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supersizeme
New member
Taking a shit, perhaps my favorite ever thread topic. So let's just get right into it.
At this point I think it's safe to say that i've lost that dumpin feelin. It's gone now, and if you asked me where it is at this very moment, my best guess would be floating around lazily in a Dallas sewage plant's dookie and pee pee infested pool. It's there hanging out with other pieces of poo, maybe one is a digested cherry filling dessert from a Hungry Man tv dinner, maybe one is a lightly colored small cluster of digested oatmeal, or maybe it's just plain, unidentifiable stool. Regardless, the point here is that, much like my recently departed ex girlfriend whom i asked to rub canuba wax on my gentalia while attaching 3-4 restaurant quality lobsters to my ball sack, it's no longer with me. I used to get excited when I first revamped my diet and watched my weekly shit count sky rocket like Cisco stock a few years ago. I once graphed it and made a Power Point presentation for my family in an effort to explain why the shit tickets were disappearing so quickly and I'd always be sending someone out for more double-rolled Charmin. I was especially proud of the office dumps I would take. Not only would I send out a mass email letting everyone know I was about unleash holy hell on one unlucky stall's toilet, I'd leave a sign on the outside of the bathroom door while I was in there indicating the following:
1. What stall I'm currently in
2. My objectives for this dump
3. P.T.T. (Projected Turd Texture, i.e. runny, solid, etc.)
4. Suggested words of encouragement to shout at me
5. EDT (Estimated Dump Time)
6. My cell phone number (this is for the ladies)
After my dump was completed, I would generally return to my cube, type out my "Dump Minutes" for the company, and email it out to everyone. Basically just a recap of what went on, an evaluation of my ass' performance, quality/quantity of the stool, and some projections and expectations for my next session of crapping mania. If you have ever seen or read Dune, I'm working on a new way of pooing, whereby the turds fold space from my ass to the toilet water. Travelling, without moving. I'm like a fecal pioneer, if you will.
But it's gone now. I no longer look forward to my next dung deployment. I walk in like everyone else, somewhat embarassed, somewhat tense, basically just an all around lack of excreting confidence. And believe me, the toilet knows when you're in this state of mind. It likes to rub it in your face by allowing toilet water to splash up on your hind end, making you jump off the seat a bit and look around like, "Shit! This toilet is straight up owning me. It's laughing at me like some little kid with a super soaker aimed right at my pooper." When my stall superiority was at its peak, the water level would actually drop when I sat down out of sheer fear of the ensuing punishment I was going lay on it. I need to get back there.
At this point I think it's safe to say that i've lost that dumpin feelin. It's gone now, and if you asked me where it is at this very moment, my best guess would be floating around lazily in a Dallas sewage plant's dookie and pee pee infested pool. It's there hanging out with other pieces of poo, maybe one is a digested cherry filling dessert from a Hungry Man tv dinner, maybe one is a lightly colored small cluster of digested oatmeal, or maybe it's just plain, unidentifiable stool. Regardless, the point here is that, much like my recently departed ex girlfriend whom i asked to rub canuba wax on my gentalia while attaching 3-4 restaurant quality lobsters to my ball sack, it's no longer with me. I used to get excited when I first revamped my diet and watched my weekly shit count sky rocket like Cisco stock a few years ago. I once graphed it and made a Power Point presentation for my family in an effort to explain why the shit tickets were disappearing so quickly and I'd always be sending someone out for more double-rolled Charmin. I was especially proud of the office dumps I would take. Not only would I send out a mass email letting everyone know I was about unleash holy hell on one unlucky stall's toilet, I'd leave a sign on the outside of the bathroom door while I was in there indicating the following:
1. What stall I'm currently in
2. My objectives for this dump
3. P.T.T. (Projected Turd Texture, i.e. runny, solid, etc.)
4. Suggested words of encouragement to shout at me
5. EDT (Estimated Dump Time)
6. My cell phone number (this is for the ladies)
After my dump was completed, I would generally return to my cube, type out my "Dump Minutes" for the company, and email it out to everyone. Basically just a recap of what went on, an evaluation of my ass' performance, quality/quantity of the stool, and some projections and expectations for my next session of crapping mania. If you have ever seen or read Dune, I'm working on a new way of pooing, whereby the turds fold space from my ass to the toilet water. Travelling, without moving. I'm like a fecal pioneer, if you will.
But it's gone now. I no longer look forward to my next dung deployment. I walk in like everyone else, somewhat embarassed, somewhat tense, basically just an all around lack of excreting confidence. And believe me, the toilet knows when you're in this state of mind. It likes to rub it in your face by allowing toilet water to splash up on your hind end, making you jump off the seat a bit and look around like, "Shit! This toilet is straight up owning me. It's laughing at me like some little kid with a super soaker aimed right at my pooper." When my stall superiority was at its peak, the water level would actually drop when I sat down out of sheer fear of the ensuing punishment I was going lay on it. I need to get back there.
