More closely related to Jimmy James' post than sharting but still relevant nonetheless. This is one of the best shitting stories I've ever read so I thought I would post it here. My cousin found it on craigslist and sent it to me a few years ago and because I'm a sick fuck, I never deleted the email. (spoilered for size) Spoiler Sorry, I don't have anything to post about layoffs or politics, but I DO have another story from the Public Bathroom. Enjoy. You are my arch nemisis. I see you wandering around as I go about my IT Computer Nerd business: Tall. Middle Eastern. Pot Belly. We catch each others eye every now and then and give each other a slight nod. I know you, I know what you do and I am on to your games. I saw you this morning, we made eye contact. You nodded and took another bite of whatever Death-Ass producing garbage you fuel up on that makes the bathroom, smell like the inside of a dead monkey's colon, and nodded at me. I got you this time, fucker. I give you my icey grin and nod back, then hurry back to my office. It's almost noon, and that's the time you like to run to the toilet and preform your daily ASS JIHAD on all the people just trying to wash their hands. Maybe in your country there is no commen sense that would tell you that lunch time = hand wash time. People want to get clean and eat, not be fumigated with the high octane liquid shit attack you subjigate them too. But I got you this time. Yeah fucker I GOT SOMETHING COOKING UP FOR YOU! Two egg sandwiches with cheese. Greasy sausage patties. A couple glasses of Tang. Some leftover Chinese food. A Twix. Root Beer Soda. Some steamed brocoli I had in the fridge. A Hot Pocket with peperonni and cheese. A Chocolate Poptart. And like a cherry on top ... a McDonald's Quaterpounder with cheese. I never eat this shit, it's all greasy and fucking nasty, but today is the day I fight back. I go out for a quick mile jog and almsot die. My stomach feels like there are two midgets fighting to the death inside there. I walk back to work, ass clenched tighter than a virgin's thighs at Church. Great. The hot chick from next door wants to chat. She assumes the sweat on my face and arms is from running. She doesn't realize that it's a cold sweat induced by my severe sphicter trauma. She finally shuts up and I stagger to the Death Ass Arena. You are there already in your favorite stall: The one right next to the fucking sinks. You stupid, socially retarded fuck. Fine. You have yet to begin your daily purge of Middle Eastern Ass Stew. I enter the stall next to you and drop my pants in preperation of the upcomming battle. Your opening slavo is fired: A sloppy wet fart with a solid-shot closer. I laugh and show you the power of Advanced American Foodstuffs. The tuba fart I unleash echos off the walls and shrinks my waistline about an inch. The guy at the urinal laughs as I slap the wall between you and I and say "Back to YOU, Kajid!". You are silent, I assume you know who I am and that the time has come for us to battle. I know you are summoning your intestinal fortitude for full out war. You do not dissapoint me. With a hissing "SSSShhhhhzzzzzzzzz!" you squirt out a deadly spray of ass juice that pollutes the air and makes my head swim. The pisser at the urinal is no longer laughing, he quickly zips up and runs for the door. He did not stop to wash his hands, instead opting to head for the hills. I cover my mouth and nose with my shirt and the black spots dissapear from my vision. My head clears. I am ready. "AAaaaaaaaRRRRRGGGHHH!" I yell, as I drop Big Tim. That's short for "Big Timber" ... AKA "Mississippi Butt Log". Quick-fire farts stutter out of my ass, as I push the monster log from the Shit Dimension into our reality. The beefy, yeasty stench easily overpowers the Indian Ass Gutter oder of your previous attack. Mega Turd hits the water in the bowl with a mighty splash, the reek is that of a dead whale slowly ripening in the hot, tropical sun. I catch my breath and wipe my brow, and start to pat myself on the back. I should have known the battle was not over. The only thing I can think of is that you must has completly unzipped your ass to your elbow. That's the only way I could begin to explain the lumpy, creamy splashs falling out of your ass into the toilet. It sounds like you are pouring a gallon of strawberry shake with whole strawberries in it into the shitter. I see the hairs on my arms start to curl from the horrid stench wafting up from under your stall. I shudder and sway on my throne, unsure if I will survive. I have no choice. I must employ the Deal Breaker. I hunker down and clench my hands together. My fingers twitch and entwine like a nest of snakes, almost like I am running through a series of ancient Ninja Hand Symbols. My feet lift up onto the toes and my legs start to shake. "You want to play??" I growls. A low moaning comes from my stomach, like a dinosaur calling into a swampy, foggy night. "YOU GOT IT! AAAAAAHHHHHH!" Like Cloud summoning The Knights of the Round in Final Fantasy 7, I summon the Excalibur of Turd Demons to destroy my enemy. Hot magma-like shit rockets out of my ass, releasing a noxious, sticky cloud of deadly recal perfume. I hear you gag and see your feet shuffle around, but you can't get away, can you? No. You can't. Veins throb on my neck and temples as the turd monster tears itself from my bowels. My lips skin back from my now clenched teeth and I try not to scream. Your roll of toilet paper rolls into my stall. You must have torn it from the wall with numb fingers in an attempt to "Wipe and Scoot". Too late. MUCH too late! Oders pound you with merciless fists: Rotten Fruitcake stuffed with boiled chicken assholes. Hammered shit-logs served on a bed of week old white rice. Rosie O'Donnel's racid crotch farts. The smell of your mom's dank, hairy Middle Eastern armpits. Your stall door bangs open and you stagger out. You take three unsteady steps to the door and can barely open it wide enough to slip out. I laugh at you before you leave. "Yeah! RUN, Fucker!" I yell, and laugh again. You say nothing. It's all over except for the clean up. Fuck with me again, you shit filled Anal Terrorist. Me and my ass will be waiting.
First time poster, long time shitter/sharter. So, I would guess this story dates back to when I was 10, so that would make it the summer of 1979 or 1980. It was one of those family things where everybody piled in the family truckster for a long ride and some ice cream. My Dad owned a construction company and would sometimes drive us around on a Sunday and show us the houses he had built. Well after a couple of hours of driving around and filling up on ice cream at Baskin Robbins, I felt a rumbley in my tumbley. I was sitting in the back seat with my sister and brother and remember telling my dad we needed to get home rather quickly because I was going to need to use the bathroom. Now there is a key point to this story that I need to enlighten everyone to. My father was a sadistic sonuvabitch. He was the kind of guy who would tickle you until you pissed yourself and think it was damn funny. You also didn’t really want to tell him you had to take a leak when you were in the car because he would then slow the fuck down and proceed to hit every pothole and manhole cover he could find. So when I experienced this rumbling in my belly and severe anal clamping, I really needed to weigh out whether I tell the prick and shit my pants in the back seat or not tell the prick and shit my pants in the back seat. I figured giving him a warning would at least prevent me from having to hear him yell at me for shitting all over his car. As luck would have it, we were not all that far from home. Despite trying to take the slowest bump ridden route home, somehow we managed to pull into the driveway without me staining the interior of whatever godforsaken 70’s shitbox he was driving at the time. I thought I was home free. I stepped out of the car and did the ass clench gimp walk to the front door. Just as I reached for the handle, my sphincter could hold no more. I literally assploded. It was no shart, but a full on Hershey squirt, the fucking Niagara Falls of Hershey squirts. To this day I still remember the feeling of it running down my legs and pooling in my low top Chuck Taylors. After that I slowly walked to the bathroom trying to make sure the shit didn’t squish out of my shoes and onto the floor. I just hopped in the shower and hosed myself down, stripping off the clothes and washing the shit out of my pants and shoes. I figured next time I would just shit in his car, unfortunately I never got the chance to repay the fucker.