.:.:.:.:
RTTP
.
Mobile
:.:.:.:.
[
<--back
] [
Home
][
Pics
][
News
][
Ads
][
Events
][
Forum
][
Band
][
Search
]
full forum
|
bottom
Reply
[
login
]
SPAM Filter:
re-type this
(values are 0,1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,A,B,C,D,E, or F)
you are quoting a heck of a lot there.
[QUOTE]blah blah blah[/QUOTE] to reply to DestroyYouAlot.
Please remove excess text as not to re-post tons
message
[QUOTE="DestroyYouAlot:665071"]Three stories. 1 My mom used to manage the Mobil station across the street from our house. Back in the day, when they actually had a public toilet there, whoever finished a shift was in charge of cleaning it. Well, she gets called in there one day, because whoever was on absolutely refused to deal with what had occurred. As she described it, the only way this could have possibly happened was that someone with extreme diarrhea dropped trou, bent over, and spun around 360 degrees while spraying shitwater. It was on the walls up past the mirror. This worked out well for me, because after that, all my childhood bathroom messes seemed tame in comparison. 2 I went on to follow in Mom's footsteps; I was in charge of third shift at the Mass Ave Store 24 (across from Berklee) for a while. One particular night, it was just me and a brand-new, greenhorn trainee on duty, and Estelle came in. Estelle was a person without residence. (I.e., a very stinky, VERY crazy homeless lady.) Estelle heard (and talked back to) voices, who apparently weren't very nice - the only words you could ever understand her say were when she called the invisible people "bastards" and "sons of bitches." She tended to get in screaming matches with "the voices" while waiting on line to pay for Hungry Man meals; these were accompanied by vigorous swinging of her plastic shopping bags and poorly-aimed kicks (after which she would reach the counter and mumble something while pushing change across the counter, like nothing had happened). Anyway, the point is that Estelle's nuts, and you can't understand anything she ever says. So she shows up (as she would, nightly), and starts shuffling around the store. I didn't pay much attention to her, as it was a busy night, and she wasn't much trouble. (At least, not compared to the Listerine Pirate - ask me about [I]that[/I] dude, sometime.) Eventually, she wanders up to the counter, and pays for her Hungry Mans, but this time she actually speaks up and has something semi-intelligible to say: Something about how she didn't shit on the floor. *alarm bells and sirens go here* As she says this, I become aware of a particularly foul odor (for a 24 hour convenience store at 3am in Boston), and look down to see fresh diarrhea dripping from the bottom of Estelle's slacks. WHAT. THE FUCK. She leaves, and I make a quick sweep of the store - [I]She's tracked it fucking everywhere.[/I] She must have just had it dripping down her leg as she went on an aisle-to-aisle tour of the store - it's in every fucking aisle, little drips of shit on the tile floor (occasionally smeared by a shuffling old lady sneaker). Of course, I've got a brand-new trainee here - if I tell her to go mop up old lady shit in every aisle (and if she's got any brains or self-respect whatsoever), she's gonna tell me to get fucked, walk out, and I'll be doing it by myself with no one on the register. So I get the funnest job ever. The smell was fucking indescribable; this lady didn't eat a balanced meal, by any stretch of the imagination. Not one of the high points of my career. 3 My girl and I went on the South Beach diet for a few. It's a great diet, I highly recommend it over Atkins or any of that crazy shit; it works, and the meals are good eatin'. However, for the first two weeks, all you're eating is lean meats, lowfat cheeses, eggs, and veggies. LOTS of veggies. And lots of fiber. I didn't shit for about four days, which was unusual for me (I'm usually regular as an atomic clock), and when I did (I think I drank my first coffee of the week), it was a jurassic-sized log of epic fucking proportions. This thing was like passing two beer cans, end-to-end - shitting this turd out, I'm fairly certain, qualifies me for gay porn. What's more, it looked absolutely identical to an energy bar - it was this weird yellow color, and you could literally see the fibrous texture. AND IT WOULD NOT FUCKING FLUSH. It was kinda balanced across the drain hole, and no amount of industrial-powered work toilet flushing (oh, yeah, this was at work) was gonna break this manly log - it had the consistency (and resiliency) of chipboard. I was shitting out Ikea furniture. I eventually had to man up and break it in half with a giant wad of TP, after which it went on its way, probably clogging up some municipal sewer later on down the line. Fucking epic.[/QUOTE]
top
[
Vers. 0.12
][ 0.010 secs/8 queries][
refresh
][