I did once. I was 5, doing crafts at my babysitter's house. I felt a prairie dog in my sphincter and stood up and let it come out. Miraculously I wasnt wearing underwear that day and it fell down my track pants and onto the floor. I ignored it and my babysitter found it a few minutes later and blamed it on the dog. I then went to the bathroom, wiped my butt and continued happily drawing stick figures n shit.
I fucking loved crafts.
I did once. I was 5, doing crafts at my babysitter's house. I felt a prairie dog in my sphincter and stood up and let it come out. Miraculously I wasnt wearing underwear that day and it fell down my track pants and onto the floor. I ignored it and my babysitter found it a few minutes later and blamed it on the dog. I then went to the bathroom, wiped my butt and continued happily drawing stick figures n shit.
I fucking loved crafts.
the fuck is this bullshit
the fuck is this bullshit
Fzerostuff
I heard from a credible source that you sharted while playing tf2. Confirm/deny?
[quote=Fzero]stuff[/quote]
I heard from a credible source that you sharted while playing tf2. Confirm/deny?
potFzerostuff
I heard from a credible source that you sharted while playing tf2. Confirm/deny?
The credible source was me, so completely confirm. That was a flu shart, not as the title says, "completely shit yourself" Either way, that wasn't nearly as bad as feeling like death for a few days.
[quote=pot][quote=Fzero]stuff[/quote]
I heard from a credible source that you sharted while playing tf2. Confirm/deny?[/quote]
The credible source was me, so completely confirm. That was a flu shart, not as the title says, "completely shit yourself" Either way, that wasn't nearly as bad as feeling like death for a few days.
When you get older the distance between a fart and a shart gets smaller and smaller.
When you get older the distance between a fart and a shart gets smaller and smaller.
kuzaWhen you get older the distance between a fart and a shart gets smaller and smaller.
What age does the threshold cross from plenty of time to "if you're not already in the bathroom it's game over"?
[quote=kuza]When you get older the distance between a fart and a shart gets smaller and smaller.[/quote]
What age does the threshold cross from plenty of time to "if you're not already in the bathroom it's game over"?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6HWGqqeZ1A
I haven't because I have rectal control.
I haven't because I have rectal control.
FzeropotFzerostuff
I heard from a credible source that you sharted while playing tf2. Confirm/deny?
The credible source was me, so completely confirm. That was a flu shart, not as the title says, "completely shit yourself" Either way, that wasn't nearly as bad as feeling like death for a few days.
Our heavy strat must have been pretty frustrating
[quote=Fzero][quote=pot][quote=Fzero]stuff[/quote]
I heard from a credible source that you sharted while playing tf2. Confirm/deny?[/quote]
The credible source was me, so completely confirm. That was a flu shart, not as the title says, "completely shit yourself" Either way, that wasn't nearly as bad as feeling like death for a few days.[/quote]
Our heavy strat must have been pretty frustrating
Only when I was a kid and sick.
Only when I was a kid and sick.
i've never shit my pants or pissed my pants. it isn't hard to control yourself
i've never shit my pants or pissed my pants. it isn't hard to control yourself
a kid that went to my high school shit himself during the SAT. i guess he paniced and didn't know what to do so he just sat there. eventually he vomited from sitting in his own shit for so long
a kid that went to my high school shit himself during the SAT. i guess he paniced and didn't know what to do so he just sat there. eventually he vomited from sitting in his own shit for so long
LiterallyAPandakuzaWhen you get older the distance between a fart and a shart gets smaller and smaller.
What age does the threshold cross from plenty of time to "if you're not already in the bathroom it's game over"?
after 35 it's a game of chance, every time.
[quote=LiterallyAPanda][quote=kuza]When you get older the distance between a fart and a shart gets smaller and smaller.[/quote]
What age does the threshold cross from plenty of time to "if you're not already in the bathroom it's game over"?[/quote]
after 35 it's a game of chance, every time.
I've never shit myself but one time when I was like 10 or so, I was staying the night at a friend's house for the first time(at that particular friend's house), they served chili for dinner and my irritable bowel syndrome didn't sit well with it apparently. I woke up at 2 AM and started vomiting on the couch I was sleeping on, and slowly tried to make my way to the bathroom at the top of some stairs, projectile vomiting all the way. by the time I had got up there I was done throwing up, but had left a sizable trail of puke.
Later, his parents gave me some pepto bismol, and I ended up throwing that up too. 11 years later though and I'm still good friends with the friend and his parents, so it turned out okay. I felt like shit and still feel like shit though that my friend's mom had to clean up my vomit. :|
I've never shit myself but one time when I was like 10 or so, I was staying the night at a friend's house for the first time(at that particular friend's house), they served chili for dinner and my irritable bowel syndrome didn't sit well with it apparently. I woke up at 2 AM and started vomiting on the couch I was sleeping on, and slowly tried to make my way to the bathroom at the top of some stairs, projectile vomiting all the way. by the time I had got up there I was done throwing up, but had left a sizable trail of puke.
Later, his parents gave me some pepto bismol, and I ended up throwing that up too. 11 years later though and I'm still good friends with the friend and his parents, so it turned out okay. I felt like shit and still feel like shit though that my friend's mom had to clean up my vomit. :|
I was a grown man. The night was overdone, probably 6am realistically. After a night of drinking i had gotten tired. Coffee, whiskey and beer coursed through my bowels at the speed of sound, pushing the ramen and taco bell i had had earlier in the day to an unpleasant fruition. The stairs were too high, but the downstairs bathroom was too far away. The decision came down to how fast i could sprint to the bathroom, clenching my cheeks together. But it was too late.
That's my story. I took a shower, went to bed. never mentioned where my pants went.
I was a grown man. The night was overdone, probably 6am realistically. After a night of drinking i had gotten tired. Coffee, whiskey and beer coursed through my bowels at the speed of sound, pushing the ramen and taco bell i had had earlier in the day to an unpleasant fruition. The stairs were too high, but the downstairs bathroom was too far away. The decision came down to how fast i could sprint to the bathroom, clenching my cheeks together. But it was too late.
That's my story. I took a shower, went to bed. never mentioned where my pants went.
None of these are mine. All taken from the comments section of this article:
http://jalopnik.com/man-blames-dukes-of-hazzard-style-chase-on-having-to-po-1443066819
About two years ago I went out to lunch at this place in Brooklyn on a nice spring day. Took my Lotus out, met some friends, had some chili... really nice day. On my way back into the city (about halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge), the chili started to, well, act up. I didn't think much of it because my apartment is barely a ten minute drive from the bridge, and figured I'd make it home with time to spare.
Boy was I wrong. Within a minute of the first rumble, my stomach was telling me that I needed to be on a toilet NOW NOW NOW NOW. Unfortunately that was just not going to happen, as I was barely off the bridge and still had to get to my block, into my garage on Rector street, into my building, and then up an elevator 38 floors. I began to drive as aggressively as possible, and for a moment felt a brief glimmer hope as I prepared to pull into my parking space.
Well, that glimmer was brief indeed, because as I was just getting into my parking space, I pooped. Yep. I pooped my pants in my Lotus.
I just kind of sat there for a second in total disbelief of what just happened, and pondered my options. How in the hell was I going to get to my building and up the elevator without anyone noticing? Then my worry turned to the fine Connolly leather I was sitting on, in my now poop-filled jeans. Oh god have I ruined my interior? How am I going to explain this to the detailer? Yep, lots of thoughts right then.
Anyway, I suppose the universe was done having fun with me for the day, because as I got out of the car I was relieved to see that nothing had, um, leaked onto the seats and I miraculously managed to get into my building, past the doorman, and into an empty elevator without anyone noticing me.
Let me tell you though, had I been on a highway when this occurred, you can bet your ass that I'd be going as fast as I could to get to a toilet also.
I was on the road headed to a meeting with a client and had to shit so bad that I had to leg press my floorboard of my car with everything I had to the point where I had felt like I broke my leg later than evening. There was NOTHING and I mean NOTHING that would stop me from getting to the restroom.
What's funny is that I held that clench position because IF I had decided to actually stop the car and move in the slightest of ways I would have shit in not only my pants and all over my seat but possibly my co-worker that was sitting next to me who was - as I found out later that day - wondering what the hell I was doing and why I couldn't even tell him why was doing this. I simply couldn't speak, flinch, sign, or turn my head to acknowledge his questioning. The simple change in my facial expression alone would have resulted in projectile diarrhea.
Once I managed to "push the pudding" back into my ass somehow I was able to find the 4 seconds I had to enter the truck stop, pull my pants off and proceed to splatter the back of the bowl like it was behind someone that had their brains blown out by a Benelli 12 gauge.
I'm sure the gas station attendant that walked in on that "crime scene" I left behind ended up calling "The Wolf" from Pulp Fiction.
True story. Guy I went to college with was driving back from Big Bend and stopped for some roadside tamales. He's about 10 miles from the next rest stop when he feels a cataclysmic case of the 'sploadies brewing up. So he buries the pedal. Cop nabs him doing 95 in a 70. My buddy, with few viable options, tells the cop he has to go REALLY bad. The cop says yeah, right. That's original, kid. I'll be right back.
Now in full fight or flight panic, my buddy leaps from the car, pulls down his shorts, and blasts the highway so hard he said he could literally feel his body rising up from the thrust. The cop, hand on gun, can only stand by his cruiser door, mouth open, moments from calling it in.
After my buddy sploiks out the last drop of gut magma from his colon, sweat pouring from his brow, panting and moaning, the cop asks if he's OK, goes to his trunk and takes out a roll of paper towels which he tosses to my friend from a mindful distance, and drives away without uttering another word.
A few months back, I left the house around 8 AM to head to the office, just a regular morning with no signs of anything out of the ordinary. About a mile down the road, my O-Ring was suddenly subjected what can only be described as a critical pressure event. I realized the situation was an emergency and adjusted my plans accordingly, having to make a quick assessment of the options availible to me, which were to turn around and travel a mile back to the house, or make it about 1/2 that distance to the nearest gas station. The latter was my only real hope, so I pressed on while performing the now familiar "crush the dead pedal and sweat while shaking like a Mexican Space Shuttle" in a vain attempt to prevent the angry turtle from escaping. About 200 yards shy of my destination, all systems failed, the call of "Eject! Eject! Eject!" was made by whatever primal component of the brain does that kind of thing, and my little co-pilot was promptly dispatched into my pants in a manner that only Goose from Top Gun could hope to emulate. I can attest that the Jiffy Pop in 1 second analogy above is spot on. I pulled a u-turn, drove back to the house while hovering over the seat in a way that would make Luke Skywalker himself believe I was a Jedi (except I bet he never crapped his dockers) and pulled into the garage.
I made my way into the house, surprising my wife, who asked why I was home. I simply replied: "Shit my pants." as I duck walked on to the bathroom for a shower and change of clothes. This thing was never spoken of again.
None of these are mine. All taken from the comments section of this article:
http://jalopnik.com/man-blames-dukes-of-hazzard-style-chase-on-having-to-po-1443066819
[quote]About two years ago I went out to lunch at this place in Brooklyn on a nice spring day. Took my Lotus out, met some friends, had some chili... really nice day. On my way back into the city (about halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge), the chili started to, well, act up. I didn't think much of it because my apartment is barely a ten minute drive from the bridge, and figured I'd make it home with time to spare.
Boy was I wrong. Within a minute of the first rumble, my stomach was telling me that I needed to be on a toilet NOW NOW NOW NOW. Unfortunately that was just not going to happen, as I was barely off the bridge and still had to get to my block, into my garage on Rector street, into my building, and then up an elevator 38 floors. I began to drive as aggressively as possible, and for a moment felt a brief glimmer hope as I prepared to pull into my parking space.
Well, that glimmer was brief indeed, because as I was just getting into my parking space, I pooped. Yep. I pooped my pants in my Lotus.
I just kind of sat there for a second in total disbelief of what just happened, and pondered my options. How in the hell was I going to get to my building and up the elevator without anyone noticing? Then my worry turned to the fine Connolly leather I was sitting on, in my now poop-filled jeans. Oh god have I ruined my interior? How am I going to explain this to the detailer? Yep, lots of thoughts right then.
Anyway, I suppose the universe was done having fun with me for the day, because as I got out of the car I was relieved to see that nothing had, um, leaked onto the seats and I miraculously managed to get into my building, past the doorman, and into an empty elevator without anyone noticing me.
Let me tell you though, had I been on a highway when this occurred, you can bet your ass that I'd be going as fast as I could to get to a toilet also.[/quote]
[quote]I was on the road headed to a meeting with a client and had to shit so bad that I had to leg press my floorboard of my car with everything I had to the point where I had felt like I broke my leg later than evening. There was NOTHING and I mean NOTHING that would stop me from getting to the restroom.
What's funny is that I held that clench position because IF I had decided to actually stop the car and move in the slightest of ways I would have shit in not only my pants and all over my seat but possibly my co-worker that was sitting next to me who was - as I found out later that day - wondering what the hell I was doing and why I couldn't even tell him why was doing this. I simply couldn't speak, flinch, sign, or turn my head to acknowledge his questioning. The simple change in my facial expression alone would have resulted in projectile diarrhea.
Once I managed to "push the pudding" back into my ass somehow I was able to find the 4 seconds I had to enter the truck stop, pull my pants off and proceed to splatter the back of the bowl like it was behind someone that had their brains blown out by a Benelli 12 gauge.
I'm sure the gas station attendant that walked in on that "crime scene" I left behind ended up calling "The Wolf" from Pulp Fiction.[/quote]
[quote]True story. Guy I went to college with was driving back from Big Bend and stopped for some roadside tamales. He's about 10 miles from the next rest stop when he feels a cataclysmic case of the 'sploadies brewing up. So he buries the pedal. Cop nabs him doing 95 in a 70. My buddy, with few viable options, tells the cop he has to go REALLY bad. The cop says yeah, right. That's original, kid. I'll be right back.
Now in full fight or flight panic, my buddy leaps from the car, pulls down his shorts, and blasts the highway so hard he said he could literally feel his body rising up from the thrust. The cop, hand on gun, can only stand by his cruiser door, mouth open, moments from calling it in.
After my buddy sploiks out the last drop of gut magma from his colon, sweat pouring from his brow, panting and moaning, the cop asks if he's OK, goes to his trunk and takes out a roll of paper towels which he tosses to my friend from a mindful distance, and drives away without uttering another word.[/quote]
[quote]A few months back, I left the house around 8 AM to head to the office, just a regular morning with no signs of anything out of the ordinary. About a mile down the road, my O-Ring was suddenly subjected what can only be described as a critical pressure event. I realized the situation was an emergency and adjusted my plans accordingly, having to make a quick assessment of the options availible to me, which were to turn around and travel a mile back to the house, or make it about 1/2 that distance to the nearest gas station. The latter was my only real hope, so I pressed on while performing the now familiar "crush the dead pedal and sweat while shaking like a Mexican Space Shuttle" in a vain attempt to prevent the angry turtle from escaping. About 200 yards shy of my destination, all systems failed, the call of "Eject! Eject! Eject!" was made by whatever primal component of the brain does that kind of thing, and my little co-pilot was promptly dispatched into my pants in a manner that only Goose from Top Gun could hope to emulate. I can attest that the Jiffy Pop in 1 second analogy above is spot on. I pulled a u-turn, drove back to the house while hovering over the seat in a way that would make Luke Skywalker himself believe I was a Jedi (except I bet he never crapped his dockers) and pulled into the garage.
I made my way into the house, surprising my wife, who asked why I was home. I simply replied: "Shit my pants." as I duck walked on to the bathroom for a shower and change of clothes. This thing was never spoken of again.[/quote]
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yduVP-HYtrE
bump. anybody shit their pants?
bump. anybody shit their pants?
this thread should of died 10 years ago
this thread should of died 10 years ago
when i was in high school, i had to walk home from school in junior and senior year. it was a couple miles away but my friend's house was halfway between the walk so i stayed at his house for a little bit one day because it was extremely cold out and i wanted a break from walking. his family invited me to eat dinner with them and made some really nice spaghetti. my dad didn't get home until late so i ate a lot of spaghetti because i didn't have any plans to make dinner myself and on the way home to finish the last half of my walk i could feel my stomach grumbling, it was too early to not be worried about it but too late to turn back around and go shit at their place. about halfway there i can feel my shit really starting to brew in my stomach now and i really pick up the pace. by the time i just barely arrive onto my block with my house all the way on the end, shit just unleashes down my leg and froze to the side of it before i made it back home finally so i could take a shower
coincidentally this might have happened to me maybe a month after this thread was even posted
when i was in high school, i had to walk home from school in junior and senior year. it was a couple miles away but my friend's house was halfway between the walk so i stayed at his house for a little bit one day because it was extremely cold out and i wanted a break from walking. his family invited me to eat dinner with them and made some really nice spaghetti. my dad didn't get home until late so i ate a lot of spaghetti because i didn't have any plans to make dinner myself and on the way home to finish the last half of my walk i could feel my stomach grumbling, it was too early to not be worried about it but too late to turn back around and go shit at their place. about halfway there i can feel my shit really starting to brew in my stomach now and i really pick up the pace. by the time i just barely arrive onto my block with my house all the way on the end, shit just unleashes down my leg and froze to the side of it before i made it back home finally so i could take a shower
coincidentally this might have happened to me maybe a month after this thread was even posted
I shit in other peoples pants not mines
I shit in other peoples pants not mines