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I Asked People on Facebook Where the Worst Place They Pooped Was…The Answers are Amazing.

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The other day I asked all my Facebook followers where the worst place they ever pooped was. The answers were absolutely amazing. I literally teared up from laughing so hard.

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This one will make you choke from laughing:

My backyard. I got locked out and had to shit so bad I was shivering and sweating on my mustache. So I grabbed a towel and a plastic bag from my car (that I never locked) and prayed to the gods, the old and the new, that nobody would see. Evidently I have terrible ass aim and it went everywhere but the bag. For the next couple of weeks I had to try to keep a straight face when my room mates talked about what kind of city animal could poo so much… Me. I’m that animal.

Or how about this one:

Stranded in the middle of nowhere with the car smashed into a boulder, had to poop in a swarm of mosquitoes with only a wrapper from a king size PayDay bar. At least it was king size, but so were the mosquitoes.

Or even this one:

The gross toilet on a packed Greyhound bus going from NYC to Philly. It was 100 degrees that day and the AC was broken on that janky ass bus. I think I was the 16th person who needed to drop a deuce during the ride. There was shit splattered all over the walls and piles of shit on the floor. It was horrific. Oh, and the door didn’t lock, so the back half of the bus saw my backside while I awkwardly tried to poop without touching anyone else’s poo.

poop

Now let me just get MY worst pooping story: When I was 21 I was driving up from Santa Cruz to San Francisco to look at some apartments. On the way my buddy and I stopped at the In-N-Out in Daly City for a bite. The night before I’d drank a ton of booze so when I let out a fart, I shit myself more than a little bit. I had that immediate “oh no” realization and went to the bathroom to check out the damage. My boxer shorts were a fucking disaster, so I decided to just throw them away and free ball it the rest of the day. Unfortunately the entire trash can was already overflowing with garbage and there was no place to put them, so I very shamefully balled up my shitty underwear and tossed them behind the toilet. I know…gross.

It wasn’t until we got back in the car though that I realized I’d had those boxers since I’d gone to summer camp as a teenager and my full name was written in them on the elastic waistband. Whatever poor bastard had to clean that bathroom up, not only found some shitty boxers, they also knew the name of the depraved monster who they belonged to. To this day I always expect to be introduced to someone who then responds, “Wait, you’re Stuart Schuffman? I’m the guy who cleaned up your disgusting shit filled underwear in an In-N-Out bathroom! I hate you.” My only response would be, “Yeah, I kinda hate me for that too.”

What’s your worst pooping story? Tell us in the comments below!

 

images from Buzzfeed, Online Citizen,

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Broke-Ass Stuart - Editor In Cheap

Broke-Ass Stuart - Editor In Cheap

I've been called "an Underground legend": SF Chronicle , "an SF cult hero": SF Bay Guardian, and "the chief of cheap": Time Out New York, but to those familiar with my work, I'm just "that douchebag who writes books about cheap stuff and drinks a lot".

4 Comments

  1. CatCon23
    March 2, 2015 at 2:40 pm

    On my 3rd wedding anniversary my husband and I got all dolled up and went to a swanky new restaurant in town. We had a great meal, but by the time dessert rolled around, I started to feel a distinct rumbling. I looked to my hubby as sweat beaded my brow and told him we needed to leave. NOW. It was only a few blocks from home and we decided it was faster to walk than try and hail a cab. My gut started percolating like a campfire coffee pot. I took off my heels and started booking for home in a weird asscheek-clenching trot. And then it -happened: a shit-trickle down the back of one thigh. Knowing Krakatoa was upon me, I looked for the nearest object to hide behind: a concrete barricade/bench. In front of the U.S. Immigration and Customs office. Dress hiked to my shoulders, ass hanging off the edge of this half-wall thing, I released, legs shooting straight out with the force of what I can only describe as an explosion. I was so relieved, I hadn’t quite thought it through and had nothing with which to wipe myself down. Like the filthy animal I had become, I squat-scooted and dragged my ass across the strip of grass between the sidewalk and the curb. All of this while my husband held my purse and watched in horror.

    We were a block and a half from our building. I could see the light in our apartment window.

    Needless to say, I burned that dress, the restaurant closed in less than a year, and I am now divorced. So, hey fellas, call me. 😉

    • Broke-Ass Stuart
      March 2, 2015 at 3:55 pm

      Hahahaha! That’s amazing!

    • Kel1M
      March 18, 2015 at 6:29 pm

      Oh my God, this is the most hilarious thing I’ve ever read.

  2. Melissa Eller
    December 30, 2015 at 11:07 pm

    The floor of the locked room with the four-point restraints in the psych ward at SF General. Take me home to meet your parents.