Discussion in 'MCSE' started by DUMPKING, Apr 16, 2004.


    DUMPKING Guest

    DUMPKING, Apr 16, 2004
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    showie Guest

    oh how exiting
    showie, Apr 16, 2004
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    DUMPKING Guest





    DUMPKING, Apr 16, 2004

    Hired Goon Guest


    Hired Goon, Apr 16, 2004

    Consultant Guest

    how to dump at work or in public restroom
    1. locate toilet
    2. place ass gasket on seat
    3. drop trou
    4. sit on ass gasket taking care not to let your skin touch the toilet seat
    5. take a deep breathe and with a steady forceful push, contract stomach
    muscles above bowel, this will start the dump
    6. breathe
    7. continue contracting muscle to extract remaining feces from your bowel
    8. unroll about 8-10 squares of toilet paper and fold over 2-3 times and
    proceed to wipe
    9. check toilet paper for content, if if has wiped clean on the first wipe,
    place in bowl and flush
    10. if not a clean wipe at first repeat step 8 until you get a clean wipe
    11. flush
    Consultant, Apr 16, 2004

    Rowdy Yates Guest

    don't forget to "strain a bit"!
    Rowdy Yates, Apr 16, 2004

    kpg Guest

    Go away little troll
    Go away little troll
    I'm not supposed chat with you

    I know that your taunts are sweet,
    but our posts must never meet.
    I'm flaming somebody else, I must be true

    Oh, go away little troll
    (Go away little troll)
    Go away little troll
    (Go away little troll)
    It's hurting me more each minute that we delay

    When you're post to me like this you're much too hard to resist
    So, go away little troll, before I beg you to stay.

    (Go away little troll)
    Go away little troll
    (Go away little troll)
    Oh, go away little troll
    (It hurts me more, the more that we delay)

    When you're berate me like this you're much too hard to resist
    So, go away little troll
    Let's call it a day little troll
    Please, go away little troll, before I beg you to stay.

    (Go away)
    Go away little troll
    (Go away)
    Go away little troll
    (Go away)
    Please, go away little troll
    (Go away)
    Go away little troll
    (Go away)
    kpg, Apr 16, 2004

    kpg Guest

    Sorry, I wasn't singing to you.

    I was just trying to explain that
    the urge to retort is strong.

    We want them to go away,
    but the spectacle of ignorance and
    stupidity draws us, it's human nature.

    Yes, to engage them gives them just
    what they came for, and it should be
    avoided, but it's so hard to resist.

    Lets take it one day at a time.

    Lets all say to ourselves: I won't
    feed the trolls today. I can wait.
    I don't need it that bad. I will resist.
    Soon the urge will pass.

    Don't feed the trolls.
    Don't feed the trolls.
    Don't feed the trolls.

    (tranquil thoughts...)
    kpg, Apr 16, 2004
  9. Nice... pictured little Donny Osmond singing it.
    =?Windows-1252?Q?Frisbee=AE?=, Apr 16, 2004

    JaR Guest

    kpg opined, On 4/16/04 9:12 AM:
    I know. It's kinda like when you go to the zoo, and you see this chimp
    with a big sore on it's butt, and it's picking at it and eating the
    scabs. You're revolted and fascinated at the same time.

    Queasy Thug
    JaR, Apr 16, 2004

    kpg Guest

    Thanks. Now that's stuck in my head.

    kpg, Apr 16, 2004

    JaR Guest

    kpg opined, On 4/16/04 10:36 AM:
    Next time the pox posts, guess what will flash through a lot of heads?

    Hypno Thug
    JaR, Apr 16, 2004

    Brat Guest

    man you are sick
    Brat, Apr 16, 2004

    JaR Guest

    Brat opined, On 4/16/04 10:57 AM:
    *bows and tips hat*

    Thank you.
    JaR, Apr 16, 2004

    Brian Guest

    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.
    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 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!
    Brian, Apr 16, 2004

    Ken Briscoe Guest

    Not only do I need a new keyboard, I also need a change of pants. Funny
    stuff. If you made that up, great job. If you copied/pasted, then....well,
    good job finding it. Nomination for PotD. Judge's committee respectfully
    requested to review this entrant.
    Ken Briscoe, Apr 16, 2004

    Consultant Guest

    where did you go for dessert?

    Consultant, Apr 16, 2004

    Consultant Guest

    here here
    Consultant, Apr 16, 2004
  19. Nomination for PotD


    Kline Sphere (Chalk) MCNGP #3
    The Poster Formerly Known as Kline Sphere, Apr 16, 2004

    JaR Guest

    Ken Briscoe opined, On 4/16/04 12:47 PM:
    Yeah, I've seen this one before, don't remember where. Funny enough to
    read again though

    Seconded for PoTD
    JaR, Apr 16, 2004
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