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I’m not talking a shart. I mean a full-on turd.

I have no idea what triggered this memory, but I was about 12 or 13, living in Quantico, Virginia, and walking home from my friend’s house. It was quite a hike, at least a mile, and about midway through I felt the motorworks starting. I thought to myself, “Well I definitely am going to take a shit when I get home, but I can hold it.” But the pressure just kept building.

It was a wooded neighborhood and a couple times I deviated from the street into the woods thinking I’d just have to drop trouser and let it loose. But I was able to keep things in check and moved on. Suddenly I realized I wasn’t going to make it, and started running from the street toward the nearest large tree so I could relieve myself somewhat hidden from passing cars. But before I could undo my pants, my sphincter muscles failed me, and I squirted liquid shit in my pants. I felt a mixture of shame and relief. I tried to shake out as much as I could, and then strutted home.

When I got home, I went straight for the backyard, took off my pants, and hosed them and my lower body down. I went inside, had to tell my mom that I shit my pants while walking home, and she calmly and without judgment took my clothes, put them in the washer, and never spoke of it again.

So when was the last time you shit your pants?

Edited by South Austin

  • Popular Post

Driving back to Houston from Uvalde.  Food poisoning.  Complete blow out trying to make the rest area east of Columbus.   95 mph and full release.  
 

Hobbled into the men’s room, roosted up in one of those short wall shitter stalls and pulled off my jeans, shook out the log, flotsam and jetsam.   
 

Dude taking a leak next to my short wall stall was appalled.  Quickly he retreated. 
 

Cleaned up, left the underwear and got back on the road.  
 

Blew out my jeans in the parking lot of the La Quinta in Columbus as I was rushing across the parking lot trying to make the first floor men’s room. 
 

Blew up again at the Holiday Inn Express in Sealy and after that stop  I didn’t make it to I-10 before blowing up again in front of the Whataburger.    
 

Rolled over to Walgreen’s on the north side of I-10 and had it running down my legs and into my boots as I squished my way across the parking lot. 
 

Full on and visible shit stains through my jeans and an odor that would start wars.  Socks where ruined and the boots had to get hosed out in the backyard when I got home.
 

Wife offered no sympathy.   
 

What do I win?

16 minutes ago, deadshank said:

Driving back to Houston from Uvalde.  Food poisoning.  Complete blow out trying to make the rest area east of Columbus.   95 mph and full release.  
 

Hobbled into the men’s room, roosted up in one of those short wall shitter stalls and pulled off my jeans, shook out the log, flotsam and jetsam.   
 

Dude taking a leak next to my short wall stall was appalled.  Quickly he retreated. 
 

Cleaned up, left the underwear and got back on the road.  
 

Blew out my jeans in the parking lot of the La Quinta in Columbus as I was rushing across the parking lot trying to make the first floor men’s room. 
 

Blew up again at the Holiday Inn Express in Sealy and after that stop  I didn’t make it to I-10 before blowing up again in front of the Whataburger.    
 

Rolled over to Walgreen’s on the north side of I-10 and had it running down my legs and into my boots as I squished my way across the parking lot. 
 

Full on and visible shit stains through my jeans and an odor that would start wars.  Socks where ruined and the boots had to get hosed out in the backyard when I got home.
 

Wife offered no sympathy.   
 

What do I win?

Food poisoning is the worst.

I didn't shit my pants but I was at a high-end place in Naples, Florida that had a bathroom attendant.  I got to know that fellow.  Six or seven very serious trips to the shitter.  He had sympathy for me.  He got several big tips.  He totally earned them!

 

Food poisoning on a 14 hour flight over the Pacific. I think it was the 5th time getting up where I wavered for a second and that’s all it took. And that’s why I always pack a change of clothes on the carry on when flying long distance. 

11 minutes ago, AUS-97HORN said:

sounds like Deadshank was trying to rival the Ryan Steakhouse story

I don’t know that story and I’m sure it is awful. 

  • Popular Post
10 hours ago, South Austin said:

I’m not talking a shart. I mean a full-on turd.

I have no idea what triggered this memory, but I was about 12 or 13, living in Quantico, Virginia, and walking home from my friend’s house. It was quite a hike, at least a mile, and about midway through I felt the motorworks starting. I thought to myself, “Well I definitely am going to take a shit when I get home, but I can hold it.” But the pressure just kept building.

It was a wooded neighborhood and a couple times I deviated from the street into the woods thinking I’d just have to drop trouser and let it loose. But I was able to keep things in check and moved on. Suddenly I realized I wasn’t going to make it, and started running from the street toward the nearest large tree so I could relieve myself somewhat hidden from passing cars. But before I could undo my pants, my sphincter muscles failed me, and I squirted liquid shit in my pants. I felt a mixture of shame and relief. I tried to shake out as much as I could, and then strutted home.

When I got home, I went straight for the backyard, took off my pants, and hosed them and my lower body down. I went inside, had to tell my mom that I shit my pants while walking home, and she calmly and without judgment took my clothes, put them in the washer, and never spoke of it again.

So when was the last time you shit your pants?

Vey similar story but w/o shitting my pants. I know that's the point of this thread but this story is worthy anyway....

Same age as you and living in Nashville. I was deep in the woods after school behind our house. It must have been a Wednesday afternoon because my neighbor buddy's dog was with me but he wasn't -- his family were three-times-a-week Church of Christ goers. This dog was a pure white, slightly retarded German shepherd named Bear. Anyway, so Bear and I are walking the woods and it was the same thing -- a sudden, crushing, overpowering need to shit that came out of the clear blue sky. Luckily I was probably a half mile from even a trail so I just squatted and let slide an avalanche of what ended up looking like a good sized cowpatty with a singularly grotesque aroma. Even though it was my own, it was fucking nasty. Intensely relieved, I wiped with dry leaves, and watched with increasing alarm as Bear took enormous interest in my shit. He smelled it at length, and then the fucker wiped both sides of his face in that steaming pile, and then kind of looked at me, like "Yeah?" So we went home -- Bear back to his house and me to mine. Next day Greg and I are playing basketball in his driveway and he is wondering how the fuck his dog's cheeks were coated in reeking dried shit. I told him I had no clue and agreed it was really nasty and that's where the story stands to this day, 40 years later. 

 

When I was about 8 or 9, Dad and I went to JC Penney in Northpark mall to get me some kind of Cub Scout gear.

We stopped in the restroom for a pitstop, and some poor schmoe had annihilated the floor of a stall there.  His soiled underpants and jeans hung over the stall wall, the floor of the stall was 60% liquid poo.

Some kind soul had gone out and purchased him a pair of new pants and I remember him standing there amongst the carnage pushing a wad of toilet paper against the sea of liquefied faeces with his bare foot in a brand new pair of jeans.

At that age, I was already timid-to-scared of shitting in public places, and that set me back another few years.  Still don't like it.

Almost 50 years ago, and I remember it like yesterday.

 

 

On 3/27/2022 at 7:01 PM, deadshank said:

Driving back to Houston from Uvalde.  Food poisoning.  Complete blow out trying to make the rest area east of Columbus.   95 mph and full release.  
 

Hobbled into the men’s room, roosted up in one of those short wall shitter stalls and pulled off my jeans, shook out the log, flotsam and jetsam.   
 

Dude taking a leak next to my short wall stall was appalled.  Quickly he retreated. 
 

Cleaned up, left the underwear and got back on the road.  
 

Blew out my jeans in the parking lot of the La Quinta in Columbus as I was rushing across the parking lot trying to make the first floor men’s room. 
 

Blew up again at the Holiday Inn Express in Sealy and after that stop  I didn’t make it to I-10 before blowing up again in front of the Whataburger.    
 

Rolled over to Walgreen’s on the north side of I-10 and had it running down my legs and into my boots as I squished my way across the parking lot. 
 

Full on and visible shit stains through my jeans and an odor that would start wars.  Socks where ruined and the boots had to get hosed out in the backyard when I got home.
 

Wife offered no sympathy.   
 

What do I win?

Rafi The League GIFs | Tenor

Per OP's ground rules my main contributions in this arena remain on the shart thread. This thread actually makes me feel better about myself because you'd have to go back to my childhood and a Handy Andy circa 1982 to find the last time I flat-out shit myself. I'm at the store with a friend and his mother I wander around as they're doing their shopping. Somewhere around the lunch meat aisle it hits me and as I struggle to find the shitter in the bewildering warehouse environment where the sign tells me the bathroom is, it's already too late. Face sheet white, pants full of shit, I ask an employee to point me in the right direction. 

I waddle into the stall and survey my underwear and pants which look they were targeted by a B-52 with a full payload of Saag Paneer from great height.
Just, ruination. 
I have never shit myself before, have no idea what to do, and I feel like I have broken some kind of law that will not only incur the wrath of my friend's mom but also the grocery store. Thoroughly panicked, I determine I must conceal this and deny everything. 

I do my best with a bunch of paper towels that I try flushing down the toilet only to clog everything up. I wait until the coast is clear and bolt out of the bathroom, still feeling the traces of cold, wet, shit in my pants. On the ride home the friend's mom asks me if I smell poop. I deny everything. When we get to her house she asks me if I need any help getting cleaned up in the bathroom. I deny everything. 

When my mom finally picks me up I break down into tears as soon as we get to the car. I am afraid I have committed a crime against humanity and am going to jail. 
I tell her everything. She just laughs and says, "It's alright. I know you pooped your pants.". That was all that was said about it then or ever. 

On 3/28/2022 at 5:41 AM, TwiceHorn said:

When I was about 8 or 9, Dad and I went to JC Penney in Northpark mall to get me some kind of Cub Scout gear.

We stopped in the restroom for a pitstop, and some poor schmoe had annihilated the floor of a stall there.  His soiled underpants and jeans hung over the stall wall, the floor of the stall was 60% liquid poo.

Some kind soul had gone out and purchased him a pair of new pants and I remember him standing there amongst the carnage pushing a wad of toilet paper against the sea of liquefied faeces with his bare foot in a brand new pair of jeans.

At that age, I was already timid-to-scared of shitting in public places, and that set me back another few years.  Still don't like it.

Almost 50 years ago, and I remember it like yesterday.

 

 

Also, to answer the question, it was sometime in first grade.  As mentioned above, I was reluctant to poop in a public restroom (this was before witnessing the above).

I got the urge about 45 minutes before school was out and thought I could hold it until I got home.  This was not diarrheal, either, or a shart gone horribly wrong.  But at some point prior to the dismissal of class, I got ovewhelmed and had to sit in my own mess for 15-30 minutes hoping no one would notice.  I don't know if anyone did, because nobody said anything.  And people said lots of things when Cory Pischek shat his pants in the library that same year.

While technically a shart, I'm going to tell the story anyway. 

First year/first semester of law school.  I'm studying for exams.  I've had a ton of coffee.  I take a break and head to the men's room to take a piss.  I'm the only one in there and pull up to a urinal.  As I'm taking a leak, I feel a fart coming on and as I let it go, I let go not just a shart, but a full wet shit in my pants.  I freeze for a second, then back into the stall behind me.  The stench was unreal.  I drop trou' to assess the situation and as I do, I notice there's not toilet paper in there.  Meanwhile, I've left quite a mess on the seat.  But I decide to deal with that later and do "the walk" to the next stall.  As I make my way into that stall, a guy I know from my section comes in and recognizes me.  I imagine he's wondering what I've been eating as it wafted over the john.  I camp out in this stall, which mercifully has toilet paper.  I clean up as best I can and ditch my boxers in the trash.  I wash my hands and take the long walk back through the library to retrieve my books.  I see plenty of people and I imagine that there's some stink lines coming off me.  I drive home (about 20 minutes) sitting in my not so choice (if I'm honest) jeans. 

Never again will I fart while taking a piss in a public place.

What in the shitty fucking hell is wrong with you people?!?!?!

College.  I lived in a 6br house in west campus with a backyard where we’d frequently host parties.  We were throwing  a big crawfish boil and I had headed inside to take a piss.  Most guests formed a long line for the easily accessible downstairs restroom but I knew it would be much quicker to head to a restroom upstairs (where my bedroom also was).  There were 3-4 people waiting and had formed a line that extended down to the top couple of stairs.  I gave into the urge to let out a silent fart and naturally, immediately knew I had fucked up.  

Only a limited amount of liquid feces escaped before I was able to clinch it up and stop the flow.  I knew I had to escape pronto before the smell got out / before my intense clenching failed me and I released the mudslide.  I skipped passed the line and went to my room (no restroom) and immediately laid down face first on my bed, hoping to let gravity help fight the impending explosion.  My plan was to lay like this until I could hear that the bathroom next door was open and then finish relieving myself and clean up.  I probably lasted another thirty seconds before I lost the fight.  I felt my shorts rise as my boxer briefs were completely filled with shit, eventually to the point of pushing out the bottom of the briefs and running down my leg.  I did not want to try to address the mess until I could get to the bathroom / shower but unfortunately I could hear that there was still a line.  I was pretty fucked up at that point and actually fell asleep on my bed, face down, laying in my own shit for what was likely a 5-10 minute nap.  I woke up and realized I couldn’t hear anyone outside, so immediately went to the restroom to shower off.  

There was a window in the restroom that looked out to the side of the front yard where there were several trees.  I took the shit filled briefs and flung them as far away from the house as I could, sticking them ~10-15 feet up in a tree.  Finished my shower, put on new shorts and underwear, went back to the party thinking no other soul would ever know that I shit myself that day.

I pulled it off, too.  For 12 hours.  The next morning I was sitting on the front poarch letting my dog go potty in the front yard, which was the morning routine.  My best friend and roommate came out to join me and we debriefed on the party the day before and what everyone got into that night.  Sure as fucking shit, the motherfucker looked out to the yard, squinted for a minute and then pointed out  a pair of seemingly soiled boxer briefs hanging from a branch.   At that point, it was too good of a story not to tell so I swore him to secrecy and filled him in.  This is first time I’ve shared it since.

"Who's the pitchers in this game?"

 

Edited by Your Mom

Driving back to Houston from Uvalde.  Food poisoning.  Complete blow out trying to make the rest area east of Columbus.   95 mph and full release.  
 
Hobbled into the men’s room, roosted up in one of those short wall shitter stalls and pulled off my jeans, shook out the log, flotsam and jetsam.   
 
Dude taking a leak next to my short wall stall was appalled.  Quickly he retreated. 
 
Cleaned up, left the underwear and got back on the road.  
 
Blew out my jeans in the parking lot of the La Quinta in Columbus as I was rushing across the parking lot trying to make the first floor men’s room. 
 
Blew up again at the Holiday Inn Express in Sealy and after that stop  I didn’t make it to I-10 before blowing up again in front of the Whataburger.    
 
Rolled over to Walgreen’s on the north side of I-10 and had it running down my legs and into my boots as I squished my way across the parking lot. 
 
Full on and visible shit stains through my jeans and an odor that would start wars.  Socks where ruined and the boots had to get hosed out in the backyard when I got home.
 
Wife offered no sympathy.   
 
What do I win?
You might want to get your sphincter checked.
  • Author
6 hours ago, Your Mom said:

"Who's the pitchers in this game?"

 

Double-Tapered Shit is my new garage band name.

On 3/30/2022 at 2:39 AM, cabowabo said:
On 3/27/2022 at 7:01 PM, deadshank said:
Driving back to Houston from Uvalde.  Food poisoning.  Complete blow out trying to make the rest area east of Columbus.   95 mph and full release.  
 
Hobbled into the men’s room, roosted up in one of those short wall shitter stalls and pulled off my jeans, shook out the log, flotsam and jetsam.   
 
Dude taking a leak next to my short wall stall was appalled.  Quickly he retreated. 
 
Cleaned up, left the underwear and got back on the road.  
 
Blew out my jeans in the parking lot of the La Quinta in Columbus as I was rushing across the parking lot trying to make the first floor men’s room. 
 
Blew up again at the Holiday Inn Express in Sealy and after that stop  I didn’t make it to I-10 before blowing up again in front of the Whataburger.    
 
Rolled over to Walgreen’s on the north side of I-10 and had it running down my legs and into my boots as I squished my way across the parking lot. 
 
Full on and visible shit stains through my jeans and an odor that would start wars.  Socks where ruined and the boots had to get hosed out in the backyard when I got home.
 
Wife offered no sympathy.   
 
What do I win?

You might want to get your sphincter checked.

Getting his sphincter ""checked " was the root cause of the problem. 

Edited by SHOOTER12

I was in the hospital recovering from an abcessed appendicitis ( on super bowl Sunday XLII pats vs giants). I was gonna be there about a week. On day 3 I begged for a soda and they gave in and gave me a 7 up I think.  Whatever reason it hit me in the gut and at that point I was immobile and couldn't get up. I rang the nurse but it was not enough time and it just broke through. It was the most embarrassing or shameful moment of my adult life I think when I told the nurse about what happened.

51 minutes ago, Butch Had Not said:

I was in the hospital recovering from an abcessed appendicitis ( on super bowl Sunday XLII pats vs giants). I was gonna be there about a week. On day 3 I begged for a soda and they gave in and gave me a 7 up I think.  Whatever reason it hit me in the gut and at that point I was immobile and couldn't get up. I rang the nurse but it was not enough time and it just broke through. It was the most embarrassing or shameful moment of my adult life I think when I told the nurse about what happened.

Having been in a triage setup where the guy in the next stall shit himself, I'm willing to say you probably didn't have to tell her.  She knew.  And yes, that sounds terrible.  It's bad enough to have to deal with it yourself.  But to have to involve strangers . . . .

  • 2 weeks later...

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