Post by NOTTHOR on Mar 25, 2008 23:46:11 GMT -6
I can't sleep, so I figured I'd toss out this story that I recounted to a young chap I work with today. I apologize for the length.
Back in the summer of ought 5, my brother went water skiing in the East River and contracted this wicked amoeba that caused him to shit blood for several days and had him worried that he was going to have to get a colostomy bag. He didn't think that a colostomy bag would have been fresh on the gay dating scene in New York. I suspect he was right.
He had called me every day of his amoeba ordeal and told me about it, to wit, I always wished him the best. About day 3 or so of the ordeal, he called to tell me that he had shat the bed whilst he slept the previous night. He said it was so bad that he threw away his drawers, the sheets and he had to call someone to deliver a new mattress because the shit had soaked through onto his mattress. "It'll never happen to me," I thought.
That same summer, me and barber were summer associates at big mean Chicago law firms. Every Sunday night, we'd go to Dick's Last Resort and eat a slab and a half of ribs a piece and drink 'til we couldn't drink anymore. Dick's is prime cougar hunting ground, as all the dumb broads from shitty places around Chicago think it's awesome because the wait staff are assholes and will make penis hats and the like for the ladies. The last night we went, we got the buckets of Coors Light and each ordered up a slab and a half of ribs just like we always did. Something wasn't right with the ribs. They just didn't quite taste right. Barber didn't finish his. I finished mine and kept drinking and having a gay old time.
I went home and it was biz as usual when I went to bed. Ma was offwhoring around visiting family in Tokyo or something and I had the bed to myself. I had the super pillow prop set up in the middle and was laid out comfortably. Then, an hour or so after I went to bed, I had to fart. I realized it was juicy when it was just a little too late and had some seepage.
I made it to the john quickly and everything was totally fine. A lengthy stint on the shitter and a fresh pairs of drawers and it was no harm, no foul. But given the fact that that fart got juicy on me (it was one of those nights where farts were indistinguishable from shits), I decided to go ahead and add a second pair of drawers and put on some plasticy type shorts that would catch any seepage. Best. Move. Ever.
Sometime later in the evening, I shat the bed ferociously. I woke up and immediately realized what had happened. I tossed off the trousers and cleaned myself up. I pulled back the sheet, and thank God, it didn't get the sheet wet, it was all contained in the trousers (which I tossed out).
The moral of the story is this: Don't make fun of other people who shit the bed, it happens to everyone once.
And oh by the way, barber allegedly didn't get sick from the ribs, but he did stop eating them when he realized they were probably rancid. I think it was either the ribs or the meatball sub I ate from Potbelly's earlier in the day that made me sick.
It's funny how I searched my memory banks for good shit stories and didn't remember that one, but then today, this dude asked me when the last time I went to Dick's was and this story came right back. Oh yeah, one more thing, the health inspector closed Dick's like 2 weeks after I got sick.
Back in the summer of ought 5, my brother went water skiing in the East River and contracted this wicked amoeba that caused him to shit blood for several days and had him worried that he was going to have to get a colostomy bag. He didn't think that a colostomy bag would have been fresh on the gay dating scene in New York. I suspect he was right.
He had called me every day of his amoeba ordeal and told me about it, to wit, I always wished him the best. About day 3 or so of the ordeal, he called to tell me that he had shat the bed whilst he slept the previous night. He said it was so bad that he threw away his drawers, the sheets and he had to call someone to deliver a new mattress because the shit had soaked through onto his mattress. "It'll never happen to me," I thought.
That same summer, me and barber were summer associates at big mean Chicago law firms. Every Sunday night, we'd go to Dick's Last Resort and eat a slab and a half of ribs a piece and drink 'til we couldn't drink anymore. Dick's is prime cougar hunting ground, as all the dumb broads from shitty places around Chicago think it's awesome because the wait staff are assholes and will make penis hats and the like for the ladies. The last night we went, we got the buckets of Coors Light and each ordered up a slab and a half of ribs just like we always did. Something wasn't right with the ribs. They just didn't quite taste right. Barber didn't finish his. I finished mine and kept drinking and having a gay old time.
I went home and it was biz as usual when I went to bed. Ma was off
I made it to the john quickly and everything was totally fine. A lengthy stint on the shitter and a fresh pairs of drawers and it was no harm, no foul. But given the fact that that fart got juicy on me (it was one of those nights where farts were indistinguishable from shits), I decided to go ahead and add a second pair of drawers and put on some plasticy type shorts that would catch any seepage. Best. Move. Ever.
Sometime later in the evening, I shat the bed ferociously. I woke up and immediately realized what had happened. I tossed off the trousers and cleaned myself up. I pulled back the sheet, and thank God, it didn't get the sheet wet, it was all contained in the trousers (which I tossed out).
The moral of the story is this: Don't make fun of other people who shit the bed, it happens to everyone once.
And oh by the way, barber allegedly didn't get sick from the ribs, but he did stop eating them when he realized they were probably rancid. I think it was either the ribs or the meatball sub I ate from Potbelly's earlier in the day that made me sick.
It's funny how I searched my memory banks for good shit stories and didn't remember that one, but then today, this dude asked me when the last time I went to Dick's was and this story came right back. Oh yeah, one more thing, the health inspector closed Dick's like 2 weeks after I got sick.
