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I told my son to get help. As he turned around to head back into the classroom, he slipped in the sludge, ironically soiling his Winnie the Pooh costume.
Scariest Harvest Party will forever haunt school.
Do not bring to sporting events!
By gregbAon January 18, 2014
The place: BMO Harris Bradley Center
The event: Bucks VS Spurs
The snack: Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears made by Haribo
I recently took my 4 year old son to his first NBA game. He was very excited to go to the game, and I was excited because we had fantastic seats. Row C center court to be exact. I've never sat that close before. I've never had to go DOWN stairs to get to my seats. 24 stairs to get to my seats to be exact.
His favorite candy is Skittles. Mine are anything gummy. I snuck in a bag of skittles for my son, and grabbed a handful of gummy bears for myself, to be later known as Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears, that I received for Christmas in bulk from my parents, and put them in a zip lock bag.
After the excitement of the 1st quarter has ended I take my son out to get him a bottled water and myself a beer. We return to our seats to enjoy our candy and drinks.
..............fast forward until 1 minute before half time...........
I have begun to sweat a sweat that is only meant for a man on mile 19 of a marathon. I have kicked out my legs out so straight that I am violently pushing the gentleman wearing a suit seat in front of me forward. He is not happy, I do not care. My hands are on the side of my seat not unlike that of a gymnast on a pommel horse, lifting me off my chair. My son is oblivious to what is happening next to him, after all, there is a mascot running around somewhere and he is eating candy.
I realize that at some point in the very near to immediate future I am going to have to allow this lava from Satan to forcefully expel itself from my innards. I also realize that I have to walk up 24 stairs just to get to level ground in hopes to make it to the bathroom. I’ll just have to sit here stiff as a board for a few moments waiting for the pain to subside. About 30 seconds later there is a slight calm in the storm of the violent hurricane that is going on in my lower intestine. I muster the courage to gently relax every muscle in my lower half and stand up. My son stands up next to me and we start to ascend up the stairs. I take a very careful and calculated step up the first stair. Then a very loud horn sounds. Halftime. Great. It’s going to be crowded. The horn also seems to have awaken the Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears that are having a mosh pit in my stomach. It literally felt like an avalanche went down my stomach and I again have to tighten every muscle and stand straight up and focus all my energy on my poor sphincter to tighten up and perform like it has never performed before. Taking another step would be the worst idea possible, the flood gates would open. Don’t worry, Daddy has a plan. I some how mumble the question, “want to play a game?” to my son, he of course says “yes”. My idea is to hop on both feet allllll the way up the stairs, using the center railing to propel me up each stair. My son is always up for a good hopping game, so he complies and joins in on the “fun”. Some old lady 4 steps up thinks its cute that we are doing this, obviously she wasn’t looking at the panic on my face. 3 rows behind her a man about the same age as me, who must have had similar situations, notices the fear/panic/desperation on my face understands the danger that I along with my pants and anyone within a 5 yard radius spray zone are in. He just mouths the words “good luck man” to me and I press on. Half way up and there is no leakage, but my legs are getting tired and my sphincter has never endured this amount of pressure for this long of time. 16 steps/hops later…….4 steps to go…….My son trips and falls on the stairs, I have two options: keep going knowing he will catch up or bend down to pick him up relieving my sphincter of all the pressure and commotion while ruining the day of roughly the 50 people that are now watching a grown man hop up stairs while sweating profusely next to a 4 year old boy.
Luckily he gets right back up and we make it to the top of the stairs. Good, the hard part was over. Or so I thought. I managed to waddle like a penguin, or someone who is about to poop their pants in 2.5 seconds, to the men's room only to find that every stall is being used. EVERY STALL. It's halftime, of course everyone has to poop at that moment. I don't know if I can wait any longer, do I go ahead and fulfil the dream of every high school boy and poop in the urinal? What kind of an example would that set for my son? On the other hand, what kind of an example would it be for his father to fill his pants with a substance that probably will be unrecognizable to man. Suddenly a stall door opens, and I think I manage to actually levitate over to the stall. I my son follows me in, luckily it was the handicap stall so there was room for him to be out of the way. I get my pants off and start to sit. I know what taking a giant poo feels like. I also know what vomiting feels like. I can now successfully say that I know what it is like to vomit out my butt. I wasn't pooping, those Satan's Diarrhea Hate Bears did something to my insides that made my sphincter vomit our the madness.
I am now conscious of my surroundings. Other than the war that the bottom half of my body is currently having with this porcelain chair, it is quiet as a pin drop in the bathroom. The other men in there can sense that something isn't right, no one has heard anyone ever poop vomit before.
I can sense that the worst part is over. But its not stopping, nor can I physically stop it at this point, I am leaking..it's horrible. I call out "does anyone have a diaper?" hoping that some gentleman was changing a baby. Nothing. No one said a word. I know people are in there, I can see the toes of shoes pointed in my direction under the stall.. "DOES ANYONE HAVE A DIAPER!?!" I am screaming, my son is now crying, he thinks he is witnessing the death of his father. I can't even assure him that I will make it.
Not a word was said, but a diaper was thrown over the stall. I catch it, line my underwear with it, put my pants back on, and walk out of that bathroom like a champ. We go straight to our seats, grab out coats and go home. As we are walking out, the gentleman that wished me good luck earlier simply put his fist out, and I happily bumped it.
My son asks me, "Daddy, why are we leaving early?"
"Well son, I need to change my diaper"
After having been told my danglies looked like an elderly rastafarian I decided to take the plunge and buy some of this as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly successful and I nearly put my back out trying to reach the more difficult bits.
Being a bit of a romantic I thought I would do the deed on the missus's birthday as a bit of a treat.I ordered it well in advance and working in the North sea I considered myself a bit above some of the characters writing the previous reviews and wrote them off as soft office types...oh my fellow sufferers how wrong I was.
I waited until the other half was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise I went down to the bathroom. Initially all went well and I applied the gel and stood waiting for something to happen. I didn't have long to wait.
At first there was a gentle warmth which in a matter of seconds was replaced by an intense burning and a feeling I can only describe as like being given a barbed wire wedgie by two people intent on hitting the ceiling with my head.
Religion hadn't featured much in my life until that night but I suddenly became willing to convert to any religion to stop the violent burning around the turd tunnel and what seemed like the destruction of the meat and two veg.
Struggling to not bite through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel of in the sink and only succeeded in blocking the plughole with a mat of hair.Through the haze of tears I struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen by this time walking was not really possible and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in the hope of some form of cold relief.
I yanked the freezer drawer out and found a tub of ice cream, tore the lid of and positioned it under me. The relief was fantastic but only temporary as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing soon returned.
Due to the shape of the ice cream tub I hadn't managed to give the starfish any treatment and I groped around in the draw for something else as I was sure my vision was going to fail fairly soon. I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so. I took a handful of them and tried in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse.
This was not doing the trick as some of the gel had found it's way up the chutney channel and it felt like the space shuttle was running it's engines behind me.This was probably and hopefully the only time in my life I was going to wish there was a gay snowman in the kitchen which should give you some idea of the depths I was willing to sink to in order to ease the pain.
The only solution my pain crazed mind could come up with was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had gone before.
Unfortunately, alerted by the strange grunts coming from the kitchen the other half chose that moment to come and investigate and was greeted by the sight of me, arse in the air, strawberry ice cream dripping from my bell end pushing a sprout up my arse while muttering..." Ooooh that feels good "
Understandingly this was a shock to her and she let out a scream and as I hadn't heard her come in it caused an involuntary spasm of shock in myself which resulted in the sprout being ejected at quite some speed in her direction.
I can understand that having a sprout farted against your leg at 11 at night in the kitchen probably wasn't the special surprise she was expecting and having to explain to the kids the next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was didn't improve my status...
So to sum it up Veet removes hair, dignity and self respect....... :-