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Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:13 pm to Grim
quote:
Since I'm a doc she asked me to take a look. I grabbed some tweezers and a flashlight and proceeded to dig a living cockroach out of this woman's ear.
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:15 pm to celltech1981
Did you consider that she's a hooker and the prior client took a dump before he left?
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:28 pm to fr33manator
The grossest/strangest is probably going to the bathroom to throw away the condom and finding a shite load of blood everywhere unexpectedly mixed with semen. Quite a sight let me tell you.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:37 pm to Eightballjacket
Not exactly on a date, but on a short trip during spring break. We had been at my parent's condo and I had somehow talked her into cutting that short to go to some concerts. We drove up to North Carolina for 3 days and caught a couple of concerts, toured the Biltmore, and a few other things along the way. I was in college and had a pickup, so we borrowed my mom's SUV for the trip. We left Boone in the snow after the second concert and just wanted to drive for a while and then crash somewhere. We made it into South Carolina at found a Red Roof Inn.
There was an Arby's next door to the motel, so we grabbed breakfast. I had a Bacon egg n cheese biscuit and some hashbrowns. We eat then hit the road. Somewhere shortly after we passed into Georgia, the old bubble guts start. She's asleep in the passenger seat and I'm trying to get to the next exit to avoid using the woods. I see a sign and it is less than 10 miles, so I somehow willed myself there. Without even checking the signs on what gas stations or restaurants will be there, I exit. Only to find out that this is just an exit to another highway. No businesses in sight. I take a left and go over the interstate, and see in the distance there is a dead-end into another road. So I drive about a half mile, get there and look in both directions, and nothing.
At this point she had woken up, and asked what was going on. She said I didn't look right, and I had to explain, and asked her if her stomach was ok. It was. I hopped the curb and drive off into the grass near the woods. Grab a box of tissues and run off into the woods. Do my business, but don't really feel like the situation was cleaned up all the way. I get back to the truck, and my mom had this plastic tub with orange scented wet wipes in the backseat. I think they were for cleaning the dash and interior. It didn't matter, I grabbed a couple, ran back to the woods, and finished up. It stung a little from the citrus.
I get back in, and didn't really want to say anything else. She busts out laughing and says the sight of my pale skinny arse in the woods when I stood back up was one she'd never forget. This was about 4 days after I had proposed, so a great way to start our engagement. Not only had I taken her away from an empty condo after proposing, I had driven her about 10 hours away and drug her to something that only I really wanted to do, and top it all off with shitting in the woods on the trip home.
There was an Arby's next door to the motel, so we grabbed breakfast. I had a Bacon egg n cheese biscuit and some hashbrowns. We eat then hit the road. Somewhere shortly after we passed into Georgia, the old bubble guts start. She's asleep in the passenger seat and I'm trying to get to the next exit to avoid using the woods. I see a sign and it is less than 10 miles, so I somehow willed myself there. Without even checking the signs on what gas stations or restaurants will be there, I exit. Only to find out that this is just an exit to another highway. No businesses in sight. I take a left and go over the interstate, and see in the distance there is a dead-end into another road. So I drive about a half mile, get there and look in both directions, and nothing.
At this point she had woken up, and asked what was going on. She said I didn't look right, and I had to explain, and asked her if her stomach was ok. It was. I hopped the curb and drive off into the grass near the woods. Grab a box of tissues and run off into the woods. Do my business, but don't really feel like the situation was cleaned up all the way. I get back to the truck, and my mom had this plastic tub with orange scented wet wipes in the backseat. I think they were for cleaning the dash and interior. It didn't matter, I grabbed a couple, ran back to the woods, and finished up. It stung a little from the citrus.
I get back in, and didn't really want to say anything else. She busts out laughing and says the sight of my pale skinny arse in the woods when I stood back up was one she'd never forget. This was about 4 days after I had proposed, so a great way to start our engagement. Not only had I taken her away from an empty condo after proposing, I had driven her about 10 hours away and drug her to something that only I really wanted to do, and top it all off with shitting in the woods on the trip home.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:40 pm to celltech1981
I told some pretty terrible jokes in an attempt to break the ice when I was 18. Embarrassing to the point of being nauseating.
I think the girls may have thought I had Asperger or Autism some were so bad.
I think the girls may have thought I had Asperger or Autism some were so bad.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:44 pm to TU Rob
So how did you take it when she broke off the engagement?
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:45 pm to Eightballjacket
quote:
So how did you take it when she broke off the engagement?
It will be 14 years of marriage this May. And baby number 3 on the way. So apparently it didn't do too much long term damage on the relationship. Unless there is some really long con action in play.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:47 pm to Eightballjacket
Took a chick hunting one weekend. She killed a doe. Get back to the house and get the deer on the rack to start cleaning it. Chick just grabs the deers heart and took a bite fresh out of its chest.
Made extra sure all the weapons were locked away and all pointy objects hidden before taking to pound town and never talking to her again.
Made extra sure all the weapons were locked away and all pointy objects hidden before taking to pound town and never talking to her again.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:54 pm to celltech1981
When i was in school, I went on a sorority bus trip date with a blind date i had drunkenly agreed to earlier in the week. Bus ride was only an hour from BR to Lafayette (dont ask me why the party planning committee thought this was a good idea). We get to the bar in Laffy and i start drinking my normal b and cs, and she decides shes going to match me drink for drink that night. Everything seemed fine until we got back on the bus. One of the standards girls starts handing out garbage bags to each seat "just in case". Just in case happened right in the middle of the basin bridge; girl yaks her ever-loving guts out in said trash bag. She then hands me the bag and passes out against the seat in front of us. Needless to say i had had enough of this date, left her for her friends to deal with and left the puke bag on the bus. There were no follow up dates.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:56 pm to brass2mouth
What in the motherfrick is a poo knife?
Posted on 1/17/18 at 4:56 pm to beerJeep
Girl was my brother’s age and kinda knew vaguely who each other was and we matched on Tinder. Found out she has something wrong neurologicallly where she can’t smell. Don’t think much of it.
Go back to her place and it wreaks of cars and cat piss, and she can’t smell a thing. It’s tough, but I power through to frick. Next time I’m over there it’s still terrible but we get to fricking and switch positions to hit it from behind and she has obvious dried shite all around her butthole. Maybe a wet fart that she couldn’t smell? I don’t make a scene but pretend to finish pretty quickly and gtfo out to never speak to her again.
Go back to her place and it wreaks of cars and cat piss, and she can’t smell a thing. It’s tough, but I power through to frick. Next time I’m over there it’s still terrible but we get to fricking and switch positions to hit it from behind and she has obvious dried shite all around her butthole. Maybe a wet fart that she couldn’t smell? I don’t make a scene but pretend to finish pretty quickly and gtfo out to never speak to her again.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:00 pm to themasterpater
quote:
What in the motherfrick is a poo knife?
You don't have a poo knife? What kind of base born Savage are you?
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:02 pm to boosiebadazz
quote:
we get to fricking and switch positions to hit it from behind and she has obvious dried shite all around her butthole. Maybe a wet fart that she couldn’t smell? I don’t make a scene but pretend to finish pretty quickly and gtfo out to never speak to her again.
You sir are a gentleman
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:03 pm to beerJeep
No poo knives. What are they for?
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:05 pm to themasterpater
quote:
No poo knives. What are they for?
It's something that went Reddit viral. Some dudes family kept a poo knife growing up. Basically for turds that are too big to go down the toilet. Homeboys family would call out for the Poo Knife, which someone would then bring to you in the bathroom.
You would then proceed to chop up your shite to make it go down the drain. Clean and then return to the laundry room.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:05 pm to themasterpater
The name says it all man. The name says it all.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:11 pm to YoungManOldMan
Rarely do I hear about things I’ve never heard of before.
Poo knife is one of those things.
Poo knife is one of those things.
This post was edited on 1/17/18 at 5:12 pm
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:15 pm to celltech1981
One of the bloggers I like posted her story. I love it.
The Fart That (Almost) Altered My Destiny -Anna Lind Thomas
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized ...
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.
The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
“Seriously, you need to hurry - I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “Am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “Is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”
“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you ...” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.
“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”
“Get away from the door!” I screamed like Reagan from The Exorcist.
“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*
“I’m fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”
“Okay, are you sure you’re ...”
“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this ... “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
The Fart That (Almost) Altered My Destiny -Anna Lind Thomas
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history. Well, it can if it’s the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that’s “Silent But Deadly” for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That’s when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I’m not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn’t want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn’t allowed myself to eat in years. I didn’t want to be “that girl” so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That’s when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn’t feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn’t having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized ...
My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.
The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
“Seriously, you need to hurry - I’m in a lot of pain.” I managed to say through gritted teeth.
“Wow, it’s that bad? What’s wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?”
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you’re writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eeked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door. However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently, sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I’m home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, “Am I smelling something?” sort of way. More like a “Is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?” sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. “Roll down the windows!” I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
“What? Why?” Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
“I can’t roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!”
“What’s going on?” Rob yells back to me, “Why are you ...” then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, “Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!” he screamed.
“Roll down the windows!” As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, “Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!” and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob’s voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
“Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?”
“Get away from the door!” I screamed like Reagan from The Exorcist.
“Ok, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise*
“I’m fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I’ll call you later okay?”
“Okay, are you sure you’re ...”
“I’m fine! Get away from the door!”
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin’ hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I’d hear from him. I didn’t think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we’re married and he’s lying on the couch while I type this ... “It was your rack that saved you,” he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
Posted on 1/17/18 at 5:28 pm to celltech1981
what are female bodily actions that start with the letter Q, Alex?
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