re: Best revenge stories?

That time Najah Davenport snuck in his girlfriend’s dorm room and took a growler in her laundry basket.

During his career, Davenport was given the nicknames “Dookie”[10] and “The Dump Truck.”[11] While playing for the Packers, a letter writing campaign to the team equipment manager jokingly asked that he be issued jersey number 2 for practice

It all started with a shite in a Taco Bell.

Well, to be fair, it actually started years before that. I knew a guy who was a real piece of dirt in HS-- the kinda guy who 'd break into a neighbor's house and then come over and offer sympathy when the police came out to take the report. Drugs, bastard children, the usual litany of really low character behavior. He even stole my car, and left it wrecked in the ditch, though the prosecutor categorized him as a troubled minor. Shockingly, his father happened to be a small town mayor, in a totally unrelated note.

Anyway, I hadn't thought about or seen that dude in about 10 years after he dropped out of HS. I returned from a trip in the 3rd world as an early assignment for my heavy travel post-college job, I decided to eat at a Taco Bell because cheap, nasty, fake arse American gut bombing food is just the optimal decision when walking around with a stomach full of the microbiota picked up over 2 weeks in SE Asia. I was 26, maybe 27. I was invincible, right?

After about 15 minutes of absolutely shoveling the most shameful food in the world in my mouth, I felt a deep rumbling. You remember those blue-white-pink Southwestern color scheme vistas that they had in Taco Bell until the late 90s; then you know the formed plastic bench seating- I let out a small test fart because of that rumble, to gauge the imminence of the release of total system meltdown. It was all I could do not to shite my britches when I was just trying to pressure check. Even the fart itself was scalding hot, and it smelled strong enough to cut through the funk of vague bean and sadness that was a Taco Bell dining room. I all but dove out of that seat, headed for the Taco Bell bathroom. The bathroom door, for reference, was maybe 10 feet from the front door of the Taco Bell.

While I'm sure that place has seen more than its share of hate crimes, what I did to that bathroom is one of the great shames of my life. I managed not to shite on anything outside the toilet bowl-- which sounds like a marginal accomplishment, but I was there. I know the volume and pressure of the release of distilled human hatred as it spewed out of my body . I flushed three times in the process, because of the sheer volume of liquid shite I was spewing into this thing-- and clogging a Taco Bell toilet was not on my agenda.

The gross thing about those industrial toilets is that they vacuum flush with so much pressure you can feel a little bit of water spray. The good news is that I either minded less, or it became less intense after each flush. I couldn't begin to imagine if my arse was now covered in a thin mist of toilet shite water. When the gut spasms finally died down, I took my time making sure I cleaned my arse up, and making sure I wasn't leaving the toilet a desecrated shite covered mess. Well, I managed that for the *outside* of the toilet, and for the seat itself. What was inside when I tried for a final 4th flush, was something the consistency of a heavy shite whipping cream. The toilet would not even provide proper suction, and it stared back at me, just sitting in that bowl like a slurry of all my wrong-doings in life.

I gathered myself. After a shite like that you find yourself covered in a cold sweat, despite feeling massively overheated. You feel a little light headed. I took a couple of minutes to wash my hands, and convince myself the smell wasn't that awful, and that surely it was just flushing too quickly that had caused any issue. A moment of soul searching in the mirror later, and I ducked out of that bathroom, still feeling like I was profoundly ill.

Somehow, no one noticed me coming out, and I put my stuff away, and headed for the exit-- which required me walking past that bathroom. I did a double take as I saw the dirtbag from HS heading in there, apparently blissfully unaware of what he would find. Despite feeling like I'd have to get better to die, I walked out the door of that Taco Bell with a smile, just as I heard a muffled "Mother---" coming from the bathroom.

Sometimes the universe does deliver justice.

quote:

---

Friend #1 was a good guy. Light partier.

---

quote:

---

Friend #1 goes out and gets an 8-ball of white and gets coked out.

---

Do they include the TigerDroppings handle in the disciplinary posts?

Slo?