December 19, 2003: Fat Chris and I went to Buffalo to watch the Sabres play. We met up with Skinny Kris at Duff's. I already ate a lot that day, but for some reason the combination of Wendy's, beef on weck and buffalo wings did not sit too well with me.
So we finish eating Duff's (which I still highly recommend). I had wings (as did Fat Chris and Skinny Kris), but I also had beef - on - weck and a pitcher of soda. I make groaning noises from consuming too much food that day. Fat Chris asks me "Why don't you simply take a shit?"
I respond cryptically, "I don't have to."
We get outside, and I proceed to follow Kris to the hockey game. As I turn right, I feel a rumble in my stomach. As we turn around and get on the 33, it becomes readily apparent that I need to take a shit ASAP. I call Kris on the cell phone after informing Fat Chris of the situation.
Kris turns off and begins his search for a toilet in a part of town he is unfamiliar with. I am already white-knuckled, but able to keep the massive amount of crap coming down the pipeline in the pipeline. Several minutes later, Kris finds a Chinese food take out place. We stop. I LEAVE THE TRUCK TRANSMISSION IN DRIVE, which should indicate how desperate I was at that point.
I enter the restaurant. I interrupt a few people, asking them where the restroom is. Buffalonians are friendly folk, but that place didn't have a toilet. It was not a sit down restaurant. A lady in line points me in a certain direction and says that a McDonald's is a few blocks away.
I get back into the truck. Kris is following me now. I can't find anything after a few blocks. I must've followed that lady's directions incorrectly or the shit building up in my eyelids was making my vision blurred. I have no idea where I am, and no idea where the closest restroom is. So I keep driving. I drive past a few restaurants and even a gas station that had already closed down for the day. I damn them for lacking a Protestant work ethic. I keep driving for a few more minutes. So far so good, but my ass is ready to explode. It is like standing on a landmine. It is just a question of time.
I drive into a gas station that looks open. It isn't. I hop back onto the road, cutting off a few people. Soon I am in the left lane driving in some unknown direction. At a painfully slow stop light, I see a gas station to my right. So from the left lane, I make a right turn to reach my salvation. Another freaking red light!! If I was driving through Amsterdam, this might be good, but I am driving through Buffalo. I wait for several hours at the light, or what seemed like it. Eventually, the light changes and I rush to park.
I head inside and impatiently ask for the restroom. They sheepishly say they don't have one. I ask for further clarification but they start to ignore me. "You cocksuckers," I thought. I know you have a restroom. I don't know if it is employee only or whatever, but I know from your goddamned reaction you have a restroom.
Time is of the essence by this point, so I decide arguing about it is not prudent. I head towards the microwaveable food area and grab as many napkins as I can see. I do this because I have no idea whether I will find a restroom and I have no idea when the hydrogen bomb resonating in my lower intestine will explode.
I got my answer soon enough. I step outside of the gas station and inform Fat Chris and Skinny Kris of the situation. They can't believe it. Kris mentions a drug store nearby might have a restroom. I mention that I won't be able to hold on. Fat Chris mentions that I'd have more privacy across the street.
"I can't make it across the street. It's coming out now!" I exclaim.
And with that, the entirety of my day's eating splattered out of my ass onto the cold Buffalo snow in a split second. Fortunately, I was able to grab those napkins. Fortunately, I was able to get my jeans down to be able to take a shit. And take a shit I did.
After the damage was done, we were in shock. I implored Fat Chris to buy paper towels, never mind toilet paper. He went inside and got them.
At the same time, Kris mentioned he saw a drug store and would go shopping for underwear.
Fat Chris comes out of the gas station. I beg this drunk who has had a 6 pack and a pitcher of beer to drive the truck near the edge of the property to give me some privacy. He does.
He says to open the doors for extra privacy. Thankfully he did, because a few minutes later, the Sheriff drove by with yours truly bareassed in the Buffalo snow.
I continue to wipe my ass like Lady MacBeth washing her hands. The snow was useful as a water source.
Soon, Kris calls, indicating that they have L underwear. I tell him that XL would be needed. He thankfully finds some XL Grinch underwear. He later tells me that it was either that or some Depends.
As soon as Kris returns with underwear, I have to fully clean myself. My shirt has some splash damage. I take it off. My underwear is destroyed. I throw it on the snowbank. My socks are drenched by walking in snow and water. My jeans are separated from everything else, because they, amazingly enough, are clean.
I wipe my ass repeatedly with paper towels and snow. After a few minutes of this comforting experience, I ask Fat Chris to check to see whether I missed any spots. As unpleasurable as this experience must have been, it was preferable to sitting beside shit funk for the next 5 hours. I pass the visual inspection, so to speak: no visual damage to be seen.
I give a final cleaning with snow and paper towels, and then dress myself. I then apply liberal amounts of deodorant to my lower back, to further help kill any funk. I then spend a few minutes washing my hands in the snow. STILL FUNKY. I stinkpalmed myself!!!
So we are set to go to the game now. I am somewhat shaken, but feeling much better now. Remarkably, none of us smell any funk, well except for the stinkpalm. So we are good to go. But as we are leaving, we see some poor schmuck trying to use the air hose. You know, the same air hose splattered with shit. I would have taken a picture of him, but he didn't clue in and that would have clued him in and made him belligerent. Sorry, dude. I wouldn't try using that gas station's restroom to wash your hands.
So we get to the game and I get to the restroom. I wash my hands for several minutes. Unlike Lady MacBeth, I succeed and get rid of the remaining funk.
The Sabres wound up losing 5-2, but I felt victorious after averting a near disaster.
Later that night (story is not over, folks!) we visited the ballet in Niagara Falls. I happened to be with some particularly drunk stripper. She fancied herself as open-minded. Because of this, she wished to spank me.
Unfortunately for her (I really do mean unfortunately for her), I wasn't wearing a belt. She couldn't find a belt, so she resorted to the next best thing. She hiked down my pants a bit, and spanked my on the bare ass with her bare hand. It was the funniest spanking I ever received.
What would this story be without pictures?
These are the assholes who didn't have a restroom. I recommend boycotting these pricks.
Here's the damage I did that night. Note the proximity of the air hose. This was NOT done in a private, secluded area. This was done in a very public place. And you should boycott a place that has shit on their air hose. And shit on their parking spaces. My apologies to the owner of the car, whose wheels got some splash damage, unless the owner works at the gas station in question.
A casualty of war: my underwear. By this time, I had moved to the edge of the gas station, closer to nature's frozen water source. I had to get rid of my underwear for obvious reasons. My underwear, socks and shirt had to be changed after this incident.
Brawny paper towels also soak up shit better than 99% of other national brands!!!
Kris fortunately remembered there was a nearby drug store. There he bought me some underwear. He is passing me deodorant to spread on my lower back, to help mask any unpleasant smells.
If you didn't know it, you would think nothing happened. I am wearing a different shirt and different underwear than I was 2 hours in this picture. I am also wearing no socks. Fortunately, my jeans were unscathed through the entire incident.
Here are the seasonal boxers Kris bought me. The Grinch tried to ruin Xmas. 3 lbs of shit tried to ruin an evening of hockey. Neither were successful.
Reply With Quote
.......:birch: wants to play you in a made for tv movie called "A Wonderful Shit" a film for the holidays.
.
