Later, Stainer

WARNING: The events in this post are real.  The people are real.  The details are real.

I have had a lot of fucked up shit happen to me in my 31 years of living.  You name it, I probably experienced it.  From getting my face pissed on when my older brother was fucking wasted when I was in high school, to being puked on all over my face/body from my college roommate at a packed restaurant...my luck is pretty fucking awful.  That's why, what I'm about to tell you doesn't surprise me, nor does it make me feel embarrassed.  Things happen in life.  It just so happens, the fucked up things always happen to me.

It was an end to a very long and busy week.  What better way to celebrate then have a few drinks and let loose from the craziness that has taken over my life the past two months.  Work.  As much as I want to bitch about it, I can't.  I'm still employed and if anything, I'm thankful as a mother fucker to have a job and work for a great company.  But I digress...

It's about 5:30pm and I'm on my second drink of the night.  The bar is poppin' and it feels good that the weekend is finally fucking here.  And yes, I'm planning on getting fucking wa-wa-waaaaasted.  Not blackout wasted, but eat everything in sight on my way home at 11pm wasted.  The mission was clear.  The details were simple.  But all that changed when I went for drink #3.

Cocktail in hand, I was mingling with everyone, enjoying my Friday night.  How could this night go bad?  One cough and a tense anus, that's how.  I shat myself folks.  And when I say shat, I don't mean wet fart or a Hershey fucking squirt.  I mean, I literally shat my fucking pants.  All because I coughed.  At first, I was like, "What the fuck?!  Did something just come out of my ass right now?  No.  Could it?  No.  Should I go to the bathroom?  Is that shit I smell?"  But the longer I was debating on if I really shat myself, the more I could feel the wet warmth spreading around my ass cheeks.  I basically had to excuse myself from a conversation I was having, then proceed to walk down a flight of stairs with both ass cheeks clinched ever-so-tightly, hoping no shit I just shat, would spread farther then it already did.

I get to the bathroom, and notice that the lighting in this fucking place is goddamn awful.  How the fuck am I suppose to see how much shit are on my boxer briefs, let alone if my asshole is fully clean after wiping?  Based on the bathroom lighting alone, I am convinced that at least 60-65% of men and women who take a shit in this place, do not have a fully clean asshole after wiping, and are very likely to be walking around in shit stained drawers.  You mine as well be fucking blind because that's how I felt.

As I was sitting on the crapper, I looked straight down to see how much shit was really in my boxers.  Again, the lighting was so bad it felt like I was taking a shit in the dark.  I had no clue how much dookie was in my drawers so without even thinking about it, I went in. That's right.  I fucking braved it, put my hand in my boxers to feel how much shit really came out of my asshole.  Bad fucking move on my part.  Lets just say when I did that and took a look at my hand, it looked as if I dipped my hand in one of those goddamn chocolate fondu fountains.  This was not good at all.  Things just went from bad to fucking worse in a matter of 10 seconds.  There I am sitting on the fucking toilet with shit now smeared all over my boxers, my right hand is covered in my own shit and I'm trying to figure out how the fuck am I gonna get out of this shitty (pun intended) situation in this dark ass bathroom?

I ended up wrapping half a roll of toilet paper around my right hand because not only could I not see if I was wiping all the shit off but, my hand just smelled awful.  The smell was so bad it made me rethink about what I should stop eating and start eating.  Once I wrapped my shitty hand, I knew I had to ditch my boxer briefs.  It was either that, or walk around smelling like shit, right?  Basically, I undressed, took off my boxers and since there wasn't a trash can in the stall, I said, "Fuck it," and threw my boxers behind the toilet.  I mean, what the fuck was I suppose to do at that point?  Walk out of that stall in a packed ass men's bathroom and say, "Hey guys, don't mind me, I just shit my pants and I'm gonna throw these here boxer briefs in that trash can.  Don't worry, it doesn't smell too bad."  Fuck that.  There was no way in hell I was going to do that.  It's bad enough that once I ditched my drawers, I had to unwrap my hand that was still doused in my own shit and wash it.  The torture kept coming because once I went to wash my hands, the soap that I used smelled liked shit too.  It was as if, the bar gods were trying to punish me for something I might have done months ago.  I didn't like it one bit and I knew I had to just fucking leave and head on BART.  I grabbed my stuff, and left.

I finally get on the train and realize that the punishment isn't over.  For the next 45 minutes, I'm going to have to endure my right hand smelling like I have been finger banging my own anus for the last 2 days, my taint probably covered in my own shit and my nut sack sticking to my inner thigh.  All because I fucking coughed the wrong way.  I knew I shouldn't have eaten those goddamn sausages during my department meeting this morning.  I also shouldn't have eaten those beer battered chicken strips for lunch.  Even though it tastes so good, my stomach never agrees with it.  EVER.  I could have just taken a shit before I went to the bar.  But no, I had to be greedy and hold it in til I felt like my asshole was going to explode.  I felt the signs.  The tight anus.  The stomach noises.  The cramping.  I did this to myself and it hasn't been pretty.

I finally get home and the only thing I could tell J-Co was, "Honey, even though I'm 31 years old, I shat myself at a bar and I'm sorry."  She looked at me as if her body language was saying, "Why the fuck are you telling me?  I'm not the one who shit my pants, buddy."  That look really said it all. Well, lets not forget to mention her actually saying to me, "Go take a shower, you smell like shit.  I'll go get you some food, you look like you had a rough few hours." Yeah, you bet your sweet ass it was rough.  But it got rougher when I took off my pants and realized that I shit so bad that my dookie stained the inside of my jeans.  I'm assuming that's the reason because I really don't want to admit that I didn't wipe my ass good enough which caused me to stain my Banana Republic jeans I love so dearly.

This story is fucked up, I know.  I'm not one bit embarrassed telling this story exactly how it went down.  What I am embarrassed about is how I got kinda drunk off of three drinks.  I feel like I turned into a little fucking lightweight bitch.  Ball Buster asked me, "Do you think anyone noticed?"  Shit, if they did, who gives a fuck?  What could I have done?  Denied it?  I smelled like a goddamn toilet for fuck's sake.  It is what it is.  And what it is, is simple.  I shit myself...and I'm sorry fuckers.