Re.: 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
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  2. Jim Anable

    Andrew Guest

    On 13 Apr 2004 01:13:57 -0700, (Jim Anable) wrote
    without bothering to trim the message:

    <palguerism snipped>

    >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.


    As was pointed previously out this post was plaguerised from a very
    old message.
    --
    Andrew. To email unscramble & remove spamtrap.
    Help make Usenet a better place: English is read downwards,
    please don't top post. Trim messages to quote only relevent text.
    Check groups.google.com before asking a question.
     
    Andrew, Apr 13, 2004
    #2
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