Was at the Whiskey a couple years back. August 4, 2007. I was sitting on the sidewalk with a friend right in front of the door and I see a black 300 coming down the street. These 2 guys were super drunk and were stumbling in the middle of the street. The car was going pretty fast but I was pretty drunk so I couldn't gauge how fast the guy was going. Not sure if he saw the 2 guys but he just mowed them down. One guy flew off to the sidewalk. The other guy flew like a rag doll a couple stories high. I'm pretty sure he flew higher than the trees.
Still remember the sound of the car hitting them to this day.
Coffins for newborns in the morgue at the Foothills Hospital. I worked two years there as an orderly/security guard and saw more gore and David Lynch-esque characters than I can remember but a simple pine box made for babies was easily the most chilling.
Last edited by Coys1882; 07-17-2012 at 03:50 PM.
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Along similar lines wasn't their a link to a story (with really funny MS Paint drawings) about a guy on his first date and his misadventures in the bathroom?
I can't remember if it was a CPer but I don't think so, pretty sure it linked to beyond or another forum. God I'd love to read taht one again.
Edit: Too slow, looks like the one I'm thinking of was reposted by fotze in that very thread. At least I think it is the same one. I seem to remember some really crude Paint drawings that accompanied the story.
It's probably lame to quote myself but here is the story fotze posted in the Snotboy thread. It obviously isn't about fotze though. At least I don't think.
As much as I enjoyed snotboy this one had me laughing my ass off in my office.
Spoiler!
Quote:
OK I found it. It's a long one.
Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served.
Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bas**rds.
It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.
We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated.
Perhaps bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble.
There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing.
At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern.
Unfortunately, that was not to be.
After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...
I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall.
One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shinguard, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagional wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shinguard.
I went to the normal stall.
In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.
I began "The Move."
For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move."
Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time.
It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shinguard at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the pass stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.
I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bas**rds attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.
Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.
What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.
In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end.
To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precidence over shinguard no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since highsticking will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.
At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shinguard the consistancy of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shinguard wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initally hit the toilet seat.
Then I sat down.
Recall that when that event occured, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shinguard wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shinguard remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit...
While all the highsticking was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed.
OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting?
One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though.
Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly- opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles?
In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.
In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shinguard that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shinguard. All while thick shinguard was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.
And there was no fataing toilet paper.
What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left.
At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had passed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.
About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to being the car around so we could bolt immediately.
Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers.
And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being.
She left.
The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned.
Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above.
At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.
Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom.
He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wifegot back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bas**rd kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.
When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.
The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
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I once saw what was left of a dog that had it's leash placed on the trailer hitch of a car. The poor lady just got out and didn't know a thing. I'll bet she's still devastated.
I once saw what was left of a dog that had it's leash placed on the trailer hitch of a car. The poor lady just got out and didn't know a thing. I'll bet she's still devastated.
How do synapses in the brain even connect to form such ideas. Somehow, this woman fused the "enema," "bathtub," and "video camera" synapses together to form that action.
My god. I don't get it. I just don't get it.
Which wouldn't have been so bad if the "internet" synapse didn't also fire
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Drove by the aftermath of a car accident. Two semis had collided south of Ft McMurray (back in the 80's). The one truck had it's cab torn off. I could see his legs still at the pedals. And the other half of him was in the ditch. The snow was blood red. I still have nightmares once in awhile about it.
I am currently living in SF and one day me and my roommate decided to go to Dolores park. There is usually a pretty strange crowd down there and is always good for people watching. I was drinking and feeling a bit sick from the heat and told my roommate I was going to head back and he decided to head back as well.
I made a mistake, my roommate is a bit of a hippy and offered me something called Kratom (?) to help ease my stomach. I was a bit drunk and said what the hell, it was a bad choice. Within about twenty minutes I was throwing up, it was a bit odd though, because it didn't really bug me, I would just find somewhere to puke, let it out, and continue on my way.
We got to a street corner with benches and tables and I decided I needed to sit down for a bit and ride out the worst effects. It wasn't until I sat down that I realized that on the other side of this little plaza was about ten naked old dudes. I had stumbled upon the Naked Corner in Castro. At that point I didn't really care as I was feeling really relaxed.
Then this homeless dude comes around the corner and starts giving these naked guys ####. I guess he was offended by their nonchalant nudity. He started getting up real close and then touched one of them. They managed to scare him off with some yelling and he started to wander near us.
Now my roommate handled most of the talking as I was pretty out of it.
The only part I was involved with was when the crazy homeless guy started telling me that if "I drank gin I would live forever!".
Finally, the kicker to this story is that homeless guy decided he had not caused enough trouble. A bus came around the curve and this guy jumps in front of it and starts grabbing the windshield wipers and starts messing around with them.
One naked guy steps up to challenge him and goes over to try to scare away the homeless guy who was now attacking a bus. The guy gets real close and tries to tell him off, but the homeless was having none of it and ripped off the guy's wig/toupee and tossed it aside.
Challenger one was defeated.
Next, this other naked guy who looked about sixty with testicles the size of baseballs (seriously, he either had cancer or injected them with something) goes up to this homeless guy and starts whacking him with his cane. The homeless guy finally gets the message and wanders off. Everything went back to normal and then I puked one last time.
TL;DR: I saw a homeless guy getting beat by old naked guys and then puked!
Last edited by Bonded; 07-17-2012 at 08:46 PM.
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I think the worst for me was a bus vs bike accident at the Southland LRT station back in the late 80s/early 90s. We must have got there very soon after it happened because the mangled up guy was still in front of the bus wrapped around his bike frame.
