Shitting will never be the same (TK)

[mustynutz]

today i must tell you all a story of my own. It all happened when i had to get knee surgery, i done gone and hurted muh knee, so i had to get some stuff done to it. But when i went for surgery, they put me to sleep, and numbed my ankle, not my knee. So when i woke up, i was in EXTREME pain, screaming and yelling, and yes, i teared a little bit too. So to calm me down and make me feel better, my doctors pumped me full of morphine, and i was fine. Now, the problem with morphine is, that in large doses it gives you constipation. Very badly.

I went home the day after my surgery, and for NINE whole days and NINE whole nights, i never took a shit. I ate less than normal, but whatever went in, never went out. Until the tenth day, when my mother said, if i dont go soon, then the doctors will have to stick a rod up my ass and get the shit out THEIR way. So i went to the bathroom, with my crutches and all, pulled down my pants, and sat down.

Ahh, how i regrett doing that.

Sitting down in itself was a challenge, as i couldnt bend my knee, so i had to use one of those rises old people use, with handles so i dont fall off mid-shit. So after properly balancing myself, i muster up some strength in my bowels, and try pushing.
nothing.
so i keep trying, and trying, and i start feeling some movement, i felt like an anaconda was sticking its head out of my sphincter. Oh the agony. So i keep pushing, and eventually the little head gets under the water, but the poo-rope hasnt broken. Its one long ass piece of black shit, long so long, for twenty minutes i push and push, like i was birthing an anaconda from my ass. Being that i havent dropped a deuce in nine days, this shit was dryer than a rock, so it was like birthing a granite anaconda. All of a sudden, it gets easy, the shit comes out normally, hey, better than normal, its like someone was pulling at the shit, thats how easy it was, oh, and by the way it was still ONE shit-rope. I look down, and shit seems to be red now, and a little less black/green. Fuck. I'm being ass-raped by own shit. Well there was nothing i could do, so i just keep pushing, and it all comes out. I lost 10 pounds that day.
But the smell, oh the smell of shit fermenting in my bowels of fury for nine days straight was a force to be reckoned with it wasnt going to go down easy. All the Glade Plug-In's in the world couldnt save this bathroom from a odor so powerful it burned my eyebrows. We had to call in Haz-Mat team to dispose of my shit, because it wouldnt go down the toilet.
Well its safe to say that i've never had any trouble shitting since then. Now it all comes out smooth as soft ice-cream.
I Anally Raped myself.

Atleast its better than letting some doctor jam something up my ass... or is it?

 

[mustynutz]

heres another


There were a lot of different types of kids in elementry school. But, the fat kid is the most memorable.

Was it because he had more sweat that came out of his ear than the whole class's armpits combined? Maybe it was because you'd watched a turd roll down his pantleg onto the classroom floor while he stood in front of the class. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because you'd watched him lick cherries jubilee off the gymnasium wall. Whatever it was, even the teachers kept their distance from it.

We were clever little kids back then, shenanigan pullers if you will. Evil shenanigans. We would actually study our teacher to find out exactly when she would turn a specific doorknob everyday, and cover it in our boogers and snot right before she did. Hilarity ensued, so did a whole lot of nosebleeds.

Actually, blood is what brings me to this story... about a fat kid. Or, "Greg," as his people called him.

My friends and I wanted Greg to join our ranks. He had such an endless supply of disgusting things, he was like a storage warehouse. However what we really wanted was the shit that came out of his ear. It contained a stench so vile even, even Jesus would have ordered him shot. It was an asset we wanted.

Believe it or not, Greg wasn't the most social person in the world. He was like an animal, you had to pay him for his company with food or old t-shirts.

The t-shirt thing was horrible. As I mentioned before, he did most of his sweating out of his ear. So it was like ear wax lava. He set old t-shirts on his shoulders to soak it up. After this the now yellow t-shirt would be thrown away, or if you were to burn it, it would burn indefinately. Although Greg was a horribly disgusting human being, he may very well have been sweating an energy source equivelent to cold fusion.

We had to stockpile food for Greg in order for him to provide us with resources. Usually we'd all steal Pop-Tarts from our parents. He probably had about the worst vitamin deficiency in the history of mankind, but that wasn't our concern. Greg was fat.

What we soon learned, however, was when you carried a zip-lock full of Greg's ear batter, you were the most powerful person on the playground. It was like weapons grade pleutonium. Even the fifth-graders were scared of us. When one of them crossed Ryan, he flicked it at him with a spoon and that kid didn't eat for three days. However, with power comes the desire for more power. It was only human nature.

My friends and I turned against eachother. Everyone needed more horrible Greg juices. We all started competing with eachother. We all tried to bring him the most Pop-tarts. This made Greg happy. He was always walking around with Pop-Tart residue around his crusty Pop-Tart hole. We fed that kid so many that soon, he would only say, "Pop-Tart".

A year later he was declared retarded.

He must have been eating at least fifty per day. Everyone was purchasing "Greg's Gravy" as it came to be called. Then, Greg quit coming to school. Tensions were high on the playground and trust was a thing of the past. Six people had been "slimed" and one of them still hadn't returned to her original color.

Then, was the assembly.

The principal approached the podium...

"Goodmorning everyone..."

"Goodmorning!!" we screamed at the top of our lungs for no reason.

"The reason I've called you here today is because one of our students, Greg Carson, has been placed in the hospital. There have been rumors that some of you have been feeding Greg on the playground. Don't feed him ANYMORE. Greg has developed a severe vitamin deficiency and is fighting for his life..."

At that moment one corner of the auditorium erupted in chaos.

I looked over and saw a kid in the fetal position, with fumes coming off him. He'd been covered in Greg Gravy. The gym was erupting in chaos and everyone unleashed. The teachers were too busy trying not to throw up to regain control.

Me and my former friends exchanged glances. What had we done? All this fighting, and for what? We'd forgotten what we were orginally trying to do. Make people puke.

We all gathered in the corner and threw away our stockpiles. Ryan was lugging around a garbage bag full of the stuff. It was a good thing he'd managed to keep it away from an open flame...

We watched on in ecstacy as ear wax was thrown around the gym, people were throwing up, and a fat kid fought for his life because he ate too many Pop-Tarts.

It really didn't get any better than this...

 

[mustynutz]

"""SAN FRANCISCO, California (AP) -- Ten years after it was born out of the carnage of three California mass shootings, the federal assault weapons ban is fading out of existence Monday.
While manufacturers look for a boom in business as people buy up previously banned weapons like AK-47s, Uzis and TEC-9s, police chiefs warn of an upsurge in crime."""


Assault weapons? Like in Terminator? Am I being obtuse? What possible use can a civilian have for an AK-47, an Uzi or a TEC-9?

Maybe this is a cultural thing, maybe it is perfectly normal over there, I can just see your average young mother at the grocery store pushing her cart around. Milk, eggs, bread, cheese, semi-automatic assault rifle, butter, cereal, 40 clips of ammunition, diapers. Do you accept Visa?

The amazing thing there seems to be some genuine political pressure to allow these weapons! Now in your crime addled streets (if you believe the movies) then I can possibly see at a stretch why people would be allowed, say, a handgun or even a sword or chainsaw but an Uzi 9mm? (It is impossible to say that in your head without doing it in an Arnold Shwarzenneger voice isn't it?).

Actually, thinking about it the link between Arnie and this legislation not being renewed is a strong one, he is the Govenator of Cali isn't he? What does the Govenator love? Assault Weapons. See. Makes perfect sense to me.

The reason these weapons were banned in the first place are legion. As quoted from CNN :

"""Feinstein was horrified by the 1984 shooting rampage at a McDonald's in San Diego County that killed 21 people and the massacre of five people five years later at a Stockton elementary school yard.
But it was the shooting at a law firm in San Francisco in 1993, in which eight were killed and six wounded, that persuaded her to push for the assault weapons ban"""

That makes me laugh as well, machine guns are irritating when used in Mickey D's, are a nuisance when used in an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL but use them in a law firm and shit gets serious.

So , I ask thee how many of you plan on buying your loved ones an AK-47 for Christmas?

 

[mustynutz]

This is the story of the greatest thing ever done.

When I was in high school, I knew this guy named Todd. When you hear that someone's named Todd, you usually think of a skinny, boring kid with a lisp. If you said that to him when you met him, he would have made it his mission in life to fuck your sister, and he would have succeeded. Todd was the ballsiest, craziest, slyest kid in school, and everbody loved him. If Ferris Bueller got in drunken fistfights with passing truck drivers, he'd be Todd. This is the sort of person I'm proud to call my friend.

One day, senior year, when we're both 17, he drops by in his beat up 92 Accord.

He looks at me with stoned eyes. "I have an idea. Let's go."

"What? There's this party and I—"

"Fuck it. Do you realize this is practically our last chance to do something grossly illegal without getting in real trouble?"

"I thought we handled that last week with the pile of exploded frogs in mayor's office. No?"

"No. We could have done that in 3rd grade. Stop being such a faggot and get in the car."

"Fine." He's hard to say no to. Ask your sister.

"Step one," he says, "is to get hammered. You have any money?"

A 12-pack later, we're racing down I-480, and it occurs to me to wonder what we're actually doing at 11 o'clock at night in the middle of what appears to be nowhere.

"What the fuck are we doing?"

"We're going to steal a car."

"WHAT?"

"What did I tell you about being a faggot?"

Some background: Todd works part time for a fancy landscaping company that molds the front lawns of people who are either too rich or too lazy to hedge their own yards. The job, despite all of his wild stories to the contrary, has yet to get him laid by a bored MILF who seduces him when he knocks on the door to ask for a glass of water. (And it never will: he eventually called me at college to tell me he'd gotten fired for planting explosives in a lawn.) That's why he has the job, at least.

He explains, in the most disjointed and indirect manner possible, that the plan is to secretly borrow a beautiful but unspecified car from one of these houses, since he knows they're out of town and have no real security. The key is hanging in the garage, the stupid fucks.

"They're on vacation," he says. "And don't worry; we'll bring it back."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Have another beer then." He puts a fresh one into the cup holder.

When we get to Shaker Heights, we drop off the car in some random driveway and stumble down the street. Todd jumps a fence and I wait outside the iron gate holding the next 12-pack until it opens up.

A shiny yellow Lamborghini Diablo drives out. It's gorgeous.

"Get in," says Todd. As if I wasn't going to get in.

We take off. Todd and I switch drivers at every piss break. I can't even begin to describe how fun it is to shift a Diablo into 6th gear on an empty highway and realize you're going 140 MPH. Especially for a poor kid from Lorain County, Ohio. Especially after 6 beers.

"Dammit, I have to pee again."

We arrive at Cleveland's Flats, where all the clubs are. We cruise around for a while, until we see two hot girls, obviously half-drunk, dressed in clubbing outfits, walking alone down the sidewalk.

"Hey cuties!" Todd yells. "Want to go for a ride in my rocket?"

They look at the car. They look at each other. They get in.

Now, there's not a lot of room in a Diablo. It's not meant for family vacations. It's not meant to be a tour bus. It's not meant for two random teenagers to pick up college girls with. But we fit them, mostly on my lap.

We get out onto a deserted highway, speeding like crazy and drinking cheap beer. We alternately listen to my loud Local H CD and the silent radar detector. The cops are nowhere to be found.

"Go faster!" says hot chick #1, clearly caught up in the moment. She's a freshman at John Carroll University. ("I want to study at least some art history". Yeah, I'm studying at least 34 D). Todd starts to oblige with the gas pedal, but I tell him to hold on.

He glares at me. "What did I say about being a—"

"Ok, here's the deal," I hear myself interrupt, looking at the girls. "For every 5 miles per hour that we go, we get one article of clothing from each of you."

Todd grins; the girls giggle. The clothes came off tin roofs in hurricane Ivan. Tits flop in ways I've never seen tits flop before.

So here we are, piss-drunk, driving a stolen Lamborghini at 170 with two stark naked hotties. It's the greatest moment of my life.

The cleanup is easy: after parking, we each pick a chick and a side of the car. I get the hood through rock-paper-scissors and have my way with hot chick #2. We take them home and drop off the car. We drive home in the amazingly slow Accord and never hear from the owners, the girls, or any form of authority on the matter again.

I only wish we'd had a camera.