My adventure shopping for a digital camera

Discussion in 'Digital Photography' started by Jim Anable, Apr 13, 2004.

  1. Jim Anable

    Jim Anable Guest

    "Lucas Tam" <> wrote in message news:...
    > My wife and I could not wait to get our hands on a brand new Fuji 5000s
    > digital camera. On the way to Best Buy we decided to cruise out to
    > Quincy's steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which
    > means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only
    > night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's
    > night at Quincy's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from
    > table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the
    > events about to be told have little connection to those two
    > circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through
    > the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then
    > sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in
    > order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my
    > move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were
    > consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the
    > pseudo- Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
    > All I could think about was the new digital camera I was going to get.
    > Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well
    > all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten
    > four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so
    > much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble
    > breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building.
    > At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in
    > batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately,
    > that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was
    > dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make
    > its way through your intestines far faster than the food which
    > spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the
    > table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two
    > sinks immediately inside the door,two urinals just to the right of the
    > sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was
    > a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the
    > handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a
    > good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only
    > thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my
    > toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk
    > in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In
    > retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped
    > stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time
    > lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the
    > circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the
    > pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began
    > "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me
    > take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what
    > their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time
    > comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events
    > occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a
    > move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the
    > toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said
    > toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down
    > the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very
    > fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless
    > expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is
    > properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures
    > that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in
    > the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is
    > truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
    > I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the
    > floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by
    > one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up
    > in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first talked into the
    > stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but
    > I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense,
    > that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex
    > started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the
    > bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming
    > up for a rematch.What happened next was so quick that the exact
    > sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them
    > as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my
    > attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a
    > freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the
    > toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming
    > up my esophagus. Now,most of you know that vomiting takes
    > precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming
    > out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting
    > will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to
    > accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial
    > tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus
    > diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can
    > only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper
    > headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi"
    > or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably
    > measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency
    > of thick mud withembedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying
    > out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the
    > toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just
    > such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it
    > ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an
    > angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the
    > toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred,
    > I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached
    > the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively
    > stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point,
    > you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to
    > say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so
    > sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit
    > itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle
    > with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at
    > the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a
    > puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about
    > one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
    > Now, back to the vomit...While all the shitting was going on, the
    > vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed
    > on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the
    > macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the
    > human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I
    > bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore,
    > bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-
    > opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also
    > directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just
    > midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that
    > I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the
    > ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and
    > beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls
    > were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at
    > the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there
    > were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I
    > was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered
    > in crap that had bounced off the toilet,spattered on three ceramic-
    > tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force
    > to come back at me,covering the back of my shirt with droplets of
    > liquid crap. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring
    > curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no darned
    > toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a
    > complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom.
    > He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must
    > have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just
    > enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to
    > have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager
    > walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was
    > prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was
    > no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but
    > that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my
    > wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.
    > At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed
    > just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two
    > minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what
    > was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I
    > explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out
    > words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing
    > that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably
    > assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just
    > needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until
    > I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go
    > across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks,
    > new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable
    > leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she
    > then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began
    > to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I
    > promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to
    > handle damage control for the time being. She left the manager
    > then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry
    > ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he
    > assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be
    > cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what
    > was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I
    > would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks
    > working at Quincy's making minimum wage or just slightly above.
    > At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the
    > situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that
    > I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
    > Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls
    > and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to
    > make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
    > He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I
    > began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was
    > finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them
    > into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into
    > the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my
    > wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new
    > clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad
    > taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened
    > to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in.
    > At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a
    > felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting
    > dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall,
    > washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the
    > room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had
    > intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done,
    > but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to
    > greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I
    > thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out
    > to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the
    > front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend
    > eating dinner at Quincy's Steak House. They have, by far, the
    > nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
    > Gosh it was a wild night. My wife told everyone at Best Buy about
    > what happened to me. Damn wife!



    Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and even usenet in
    general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like the one
    above.

    It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn to have
    faith.


    Jim Anable
    Jim Anable, Apr 13, 2004
    #1
    1. Advertising

  2. Jim Anable

    Thomas Guest

    Jim,

    If you like it so much, how come you didn't x-post it to
    Guitar_Amplifiers at Yahoo? I'm a bit dissapointed to have had to
    search it out here

    Jim Anable wrote:

    > "Lucas Tam" <> wrote in message news:...
    >
    >>My wife and I could not wait to get our hands on a brand new Fuji 5000s
    >>digital camera. On the way to Best Buy we decided to cruise out to
    >>Quincy's steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which
    >>means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only
    >>night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's
    >>night at Quincy's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from
    >>table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the
    >>events about to be told have little connection to those two
    >>circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through
    >>the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then
    >>sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in
    >>order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my
    >>move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were
    >>consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the
    >>pseudo- Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
    >>All I could think about was the new digital camera I was going to get.
    >>Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well
    >>all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten
    >>four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so
    >>much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble
    >>breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building.
    >>At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in
    >>batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately,
    >>that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was
    >>dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make
    >>its way through your intestines far faster than the food which
    >>spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the
    >>table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two
    >>sinks immediately inside the door,two urinals just to the right of the
    >>sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was
    >>a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the
    >>handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a
    >>good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only
    >>thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my
    >>toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk
    >>in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In
    >>retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped
    >>stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time
    >>lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the
    >>circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the
    >>pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began
    >>"The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me
    >>take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what
    >>their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time
    >>comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events
    >>occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a
    >>move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the
    >>toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said
    >>toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down
    >>the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very
    >>fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless
    >>expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is
    >>properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures
    >>that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in
    >>the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is
    >>truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
    >>I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the
    >>floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by
    >>one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up
    >>in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first talked into the
    >>stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but
    >>I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense,
    >>that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex
    >>started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the
    >>bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming
    >>up for a rematch.What happened next was so quick that the exact
    >>sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them
    >>as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my
    >>attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a
    >>freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the
    >>toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming
    >>up my esophagus. Now,most of you know that vomiting takes
    >>precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming
    >>out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting
    >>will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to
    >>accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial
    >>tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus
    >>diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can
    >>only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper
    >>headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi"
    >>or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably
    >>measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency
    >>of thick mud withembedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying
    >>out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the
    >>toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just
    >>such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it
    >>ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an
    >>angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the
    >>toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred,
    >>I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached
    >>the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively
    >>stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point,
    >>you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to
    >>say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so
    >>sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit
    >>itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle
    >>with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at
    >>the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a
    >>puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about
    >>one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
    >>Now, back to the vomit...While all the shitting was going on, the
    >>vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed
    >>on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the
    >>macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the
    >>human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I
    >>bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore,
    >>bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-
    >>opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also
    >>directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just
    >>midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that
    >>I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the
    >>ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and
    >>beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls
    >>were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at
    >>the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there
    >>were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I
    >>was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered
    >>in crap that had bounced off the toilet,spattered on three ceramic-
    >>tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force
    >>to come back at me,covering the back of my shirt with droplets of
    >>liquid crap. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring
    >>curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no darned
    >>toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a
    >>complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom.
    >> He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must
    >>have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just
    >>enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to
    >>have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager
    >>walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was
    >>prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was
    >>no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but
    >>that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my
    >>wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.
    >>At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed
    >>just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two
    >>minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what
    >>was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I
    >>explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out
    >>words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing
    >>that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably
    >>assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just
    >>needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until
    >>I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go
    >>across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks,
    >>new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable
    >>leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she
    >>then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began
    >>to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I
    >>promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to
    >>handle damage control for the time being. She left the manager
    >>then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry
    >>ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he
    >>assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be
    >>cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what
    >>was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I
    >>would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks
    >>working at Quincy's making minimum wage or just slightly above.
    >>At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the
    >>situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that
    >>I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
    >>Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls
    >>and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to
    >>make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
    >> He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I
    >>began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was
    >>finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them
    >>into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into
    >>the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my
    >>wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new
    >>clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad
    >>taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened
    >>to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in.
    >>At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a
    >>felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting
    >>dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall,
    >>washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the
    >>room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had
    >>intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done,
    >>but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to
    >>greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I
    >>thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out
    >>to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the
    >>front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend
    >>eating dinner at Quincy's Steak House. They have, by far, the
    >>nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
    >>Gosh it was a wild night. My wife told everyone at Best Buy about
    >>what happened to me. Damn wife!

    >
    >
    >
    > Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and even usenet in
    > general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like the one
    > above.
    >
    > It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn to have
    > faith.
    >
    >
    > Jim Anable
    Thomas, Apr 13, 2004
    #2
    1. Advertising

  3. Jim Anable wrote:
    <snip>
    > Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and even usenet in
    > general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like the one
    > above.
    >
    > It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn to have
    > faith.
    >
    >
    > Jim Anable


    amen brother.
    jdavyd williams, Apr 13, 2004
    #3
  4. Jim Anable

    Odin Guest

    "Jim Anable" <> wrote in message

    > "Lucas Tam" <> plagiarized in message


    > > My wife and I could not wait to get our hands on a brand

    new Fuji 5000s
    > > digital camera. On the way to Best Buy we decided to

    cruise out to
    > > Quincy's steakhouse for dinner.


    Snip plagiarized story

    > > They have, by far, the
    > > nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I

    have eaten.
    > > Gosh it was a wild night. My wife told everyone at Best

    Buy about
    > > what happened to me. Damn wife!

    >
    >
    > Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and

    even usenet in
    > general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like

    the one
    > above.
    >
    > It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn

    to have
    > faith.
    >
    >
    > Jim Anable


    Except he stole the story and didn't bother to credit the
    author. That's the infamous "Steakhouse Incident" story,
    originating here http://www.ihos.com/steakhouse.html .
    Odin, Apr 13, 2004
    #4
  5. Jim Anable

    Jim Anable Guest

    >

    FYI: is NOT Jim Anable in Seattle. It is a troll.
    Jim Anable, Apr 13, 2004
    #5
  6. Jim Anable

    claudel Guest

    In article <>,
    Jim Anable <> wrote:
    >>

    >
    >FYI: is NOT Jim Anable in Seattle. It is a troll.
    >


    Responding to trollage with a spoofed sender only perpetuates the bullshit.


    --
    | ^ JOIN THE
    | /"\ ASCII RIBBON CAMPAIGN
    | \ / TO RID USENET OF
    | X NATTERING FUCKWITS
    | / \
    claudel, Apr 13, 2004
    #6
  7. Jim Anable

    §c©©t§ Guest

    "Jim Anable" <> wrote in message news:...
    > "Lucas Tam" <> wrote in message news:...
    > > My wife and I could not wait to get our hands on a brand new Fuji 5000s
    > > digital camera. On the way to Best Buy we decided to cruise out to
    > > Quincy's steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which
    > > means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only
    > > night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's
    > > night at Quincy's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from
    > > table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the
    > > events about to be told have little connection to those two
    > > circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through
    > > the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then
    > > sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in
    > > order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my
    > > move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were
    > > consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the
    > > pseudo- Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
    > > All I could think about was the new digital camera I was going to get.
    > > Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well
    > > all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten
    > > four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so
    > > much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble
    > > breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building.
    > > At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in
    > > batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately,
    > > that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was
    > > dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make
    > > its way through your intestines far faster than the food which
    > > spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the
    > > table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two
    > > sinks immediately inside the door,two urinals just to the right of the
    > > sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was
    > > a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the
    > > handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a
    > > good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only
    > > thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my
    > > toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk
    > > in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In
    > > retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped
    > > stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time
    > > lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the
    > > circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the
    > > pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began
    > > "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me
    > > take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what
    > > their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time
    > > comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events
    > > occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a
    > > move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the
    > > toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said
    > > toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down
    > > the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very
    > > fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless
    > > expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is
    > > properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures
    > > that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in
    > > the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is
    > > truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
    > > I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the
    > > floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by
    > > one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up
    > > in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first talked into the
    > > stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but
    > > I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense,
    > > that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex
    > > started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the
    > > bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming
    > > up for a rematch.What happened next was so quick that the exact
    > > sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them
    > > as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my
    > > attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a
    > > freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the
    > > toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming
    > > up my esophagus. Now,most of you know that vomiting takes
    > > precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming
    > > out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting
    > > will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to
    > > accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial
    > > tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus
    > > diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can
    > > only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper
    > > headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi"
    > > or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably
    > > measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency
    > > of thick mud withembedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying
    > > out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the
    > > toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just
    > > such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it
    > > ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an
    > > angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the
    > > toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred,
    > > I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached
    > > the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively
    > > stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point,
    > > you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to
    > > say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so
    > > sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit
    > > itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle
    > > with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at
    > > the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a
    > > puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about
    > > one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
    > > Now, back to the vomit...While all the shitting was going on, the
    > > vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed
    > > on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the
    > > macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the
    > > human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I
    > > bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore,
    > > bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-
    > > opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also
    > > directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just
    > > midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that
    > > I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the
    > > ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and
    > > beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls
    > > were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at
    > > the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there
    > > were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I
    > > was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered
    > > in crap that had bounced off the toilet,spattered on three ceramic-
    > > tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force
    > > to come back at me,covering the back of my shirt with droplets of
    > > liquid crap. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring
    > > curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no darned
    > > toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a
    > > complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom.
    > > He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must
    > > have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just
    > > enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to
    > > have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager
    > > walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was
    > > prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was
    > > no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but
    > > that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my
    > > wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.
    > > At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed
    > > just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two
    > > minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what
    > > was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I
    > > explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out
    > > words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing
    > > that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably
    > > assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just
    > > needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until
    > > I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go
    > > across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks,
    > > new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable
    > > leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she
    > > then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began
    > > to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I
    > > promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to
    > > handle damage control for the time being. She left the manager
    > > then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry
    > > ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he
    > > assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be
    > > cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what
    > > was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I
    > > would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks
    > > working at Quincy's making minimum wage or just slightly above.
    > > At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the
    > > situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that
    > > I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
    > > Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls
    > > and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to
    > > make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
    > > He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I
    > > began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was
    > > finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them
    > > into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into
    > > the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my
    > > wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new
    > > clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad
    > > taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened
    > > to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in.
    > > At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a
    > > felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting
    > > dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall,
    > > washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the
    > > room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had
    > > intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done,
    > > but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to
    > > greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I
    > > thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out
    > > to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the
    > > front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend
    > > eating dinner at Quincy's Steak House. They have, by far, the
    > > nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
    > > Gosh it was a wild night. My wife told everyone at Best Buy about
    > > what happened to me. Damn wife!

    >
    >
    > Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and even usenet in
    > general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like the one
    > above.
    >
    > It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn to have
    > faith.
    >
    >
    > Jim Anable


    golly! Some enchanted evening!
    §c©©t§, Apr 13, 2004
    #7
  8. Jim Anable

    Jim Anable Guest

    > golly! Some enchanted evening!

    You did see the message that the original poster is NOT me, but a troll with a lame attempt to spoof my name,
    right?
    Jim Anable, Apr 13, 2004
    #8
  9. Jim Anable

    claudel Guest

    In article <UmZec.8851$>,
    §c©©t§ <> wrote:
    >"Jim Anable" <> wrote in message news:...
    >> "Lucas Tam" <> wrote in message news:...
    >> > My wife and I could not wait to get our hands on a brand new Fuji 5000s
    >> > digital camera. On the way to Best Buy we decided to cruise out to
    >> > Quincy's steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which
    >> > means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only
    >> > night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's
    >> > night at Quincy's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from
    >> > table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the
    >> > events about to be told have little connection to those two
    >> > circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through
    >> > the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then
    >> > sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in
    >> > order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my
    >> > move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were
    >> > consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the
    >> > pseudo- Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
    >> > All I could think about was the new digital camera I was going to get.
    >> > Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well
    >> > all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten
    >> > four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so
    >> > much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble
    >> > breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building.
    >> > At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in
    >> > batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately,
    >> > that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was
    >> > dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make
    >> > its way through your intestines far faster than the food which
    >> > spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the
    >> > table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two
    >> > sinks immediately inside the door,two urinals just to the right of the
    >> > sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was
    >> > a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the
    >> > handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a
    >> > good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only
    >> > thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my
    >> > toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk
    >> > in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In
    >> > retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped
    >> > stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time
    >> > lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the
    >> > circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the
    >> > pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began
    >> > "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me
    >> > take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what
    >> > their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time
    >> > comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events
    >> > occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a
    >> > move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the
    >> > toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said
    >> > toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down
    >> > the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very
    >> > fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless
    >> > expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is
    >> > properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures
    >> > that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in
    >> > the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is
    >> > truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
    >> > I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the
    >> > floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by
    >> > one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up
    >> > in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first talked into the
    >> > stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but
    >> > I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense,
    >> > that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex
    >> > started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the
    >> > bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming
    >> > up for a rematch.What happened next was so quick that the exact
    >> > sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them
    >> > as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my
    >> > attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a
    >> > freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the
    >> > toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming
    >> > up my esophagus. Now,most of you know that vomiting takes
    >> > precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming
    >> > out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting
    >> > will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to
    >> > accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial
    >> > tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus
    >> > diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can
    >> > only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper
    >> > headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi"
    >> > or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably
    >> > measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency
    >> > of thick mud withembedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying
    >> > out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the
    >> > toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just
    >> > such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it
    >> > ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an
    >> > angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the
    >> > toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred,
    >> > I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached
    >> > the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively
    >> > stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point,
    >> > you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to
    >> > say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so
    >> > sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit
    >> > itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle
    >> > with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at
    >> > the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a
    >> > puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about
    >> > one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
    >> > Now, back to the vomit...While all the shitting was going on, the
    >> > vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed
    >> > on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the
    >> > macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the
    >> > human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I
    >> > bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore,
    >> > bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-
    >> > opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also
    >> > directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just
    >> > midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that
    >> > I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the
    >> > ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and
    >> > beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls
    >> > were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at
    >> > the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there
    >> > were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I
    >> > was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered
    >> > in crap that had bounced off the toilet,spattered on three ceramic-
    >> > tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force
    >> > to come back at me,covering the back of my shirt with droplets of
    >> > liquid crap. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring
    >> > curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no darned
    >> > toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a
    >> > complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom.
    >> > He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must
    >> > have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just
    >> > enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to
    >> > have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager
    >> > walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was
    >> > prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was
    >> > no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but
    >> > that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my
    >> > wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.
    >> > At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed
    >> > just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two
    >> > minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what
    >> > was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I
    >> > explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out
    >> > words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing
    >> > that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably
    >> > assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just
    >> > needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until
    >> > I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go
    >> > across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks,
    >> > new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable
    >> > leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she
    >> > then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began
    >> > to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I
    >> > promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to
    >> > handle damage control for the time being. She left the manager
    >> > then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry
    >> > ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he
    >> > assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be
    >> > cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what
    >> > was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I
    >> > would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks
    >> > working at Quincy's making minimum wage or just slightly above.
    >> > At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the
    >> > situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that
    >> > I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
    >> > Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls
    >> > and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to
    >> > make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
    >> > He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I
    >> > began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was
    >> > finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them
    >> > into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into
    >> > the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my
    >> > wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new
    >> > clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad
    >> > taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened
    >> > to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in.
    >> > At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a
    >> > felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting
    >> > dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall,
    >> > washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the
    >> > room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had
    >> > intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done,
    >> > but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to
    >> > greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I
    >> > thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out
    >> > to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the
    >> > front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend
    >> > eating dinner at Quincy's Steak House. They have, by far, the
    >> > nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
    >> > Gosh it was a wild night. My wife told everyone at Best Buy about
    >> > what happened to me. Damn wife!

    >>
    >>
    >> Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and even usenet in
    >> general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like the one
    >> above.
    >>
    >> It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn to have
    >> faith.
    >>
    >>
    >> Jim Anable

    >
    >golly! Some enchanted evening!
    >
    >



    --
    | ^ JOIN THE
    | /"\ ASCII RIBBON CAMPAIGN
    | \ / TO RID USENET OF
    | X NATTERING FUCKWITS
    | / \
    claudel, Apr 13, 2004
    #9
  10. Jim Anable

    claudel Guest

    In article <UmZec.8851$>,
    §c©©t§ <> wrote:
    >"Jim Anable" <> wrote in message news:...
    >> "Lucas Tam" <> wrote in message news:...
    >> > My wife and I could not wait to get our hands on a brand new Fuji 5000s
    >> > digital camera. On the way to Best Buy we decided to cruise out to
    >> > Quincy's steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which
    >> > means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only
    >> > night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's
    >> > night at Quincy's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from
    >> > table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the
    >> > events about to be told have little connection to those two
    >> > circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through
    >> > the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then
    >> > sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in
    >> > order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my
    >> > move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were
    >> > consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the
    >> > pseudo- Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
    >> > All I could think about was the new digital camera I was going to get.
    >> > Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well
    >> > all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten
    >> > four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so
    >> > much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble
    >> > breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building.
    >> > At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in
    >> > batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately,
    >> > that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was
    >> > dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make
    >> > its way through your intestines far faster than the food which
    >> > spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the
    >> > table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two
    >> > sinks immediately inside the door,two urinals just to the right of the
    >> > sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was
    >> > a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the
    >> > handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a
    >> > good shit, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only
    >> > thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my
    >> > toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk
    >> > in on me while I am taking a shit. I went to the normal stall. In
    >> > retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped
    >> > stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time
    >> > lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the
    >> > circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the
    >> > pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions. I began
    >> > "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me
    >> > take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what
    >> > their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time
    >> > comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events
    >> > occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a
    >> > move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the
    >> > toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said
    >> > toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down
    >> > the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very
    >> > fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless
    >> > expulsion of shit at the exact same second that ones ass is
    >> > properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures
    >> > that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in
    >> > the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is
    >> > truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
    >> > I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the
    >> > floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by
    >> > one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up
    >> > in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first talked into the
    >> > stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but
    >> > I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense,
    >> > that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex
    >> > started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the
    >> > bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming
    >> > up for a rematch.What happened next was so quick that the exact
    >> > sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them
    >> > as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my
    >> > attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a
    >> > freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the
    >> > toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming
    >> > up my esophagus. Now,most of you know that vomiting takes
    >> > precedence over shit no matter what is about to come slamming
    >> > out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting
    >> > will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to
    >> > accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial
    >> > tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus
    >> > diverted. At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can
    >> > only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper
    >> > headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi"
    >> > or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably
    >> > measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shit the consistency
    >> > of thick mud withembedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying
    >> > out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the
    >> > toilet at that moment. The shit wave was of such force and of just
    >> > such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it
    >> > ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an
    >> > angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the
    >> > toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred,
    >> > I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached
    >> > the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively
    >> > stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point,
    >> > you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to
    >> > say, the shit wave, though of considerable force, was not so
    >> > sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit
    >> > itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle
    >> > with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at
    >> > the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a
    >> > puddle. There was a significant amount of shit remaining on about
    >> > one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
    >> > Now, back to the vomit...While all the shitting was going on, the
    >> > vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed
    >> > on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the
    >> > macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the
    >> > human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I
    >> > bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore,
    >> > bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-
    >> > opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also
    >> > directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just
    >> > midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that
    >> > I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the
    >> > ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and
    >> > beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls
    >> > were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at
    >> > the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there
    >> > were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I
    >> > was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered
    >> > in crap that had bounced off the toilet,spattered on three ceramic-
    >> > tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force
    >> > to come back at me,covering the back of my shirt with droplets of
    >> > liquid crap. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring
    >> > curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no darned
    >> > toilet paper. What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a
    >> > complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom.
    >> > He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must
    >> > have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just
    >> > enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to
    >> > have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager
    >> > walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was
    >> > prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was
    >> > no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but
    >> > that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my
    >> > wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.
    >> > At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed
    >> > just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. About two
    >> > minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what
    >> > was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I
    >> > explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out
    >> > words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing
    >> > that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably
    >> > assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just
    >> > needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until
    >> > I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go
    >> > across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks,
    >> > new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable
    >> > leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she
    >> > then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began
    >> > to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I
    >> > promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to
    >> > handle damage control for the time being. She left the manager
    >> > then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry
    >> > ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he
    >> > assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be
    >> > cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what
    >> > was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I
    >> > would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks
    >> > working at Quincy's making minimum wage or just slightly above.
    >> > At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the
    >> > situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that
    >> > I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
    >> > Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls
    >> > and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to
    >> > make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
    >> > He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I
    >> > began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was
    >> > finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them
    >> > into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into
    >> > the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my
    >> > wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new
    >> > clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad
    >> > taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened
    >> > to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in.
    >> > At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a
    >> > felony and intended to keep it that way. When I finished getting
    >> > dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall,
    >> > washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the
    >> > room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had
    >> > intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done,
    >> > but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to
    >> > greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I
    >> > thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out
    >> > to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the
    >> > front door. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend
    >> > eating dinner at Quincy's Steak House. They have, by far, the
    >> > nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
    >> > Gosh it was a wild night. My wife told everyone at Best Buy about
    >> > what happened to me. Damn wife!

    >>
    >>
    >> Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and even usenet in
    >> general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like the one
    >> above.
    >>
    >> It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn to have
    >> faith.
    >>
    >>
    >> Jim Anable

    >
    >golly! Some enchanted evening!
    >
    >



    --
    | ^ JOIN THE
    | /"\ ASCII RIBBON CAMPAIGN
    | \ / TO RID USENET OF
    | X NATTERING FUCKWITS
    | / \
    claudel, Apr 13, 2004
    #10
  11. Jim Anable

    Jim Anable Guest

    claudel wrote:

    Multiple crossposts with NO new comment?!



    BTW, I am NOT the original poster, it was a lame attempt to spoof me!
    Jim Anable, Apr 13, 2004
    #11
  12. Jim Anable

    Ken Oaf Guest

    On Tue, 13 Apr 2004 21:57:08 GMT, "§c©©t§" <> wrote:

    > golly! Some enchanted evening!


    Did you really have to quote the entire message just to add one line???

    I am beginning to see that Saddam was right. Americans really *ARE* fucking
    idiots!!!
    Ken Oaf, Apr 14, 2004
    #12
  13. Jim Anable

    zbzbzb Guest

    >> golly! Some enchanted evening!
    >
    >Did you really have to quote the entire message just to add one line???
    >
    >I am beginning to see that Saddam was right. Americans really *ARE* fucking
    >idiots!!!
    >
    >
    >


    Maybe you two can become penpals and you can write him letters in prison beofre
    his eventual execution.
    zbzbzb, Apr 14, 2004
    #13
  14. Jim Anable

    Painius Guest

    "Jim Anable" <> wrote in message...
    news:...
    >
    > "Lucas Tam" <> wrote in message news:...
    > >
    > > My wife and I could not wait to get our hands on a brand new Fuji 5000s
    > > digital camera. On the way to Best Buy we decided to cruise out to
    > > Quincy's steakhouse for dinner. . .


    > > . . . The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend
    > > eating dinner at Quincy's Steak House. They have, by far, the
    > > nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
    > > Gosh it was a wild night. My wife told everyone at Best Buy about
    > > what happened to me. Damn wife!

    >
    >
    > Just when I thought about giving up this newsgroup, and even usenet in
    > general, there comes along a priceless, quality post like the one
    > above.
    >
    > It's happened more than once now. Someday, I will learn to have
    > faith.
    >
    >
    > Jim Anable


    This may have been just a skoash off-topic for alt.astronomy,
    but it was damn funny!

    happy days and...
    starry starry nights!

    --
    Planets, stars and nebulae
    Hold attention in the sky--
    Lay in hay and squint your eye,
    Lose your youth in moaning sigh
    & find the truth in every lie!

    Paine Ellsworth
    Painius, Apr 18, 2004
    #14
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