The 10 Best Pooping Stories…Maybe Ever
We asked YOU, our kind readers to submit your funniest, most embarrassing pooping stories in hopes of winning the finest bidet on the market. You did not disappoint. We received dozens of stories and selected the very best 10 for your viewing pleasure.
WARNING: stories may contain poop…lots of poop. They also may contain sex, inappropriate language, tears, run-ins with the law, shame waves and both number ones and twos. ONLY continue reading if you enjoy laughing. – Team Broke-Ass
I was on a bachelor party cruise to Mexico. Things got a little out of hand one night. The next morning, I was in my room (a hot, cramped, dorm style room with no windows shared by my smelly ass friends), hungover out of my mind, when I felt a twinge in my lower back. I proceeded to de-robe and attack the tiny holed toilet in our room head on. I unleashed a massive pile of the remnants from the evening before and was a hot, sweaty mess afterwards. Evidently I used “a little” too much TP, and when I flushed, the water began to rise with a chocolate mouse pile on top. Clearly panicked, I searched high and low in the tiny BM chamber for the water valve to no avail. The deluge of water and poo began to flood the bathroom floor of the state room. Next, I did the only thing I could do, ran into the hallway and yelled “help! help!”. The poor poor poor attendant on my level came running to my aid. I said “I clogged the toilet and it is overflowing in the bathroom…it’s really bad in there”. He looked me in the eyes with fear and loathing, “it’s bad?” he asked. “It’s really really bad” my reply. He braced himself and opened the door. Water was everywhere. The pile of soft serve had speed into little nuggets across the floor, and it was obvious that there was no end in sight to the ever flowing spring of water from below. Springing into action, the attendant ran back out into the hallway and ripped a panel off of the wall. Looking us both in the eyes was the holy grail. Although likely some sort of alloy, the valve appeared to be the most shimmering platinum I had ever seen. The water was off, the victory was ours. My prize…cleaning 2 inches of water and shit off of my state room bathroom floor in seemingly 90 degree heat with a raging hangover with a bottle of bleach and an empty beer box for an hour while 15 of my friends enjoyed Coronas and girls in bikinis by the pool. I look back now and laugh, but that was the most terrified I had been in my life.
“Mom Help Me!”
South San Francisco
when I got constipated for my first time as a child, I was so confused why it was stuck there. Dangling over the water. No pushing could help. So naturally I called for my Monmy. After telling her what my situation was, she asked what she could do to help me. I reamed “CUT IT OFFFFF!!!” And I’ve never lived it down to the ripe age of 30something.
I was seeing this girl for about 5 months, and our relationship basically consisted of us humping. So time passes and she ends up going away to Mexico for vacation and we hang out as soon as she gets back. We spent the night together, and in the morning, I found it difficult to make love. (Often the case in the morning; must be low blood sugar or something). So I find myself really having to vigorously go at it this one morning, all rough and crazy. She’s not facing me–she’s straddling, me reverse-cowgirl position. And in this porno-styled ambience I am pounding away, my eyes pretty much shut, my entire focus concentrated on maintaining an erection. Soon she starts to moan, and I’m thinking “Awesome!” And as were fucking and fucking, I feel her squirt all over. It was really wet, and again I think, “Awesome, awesome! I made her come. Now I can blow my load or whatever.” But all of a sudden I notice it smells really bad, and I open my eyes to see that she’s pretty much shat all over my stomach–and it’s not like pure dump. A lot of liquid and some debris. Diarrhea all over. And this is fucked up thing–I don’t stop! I keep fucking. I mean, I wanted to finish. I was kinda in shock, like This is totally fucked up! But I’m like ten seconds away from coming, so I may as well go for it! But of course, right then she notices and turns around and freaks out. It’s kinda uncomfortable, but I don’t really care. I actually think it’s funny. I was pretty proud of myself for not being freaked out or anything. I ended up just hopping in the shower to rinse off everything. No big deal. Never got to bust a nut though
Two friends and myself go to Vegas for friend number 1’s ( let’s call him L ) 21st Birthday and happen to borrow an SUV from someone for more room and whatnot for the ride over. Friend number 2 is driving( let’s call him G ) and upon arrival to the start of the strip L makes it clear that he really has to drop a deuce. Our hotel is at the Mirage which is a good ways down the strip but L says he can make it and G says he will get there asap. Well obviously every possible situation that could have held us up definitely did.. When we finally arrive the look of discomfort on L was not good, there was this feeling that he was just going to shit himself. As soon as we park L goes to jump out of the car and realizes he won’t make it and tells us to get out of the car fast, G and I don’t argue and grab our bags and bail. I look at G and say I this should be interesting. A couple minutes pass and L emerges from the vehicle with a mini cooler in hand and atrocious smell that can’t be put into words. I look at him and the cooler and say “really bro?” He responds with “really” and proceeds to walk a couple cars down and set the cooler next to a support pillar. We then went into the Mirage like nothing happened and laughed all weekend thinking about the person/people that discovered the cooler!
It was the Summer of 0-10. I had been traveling in India for about 3 weeks and eating all the street food you are always told not to eat. I have an iron stomach so I didn’t think it would affect me. I was right. It didn’t. I kept on eating and taking miniscule dumps throughout. Bathrooms were nasty so I doubt my sphincter ever relaxed much. When I finally landed into SFO and drove to my parent’s house I decided to take a Chinese Green Tea Cleanse. If I could have understood the writing I think it would read, “Warning, explosive diarrhea, ruined panties and massive humiliation ensues. Enjoy!” The enjoy part was because it tasted like delicious Hibiscus fruit tea, so I doubled up on that shiz! DOUBLED UP! I headed out to drive to my house in San Francisco, about 45 minutes from my parents house. About 25 minutes into my drive my stomach made a deep thud giving me chills and goose bumps all over. Something’s going to breech! I made it off the 101 onto Octavia and could smell the festering dead Indian child that was kicking my guts as it slithered further down into my colon! Next was Fell St! As I drove past Divisadero I realized the only thing keeping me from exploding all over my cloth interior was I was sitting and my bumhole was sorta covered. Almost home… I get to 5th Avenue at Fulton where I live. Crap, the Deyoung Museum or Academy of Sciences or whoever the f*ck! is having a party and the streets are packed! F*CK!! Im not gonna make it. I slam on the brakes out front my door! Sh*T! Meter maid!! My bowel cramps are beating me harder than the LAPD beat Rodney King!! YES!! A parking spot on 4th Ave. Who cares about parallel parking now, just get in the spot, cars can go around you!!! If I squeeze my butt super tight, the second I get out of my car and run I can make it!! Grab my keys, grab my cell phone, grab my ID, don’t even lock the car, just RUN. I didn’t even get the chance. The second I got off that seat it was all over, figuratively and literally. I had to squat, curbside, right behind my car, and just…go… “Let it happen” I said to myself as I squatted there, in the darkness. “Just let it happen” As I am almost done evacuating my entire India trip in less time it takes Ussain Bolt to run from the Jamaican one night stands, I hear voices. Girl, boy, no wait that’s girlS and boyS! Crap, literally. “They wont see me if I don’t move!” I’m frozen, except for the Mumbai, Delhi slush that is still liquefied and flowing out of my ass. “What is…is that, OMG Is that a person??!!!” I’m spotted!!! EWWW IS SHE SH*TTING!?!?!?!! A sound of what I thought was full of disgust and laughter follow, but I couldn’t tell because I was running faster than an Oakland black man runs from the cops! I got home with my shorts around my ass and my undies around my thighs. Don’t even look, just throw them both away! When I wake up the next day and move around I want to head out. Its 5pm, lets get a happy hour. I grab my keys, grab my cell phone, grab my…. WHERE THE F*CK IS MY ID!!!! I run to the car, and there, stuck on the pile of my entire India trip is my ID. Name side up for all to behold!!!! How sh*tty is that?!?!
I was invited to go hunting in Wisconsin. I didn’t realize that I didn’t pack or was told to pack any TP. So,I spent the rest of the day hunting with no socks in the tree stand.
A mind full of mushrooms and a mile beyond the temple, in the deep playa beyond human reach, it hit me like a bag of bricks in the gut. The pressure, both intestinal and psychological, to take a dump overtook me.
What to do? Drop my pants and squat right there on god’s grey dusty earth? An image of myself carrying my m.o.o.p.load in a ziploc bag, along with possible conversations that would ensue upon encountering fellow earthlings ‘long the way. Discouraging prospects.
So I puckered up my sphincter and sucked it up, soldiering onwards, steadily, towards the distant mirage of blinking LED lights, resembling some kind of phosphorescent underwater arcade. Dissolving my identity in the rhythm of my stride and the flow of fleeting earth below-foot I found peace in my singular purpose. I was little more than a vessel then, a courier, a sort of Johnny Mnemonic transporting an excremental shitload to its safehaven. I would let nothing get in my way. Below my feet the cracked earth underwent a stereoscopic bifurcation (that’s just a visual split, basically): one side was now shimmering with a pink glow, the other side imbued with blue. Faces appeared in the crack-outlined islands of dirt. Ancient, ancestral faces. Dead serious, terrifying and beautiful. They appeared to be speaking to me.
“No time,” I said, unable to make out what they were saying (perhaps, “poop on us”?) “bad timing, guys.” The colors and the faces faded again, restored to dust and dry earth; my stride uncompromised.
Ahead now, I came upon an incidental man-made crop circle, made of tire-tracks. Deep monster-truck tire-grooves, the aftermath of sharp turns and infinity loops. As soon as I stepped into their field I felt its vortextual gravity, as it drew down energy from the stars to swirl, galactically, through the chalice of my interior. I was beamed with transmissions from distant star races. Again, my concentration was limited to my intestinal load, so I couldn’t decipher their message, but I doubt they were asking me to shit up into the stars (a picture flashed to mind, of me–face hugging the dust, ass up–a human shit fountain shuttling poop-rockets into outer space). Again: “sorry, bad timing, rrrrrrreally need to take a shit.”
Ancestors on hold. Aliens on hold. Yours truly pacing, cramping and trudging towards those port-o-potty up ahead. Gutwrenching tunnel vision, my eyes swirling like galaxies, flushing like toilets.
Of course when I finally made it to my destination I ended up spending another twenty minutes waiting in a line of dusty dead-eyed ravers from planet Wookie-Tron, dressed almost entirely in furs laced with L-wire. Swiftly realized that I wasn’t the only one on some substance or another, with a strong urge to purge and disembowel my discomforts. This became especially evident whenever the line protracted and someone disappeared into the plastic bathroom stall, and–a minute or two in–the next person in line knocked on the door, or–in case it wasn’t locked–pried it open to–“whoo–sorry”–as if they hadn’t just witnessed the last person entering before them. Every time, without fail. Whoo–sorry. Sometimes twice in one go. Whoo–sorry, again.
This prospect worried me. One, because interruption at such a critical junction in my trip would be catastrophic, and two, what if there was a real risk of people disappearing into the Bermuda rectangle of the port-o-potty? What if, in fact, this port-o-potty may actually be a PORTAL potty–the kind that will spit you out on some distant outpost of the playa–far from your port of entry–right back at the timewarped beginning of your journey with a mind full of mushrooms, a mile beyond the temple, in the deep playa beyond human reach, where it hits you like a bag of bricks in the gut and you realize all-at-once that you are abysmally full of shit.
“Frozen in Afganistan”
Back in the day there was this gas station at the crossroads. “Which way to Herat?”, I asked the guy squatting beside the gas pumps doing number two. He pointed in the far distance. It was way too far for me to wait, but I was way too shy to defecate in the forecourt. So I grabbed a flash light and my precious roll of butt wipe (no bidets in Afghanistan back then) and went to the back wall of the gas station, where I encountered a repository of frozen excrement barely visible in the twilight. Did you know, frozen faeces smells a little less excremental, but only a little. I stepped gingerly to the far end to find squat space for my rear end and did my business. Man it was cold, I had to wipe fast to prevent turdlettes freezing on my butt. Then just as I re-fastened my trousers, the flashlight slipped from my freezing fingers, and rolled around the frozen mounds of feces like a pinball game in a nightmare. Time itself seemed to freeze as I slowly navigated the turdbergs to retrieve the flash light and painstakingly retraced my path. Oh, if only a magic hot water bidet could have somehow shown up gleaming in the Afghan dusk!
“Routine Traffic Stop”
I was trying to get home from a night club I realized I had to got to the bathroom so bad then I was speeding to get to the closest bathroom but a cop pulled me over and I told him please let me go to the bathroom and he can write me the ticket afterwards but he insisted on me staying in my car so by the time he took my license back to his car and looked me up I had already shit my pants and that shit smelled so bad but cop came back to my car with my license and said to me what the hell is that awful smell coming from ur car I told him I shit my pants and he laughed a bit said he thought that was gross and told me to go home and clean myself up didn’t give me the ticket cause he thought I already had a bad enough night already that was the most embarrassing story I have ever told
#1 The winner of the Brondell Swash 1000 Bidet Seat:
“A Daughter’s Romantic Life”
My daughter is extremely private person and tends to keep her romantic life very quiet. I had known for years that she was a Lesbian but she never officially “came out” to any of us. A few months ago I was finishing up a horrific round of cancer treatments and my daughter and I went to dinner to celebrate. I finally got up enough nerve to call her out and ask her if her best friend of 3 years was actually her girlfriend. She said yes and after lots of tears and laughter we were able to have an incredibly deep and meaningful conversation and she told me how glad she was that I could be so supportive. Because i was energized by our talk, we decided to walk the 15 blocks home. After about 6 blocks I realized the side effects of my chemo were kicking in but i also realized that i was stuck half way between home and the restaurant. Having no place to relieve myself, I ended up shitting myself in the most embarrassing way possible. For 7 blocks I had to squish my way home; with crap oozing down both legs. I couldn’t stop crying, not because of embarrassment but because I was convinced my daughter thought I crapped my pants because I was upset that she was a Lesbian!!!! Thankfully she totally understood but never misses the opportunity to tell everyone that her mom literally crapped her pants when she came out.
Thanks to our friends at Brondell for making this happen. Remember, you may live like a Broke-Ass but you can shit like a king. If you are curious as to how a bidet seat works check out Stuarts instructional story here.