The Drive-Thru Prank That Got Feces Thrown At Me

10/20/09

Several moons ago when I was still in high school I devised a prank that was, to say the least, completely fucking awesome. You need three things; a car, a fast food restaurant with a drive-thru, and a full colon. Technically you can do this inside any restaurant, but I wouldn't try it. The prank is as follows: Pranksters order a standard meal in a drive-thru of select restaurant. Pranksters swap contents of sandwich carton with a freshly baked butt baguette (shit). Pranksters then enter drive-thru a second time and hand over the hot cargo with a line somewhere along the lines of “Hey I ordered this without ketchup and theres ketchup on it.” Make sure to be nice about it. Victim then opens up the carton to reveal a steaming pack of ass fudge. Hilarity ensues. Fool proof, right? Wrong. Me and some mates tried this when we were seniors in high school and it all went to shit.

It was a Friday night during the summer right after our senior year of high school. We drive to the nearest McDonald's with mischief on our minds. My friends were thrilled with this prank I had cooked up and we were all eager to try it. We drive through and order a number one. If you don't know what that is, and you aren't truly a Westerner. We pay the fine Hispanic gentleman and drive off to a nearby empty parking lot. Our payload named “Larry” gave me the sandwich (which I happily ate) and retreated behind a dumpster with the carton. Minutes later he runs out holding it as far away as possible and gets in the car. Let me tell you that all of us underestimated the stench of shit out of water. Thank Galvatron we were so close to the McDonald's or else we all would have blew chunks out the windows.

We drive back through and here's where it gets messy. Our driver goes to hand the sandwich back to the man and is asked “What's wrong with it?” to which my driver replies “....I don't know.” This was quite possibly the worst thing anyone could have said. The man in the window went on to ask “Well what is it?” to which the genius in the driver's seat replies “...I don't know. You tell me what it is!” Let me take a moment to say that even though the hand-off was botched, our driver was the only one with balls enough to actually do this. So where as this prank technically failed, we would not have a story if it were not for this brave soul.

After much coaxing the man finally cracked the side of the carton opened just enough to see what lie inside. His face went gnarled, like someone had just shot his dog in front of him. Angry, he threw it back at us. That's right. A Big Mac carton with doody inside was flung through our front driver side window. Thankfully it was closed because it ricocheted off of the driver's side headrest and into the back seat (where I was) and landed on the floor right between my feet. I look up and yell “DRIVE DRIVE DRIVE!!!!!” This abortion of a prank weapon was then cast out the window never to be seen again. Perhaps one day I will try it again. Perhaps one day...

The Summer Camp

10/18/09

There are three things that will probably never do again in my life. One is knowingly play Street Fighter against someone of Asian decent. Another one is watch anything directed by Michael Bay. Finally, I will NEVER work with children again in my life. I hate them. They cry, they scream, they lie, they hit, they don't listen, they piss and shit on everything, they complain, and they consume valuable resources and give nothing back. Knowing this, I still decided to take a summer off and join my friend in the great, tree-laden, bug filled, cold (even in summer) state of Maine to work at a day camp that he works at every year. It's a nice place but when a spider the size of my balls (which are huge) crawls up my arm when I'm laying in bed I think that's about all I can take. Aside from insects, arachnids, and crows that would squawk outside of my window at 5:30 AM every fucking morning, what made this summer force me to near suicide levels were the children. I hate them so much. I was entrusted to two groups of children. One group of about eleven children were going into fourth grade. The other group was about to enter seventh grade.

Having never worked with children before, I was really at a loss when it came to proper etiquette. I was told only after camp ended that it was frowned upon to tell the children “I will tear your heart out and eat it if you don't get into that van.” I was also fond of telling them that I would drink their blood, that they were worthless, that I hated them, that if they complained any more that I would eat their lunches, and that my balls are huge.

People these days don't tell children how it is. Teachers in class will say things like “Well, you're close but...” when a child gets an answer wrong. I prefer the simple answer of “No.” That way there's no bullshit, the child knows that they were wrong, and will make the appropriate strike on their confidence. Kids like to lie a lot too. I made sure to point out when a child was clearly lying. One of them was talking about how his “Cousin's friend has Guitar Hero IV because he knows someone who works for the company.” I made sure to bring the hammer down on him, as the game isn't even out as I write this (it is, however, out at the time of updating this site). If I got nothing else out of this summer, I exploited these children so much for free chiropractic work. Nearly every day during lunch I'd have some of the smaller girls step on my back for about ten minutes. It kicked ass.

Out of all the children I was entrusted to, none of them made me more angry than a chubby little porker by the name of Nathan. He was worthless. He cried at least once a day, his pants always fell down, he would never listen to me, he would complain more than all of the other kids put together, and to top it off he took a dump in the middle of a hike. That's right. Dropped his pants and let a steamer loose. “I need to go to the bathroom” he says. Silly me for thinking he had to piss. I let the boys go off in the woods and piss every so often. He didn't say what he was doing so I assumed number one. He takes maybe about three nine-year-old steps off the trail and drops his pants. In plain sight, less than a meter away from the trail he drops a deuce. I was so flabbergasted that I didn't say anything. Was there a proper protocol for such a thing? Who the fuck knows. Two of my other (much cooler) campers saw him do it and made fun of him. I didn't defend him, but laughed with the pointing children. He deserved it. On the topic of Nathan complaining, on another hike he was hysterical crying as we walked. “Nate...what's wrong?” I said in an exasperated, near-growl. “...I'M SWEATING!!!” he proceeds to answer back. All of the children yelled at him “So are we and you don't see us crying!” I, once again, took their sides and made fun of him. God I fucking hated that kid.

One of my better campers was walking with me on a hike. She was going on about her experiences at horse riding camp which she attends every summer. What came next hit me like a two-ton heavy thing. “I know when a horse is a boy. It has a HUGE "thing." This one time when I was riding one, it came up and hit me in the leg and then it peed everywhere!” My eyes went wide and I nearly fell off the trail. One of my campers just told me that a horse was belly-slapping with it's cock and then blew its load all over the place. What the HELL do you say to that? The only thing that I could muster was a “....That's so twisted...” And that's about it.

Tale of the Triple Upper Decker

10/03/09

First off, allow me to point out that only half of this story can be confirmed by myself. The other half has been reported back to me, and may or may not be true. Also, for those of you who do not know what an “Upper Decker” is, please refer to Urban Dictionary, or other resource for twisted phrases.

A good friend of mine was finishing up his last day at work at a local Quiznos and I was there to help him steal food for us later. We had heard of this famous move known as the “Upper Decker” recently, and had been looking all around for a good place to do it. We never realized that the unisex bathroom at Quizno's did, indeed, have a visible toilet tank. Score. My friend turns to me and lets me know that he is going to leave a present for his boss. A steamy, brown present in the toilet tank. After completing the deed, a co-worker of his makes a crack about how he wished he had thought of it first. “Well...you still could...” we said to him. With a devilish grin on his face, the co-worker sauntered into the bathroom and doubled up on an already gruesome log in the toilet tank of this fine establishment. Upon exiting both of them looked at me and, knowing my history of excrement related pranks, and had just expected me to walk in next and drop my pants for the glory of this particular prank. They were damn right. I dropped my trousers and let the final piece of this foul jigsaw puzzle drop into what was left of the tank water with a triumphant “ker-plunk.”

What follows next has been reported back to my friend who worked there. The stench was apparently unbearable after an hour or so. Nobody was able to use the bathroom. The manager sent one of the grunts in to take care of our biological shenanigans and that's where things really went to hell. According to legend, this poor fellow couldn't stand the smell either and proceeded to projectile vomit all over the toilet. He missed most of the floor and thankfully hit the back wall. He stumbled out of the bathroom and informed the manager of what had happened. While they were deciding on what course of action to take an elderly woman needed to use this vile, polluted, nightmare of a toilet. Not having any idea of the horrors that awaited her, the woman opened the door and stepped in. Compounded smells of shit, puke, and fear ran into her nostrils and triggered the only possible outcome. Bitch ralphed EVERYWHERE. The next morning the mess was completely gone. Nobody knows how or when it happened. All we know is that the manager left the store soon after.

How I Shit My Pants Twice At Work

09/28/09

We all do it. I don't care what anyone says. If someone says that they haven't, then that means that their individual stories are too grotesque for common folk. I am writing, of course, about shitting your pants. Before I really get started let's make a distinction. There is a big difference between “shitting” your pants and “taking a dump” in your pants. Although out of this context they have similar meanings, within this specific case (that of feces being ejected into one's trousers) they are different. “Shitting” your pants is more in reference to what is commonly known as “sharting.” I personally don't like this term, because sometimes the actual payload is not delivered by an attempted fart. On the other hand, “taking a dump” in ones pants means that a FULL batch of bathroom brownies have been baked, delivered, and set to cool in ones underwear. Full loads are not tolerated. Ever. If you allow a full log to exit your sphincter while still clothed, it had to be intentional, and you make me sick.

The stories I am about to share with you took place at my job. Which I don't like to begin with. I suppose they deserve to have biological filth dumped in them every so often to keep them in check. The first incident took place in the break room at work. I was sitting on the couch watching “Independence Day” which I fucking hate. That movie gobbles balls. I was sitting on the couch, surrounded by other men from my job and I decided to spice up the evening with a little crop dusting. I lift my leg to let them taste some double-processed beef and cheese. Unfortunately the joke was on me. What was soon ejected into my boxer shorts was not a loud, room-clearing blast but a squirt of chocolate syrup for the sundae in my pants. Except that instead of their being a sundae, I just shit my pants. Making haste, and excusing myself to “take a wiz” I rush to the bathroom and survey the damage. It's a war zone. These boxers were no longer serviceable. They needed to be dumped. It's a shame too, because this was my second favorite pair of “The Simpsons” boxers. Willy was on it. They kicked ass. But all good things must come to an end. Or be crapped on. I ditched them in the handicapped stall. The boxers were the talk of the store for the rest of the day. I heard one of the managers talking about it and covered myself with a “Yeah man...I don't know what kind of sick guy would do that...friggen weird man.” My work day continued normally, until I ripped a fart in front of three co-workers. We all shared a laugh until one of my co-workers said “Haha, I bet those are your boxers in the bathroom!” He was joking. I didn't instantly get the joke. Instead I started spouting out “WHO TOLD Y...” I caught myself. I stopped, took a breath and continued, “Hah, yeah dude. Must be.” I went home and took a shower.

The next incident is an odd one. I was in a car heading off with 3 co-workers. Two of them were girls that, at the time, I wanted to cram my shame-shank into. I totally still would. But anyway, the other member was driving, and he was a very respected employee who everyone liked and who has been with the company for a long time. He begins to pull out of his parking space when I feel an itch in my nose. I don't know if it was a dust bunny, impending sickness, or just God wanting a laugh, but either way, I sneezed. One thing about my sneezes is that they are always very powerful. I don't hold back at all. Think of it as the exact opposite of those girls that just squeak out a tiny “hu...cheew”I'm incredibly loud and I usually throw my whole body into it. Unfortunately, this time I seem to have also thrown my rectum into it because a hot fudge brownie surprise was later found in my pants. I felt it. I knew it happened. This was terrible. I quickly think to myself “OK, does it stink? Does it stink? If it doesn't I can make it to our destination and change there.” Oh boy did it stink. It stunk to the fucking stratosphere. Thankfully, I think I caught it quick enough that the girls perhaps only got a whiff of it. I stop the driver and hysterically scream “Dude! Dude! Stop! I...uh...I forgot my flash drive in the store!” I hop out of the still-moving vehicle and make a break for it. I trashed the undies once again in the handicapped stall (thankfully they were just a generic pair of boxers. Nothing awesome), took a dump, and made sure that the runway was clear. I ran back to the car and continued my day. Nobody said anything, but I have a feeling that NOBODY could have possibly ignored the stank that I let off. I was very nervous the rest of the day. I am always nervous when free-balling it. There's no protection. Not that I expected to shit my pants again, but if I DID, than I'd be fucked. I'd have one of two choices. A) Smell like a compost heap or B) walk around with no pants on. I think we'd all prefer the latter, though.

So I'm Heaving... 

9/28/09

So my mother had a knot in her shoulder and asked me to work it out for her. I suppose her way of keeping me there was telling me a story that she thought I would enjoy. What followed was gold.

She had entered my bathroom and actually finished her business before she realized that my cat had left a present for her on the bathroom floor. How she didn't realize the smell or actual steaming pile of feline feces is beyond me. We hung the towels on a hook attached to the door. This hook didn't always work and towels would fall to the ground. Towels that my cat preferred to push his brown out on instead of his cat box. So my mother finishes up, and closes the toilet bowl cover. Remember this.

On her way out of the bathroom she finds her brown gift. Not with her eyes or even her nose, but her foot. She had stepped in cat doody on the edge of a towel. If there's one thing that I have exploited about my mother over the years it is her weak stomach. Just making vomit noises is enough to set her off like a bomb. If just doing that sets her off, than stepping in cat shit is like a fucking nuke. And boy did she nuke the toilet. Remember how she closed the seat cover? Yeah. She ralphed all over it instead of into the toilet as intended. If you would turn your attention to Figure 1-0, you will notice that the toilet and the cat feces are at two of the sides of the bathroom. It being a small bathroom, she only had one more corner to turn. It was the tub.

So there was my poor mother, trapped in a gauntlet of mixed biological waste. She tears the shower curtain away and continues to yak into the bath tub. She never told me what happened next. I assume she had nothing left to give and was able to make it out of there. The only other word I got on it was that the cleanup was unpleasant. But one thing about this story will always stick in my mind...

The way my mother decided to explain the end of her story was “...So I'm heaving into the bath tub...” Direct your attention to Figure 1-1 for a historically accurate dramatization.

Download Figure 1-1