

But does anyone have trouble keeping their butthole clean?

It doesn't matter if I wipe and wipe and wipe, then hit it with a couple of wet wipes if there are available. When I get home, inevitably I have to do a "safety" wipe to remove the mud slathered in my crack.

 

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Prepuce of Doom

Prepuce of Doom 21102

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5 minutes ago, Superhero said:

But does anyone have trouble keeping their butthole clean?

It doesn't matter if I wipe and wipe and wipe, then hit it with a couple of wet wipes if there are available. When I get home, inevitably I have to do a "safety" wipe to remove the mud slathered in my crack.

Do you regularly ingest Olestra? Sugar-free Haribo? Shartfish sushi? 

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Gil Bang

Gil Bang 26000

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7 hours ago, Superhero said:

But does anyone have trouble keeping their butthole clean?

It doesn't matter if I wipe and wipe and wipe, then hit it with a couple of wet wipes if there are available. When I get home, inevitably I have to do a "safety" wipe to remove the mud slathered in my crack.

I shower immediately after every dump, if at all possible. 

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RDCanecutter

RDCanecutter 26468

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On 8/1/2021 at 4:50 PM, MissingInAction said:

Lots of fiber + dairy= mud butt.

Funny you'd mention those two things...

Today I was on a gig two counties away. Drove out on the interstate, gnawing on a PBJ sandwich made out of some hippy bread that's all nuts and berries, it was good. While out there working, I got thirsty. Grabbed a little bottle of milk. That was good too.

Got done early, and decided to take some shady two-lanes back to town, because they are pretty. They also take 30 minutes longer, but what is time? Nice drive back through the country. Then I'm in stop-and-go generic suburbia, starting to get the farts, but no sign of worse. I pass dozens of fast food restaurants with functioning bathrooms, but I don't need them, not me!

Finally I am only about 5 miles from home, locked into traffic, but hey, I can make it.

About 2 miles out, I realize it is about to hit. I have eased out all the air farts I have left. The next one will be Sea Monster. I am in a dead zone commercially with only one business within my rapidly-reduced range. A gas station. The kind where you have to go in and get the bathroom key on a stick from the guy. I am not going to make it. I look at the other side of the road where there is a parking lot for a running trail, are there some portapotties? Fuck if I know, green light, hit the gas,, I am dead, it is over, KAMIKAZE!

I cut off a pick-up truck while my body reverse-prison-rapes me. I feel a rattlesnake slither from under my butt. I am driving normally now, what's the rush. Oh here's another wave, more liquid. I roll through Craftsman Cottage 1940s Suburbia with the window down, slowly easing past joggers. Construction? Of course there's construction making me ease into a blindspot where there could be oncoming cars. A fender-bender would be great right now, get out with pants full of brown sackrete, oh yeah that'll buff out, here's my number and insurance.

Several more baby sharts join Mama and Daddy Shart in my pants, and I'm home. There's a hidden way from the garage to the back deck, where I strip off boots and socks (wonderfully dry) and then peel off pasty trousers and underwear and toss them out on the damn deck for a future thunderstorm to take care of. One of my legs is clean, the other looks like it rolled in the mud at Woodstock. Tiptoe to the shower, where I have to rub my hand all up in the actual clay-like shit on my messy leg to get it off.

Then I ignore the clothes out on the deck, the disaster of the car seat, and go up to bed just to lie down and refocus. When I feel stronger, I get dressed in regular dirty clothes (I mean, why the hell not) and go throw the shart garments inside out on the grass and blast them. Then I fill a bucket with soapy water, toss those clothes in it, and stir them around with a stick just like a fucking savage. I don't know if they will ever come clean or not. They are still outside on the deck in the bucket.

As for the car seat, I don't give a fuck about that right now. I hit it with a little of the soapy water, but the garage is honestly too dark to see and I'm too tired to move the car into better light. I took the no-doubt-fecal-flecked shower towel and folded it several times as a seat cover over any refugee mini-turds that maybe extruded into that place.

I just don't care. I am defeated.

Edited by RDCanecutter
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Marfa Low Crown

Marfa Low Crown 2547

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54 minutes ago, RDCanecutter said:

Funny you'd mention those two things...

Today I was on a gig two counties away. Drove out on the interstate, gnawing on a PBJ sandwich made out of some hippy bread that's all nuts and berries, it was good. While out there working, I got thirsty. Grabbed a little bottle of milk. That was good too.

Got done early, and decided to take some shady two-lanes back to town, because they are pretty. They also take 30 minutes longer, but what is time? Nice drive back through the country. Then I'm in stop-and-go generic suburbia, starting to get the farts, but no sign of worse. I pass dozens of fast food restaurants with functioning bathrooms, but I don't need them, not me!

Finally I am only about 5 miles from home, locked into traffic, but hey, I can make it.

About 2 miles out, I realize it is about to hit. I have eased out all the air farts I have left. The next one will be Sea Monster. I am in a dead zone commercially with only one business within my rapidly-reduced range. A gas station. The kind where you have to go in and get the bathroom key on a stick from the guy. I am not going to make it. I look at the other side of the road where there is a parking lot for a running trail, are there some portapotties? Fuck if I know, green light, hit the gas,, I am dead, it is over, KAMIKAZE!

I cut off a pick-up truck while my body reverse-prison-rapes me. I feel a rattlesnake slither from under my butt. I am driving normally now, what's the rush. Oh here's another wave, more liquid. I roll through Craftsman Cottage 1940s Suburbia with the window down, slowly easing past joggers. Construction? Of course there's construction making me ease into a blindspot where there could be oncoming cars. A fender-bender would be great right now, get out with pants full of brown sackrete, oh yeah that'll buff out, here's my number and insurance.

Several more baby sharts join Mama and Daddy Shart in my pants, and I'm home. There's a hidden way from the garage to the back deck, where I strip off boots and socks (wonderfully dry) and then peel off pasty trousers and underwear and toss them out on the damn deck for a future thunderstorm to take care of. One of my legs is clean, the other looks like it rolled in the mud at Woodstock. Tiptoe to the shower, where I have to rub my hand all up in the actual clay-like shit on my messy leg to get it off.

Then I ignore the clothes out on the deck, the disaster of the car seat, and go up to bed just to lie down and refocus. When I feel stronger, I get dressed in regular dirty clothes (I mean, why the hell not) and go throw the shart garments inside out on the grass and blast them. Then I fill a bucket with soapy water, toss those clothes in it, and stir them around with a stick just like a fucking savage. I don't know if they will ever come clean or not. They are still outside on the deck in the bucket.

As for the car seat, I don't give a fuck about that right now. I hit it with a little of the soapy water, but the garage is honestly too dark to see and I'm too tired to move the car into better light. I took the no-doubt-fecal-flecked shower towel and folded it several times as a seat cover over any refugee mini-turds that maybe extruded into that place.

I just don't care. I am defeated.

This should be available for future generations in The Library of Congress 

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Prepuce of Doom

Prepuce of Doom 21102

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6 hours ago, RDCanecutter said:

Funny you'd mention those two things...

Today I was on a gig two counties away. Drove out on the interstate, gnawing on a PBJ sandwich made out of some hippy bread that's all nuts and berries, it was good. While out there working, I got thirsty. Grabbed a little bottle of milk. That was good too.

Got done early, and decided to take some shady two-lanes back to town, because they are pretty. They also take 30 minutes longer, but what is time? Nice drive back through the country. Then I'm in stop-and-go generic suburbia, starting to get the farts, but no sign of worse. I pass dozens of fast food restaurants with functioning bathrooms, but I don't need them, not me!

Finally I am only about 5 miles from home, locked into traffic, but hey, I can make it.

About 2 miles out, I realize it is about to hit. I have eased out all the air farts I have left. The next one will be Sea Monster. I am in a dead zone commercially with only one business within my rapidly-reduced range. A gas station. The kind where you have to go in and get the bathroom key on a stick from the guy. I am not going to make it. I look at the other side of the road where there is a parking lot for a running trail, are there some portapotties? Fuck if I know, green light, hit the gas,, I am dead, it is over, KAMIKAZE!

I cut off a pick-up truck while my body reverse-prison-rapes me. I feel a rattlesnake slither from under my butt. I am driving normally now, what's the rush. Oh here's another wave, more liquid. I roll through Craftsman Cottage 1940s Suburbia with the window down, slowly easing past joggers. Construction? Of course there's construction making me ease into a blindspot where there could be oncoming cars. A fender-bender would be great right now, get out with pants full of brown sackrete, oh yeah that'll buff out, here's my number and insurance.

Several more baby sharts join Mama and Daddy Shart in my pants, and I'm home. There's a hidden way from the garage to the back deck, where I strip off boots and socks (wonderfully dry) and then peel off pasty trousers and underwear and toss them out on the damn deck for a future thunderstorm to take care of. One of my legs is clean, the other looks like it rolled in the mud at Woodstock. Tiptoe to the shower, where I have to rub my hand all up in the actual clay-like shit on my messy leg to get it off.

Then I ignore the clothes out on the deck, the disaster of the car seat, and go up to bed just to lie down and refocus. When I feel stronger, I get dressed in regular dirty clothes (I mean, why the hell not) and go throw the shart garments inside out on the grass and blast them. Then I fill a bucket with soapy water, toss those clothes in it, and stir them around with a stick just like a fucking savage. I don't know if they will ever come clean or not. They are still outside on the deck in the bucket.

As for the car seat, I don't give a fuck about that right now. I hit it with a little of the soapy water, but the garage is honestly too dark to see and I'm too tired to move the car into better light. I took the no-doubt-fecal-flecked shower towel and folded it several times as a seat cover over any refugee mini-turds that maybe extruded into that place.

I just don't care. I am defeated.

Nothing personal (and it almost always is whenever I wish for a person to shit their pants) but this enthralling post-mortem account makes me hope you shit your pants a whole bunch more just so you'll write about it. 

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mininghorn88

mininghorn88 2298

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A few years ago my daughter was home from UT for the weekend.  While home she decides to go for a run.  Some time later I am working outside in the yard when I see this person on a small 20" bicycle madly pedaling at a speed that would have made peak Lance Armstrong proud.  I call out to her but she does not break stride nor even acknowledge me in any way.  She is staring straight ahead with a grim, determined look on her face.  As she turns into the driveway I call out to her again.  Still no reply.  She dismounts the bike at near full speed.  The bike continued forward under its own power for several feet before it crashes to the ground as my daughter does her best Olympic speed race walker imitation into the house.

A bit later she comes back outside and fills in the blanks for me.

She was about 3/4 of a mile from home when the moment hit.  She sees some random kid (about 8 years old) playing outside.  She tells the kid that she has an emergency and that she needs to commandeer his bike with a promise that it will be returned.

About an hour after my daughter's mad dash home we throw the bike into the back of my truck and return it to the rightful owner.  As we are pulling into the kid's driveway we see the kid in the front yard.  A big smile crosses his face.  As we are getting out of the truck to retrieve the bike for the kid the mom is coming out of the house with a "look" on her face.  Before she could get cross with us I tell her that she has a nice and kind son.  I didn't go into detail with her for the need of the bike but was just thankful to them.  She did say that she told her son that he would be lucky if he ever saw his bike again.  I am assuming that is why he had such a big smile upon its return.

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