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Thread: I like doots...all kind of doots!

  1. #1
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    I like doots...all kind of doots!

    I do... I really do.

  2. #2
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    Quote Originally Posted by Peebag View Post
    I do... I really do.
    The key for me is not the doots. Its the getting rid of them efficiently, that brings joy.

    You dont appreciate the beauty of a nice bowel movement in a clean bathroom until you are caught on the Cross Bronx in a nightmare jam... and the first gurgle of a colon avalanche sends shivers of panic down your spine...sweat suddenly beading on your forehead, knuckles white on the steering wheel..eyes darting...abandonded buildings with painted on windows on the right...car wash sign on the left...no exit for a mile...diesel fumes wafting through the AC..wait...is that a fart...oh no..

    -

  3. #3
    Quote Originally Posted by 32green View Post
    The key for me is not the doots. Its the getting rid of them efficiently, that brings joy.

    You dont appreciate the beauty of a nice bowel movement in a clean bathroom until you are caught on the Cross Bronx in a nightmare jam... and the first gurgle of a colon avalanche sends shivers of panic down your spine...sweat suddenly beading on your forehead, knuckles white on the steering wheel..eyes darting...abandonded buildings with painted on windows on the right...car wash sign on the left...no exit for a mile...diesel fumes wafting through the AC..wait...is that a fart...oh no..

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    Priceless.

  4. #4
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    Quote Originally Posted by 32green View Post
    The key for me is not the doots. Its the getting rid of them efficiently, that brings joy.

    You dont appreciate the beauty of a nice bowel movement in a clean bathroom until you are caught on the Cross Bronx in a nightmare jam... and the first gurgle of a colon avalanche sends shivers of panic down your spine...sweat suddenly beading on your forehead, knuckles white on the steering wheel..eyes darting...abandonded buildings with painted on windows on the right...car wash sign on the left...no exit for a mile...diesel fumes wafting through the AC..wait...is that a fart...oh no..

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    Its like a doot horror movie.

  5. #5
    I don't like game after doots, especially if you lose.

  6. #6
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    I almost had an oopsie-whoopise-poopsie the other day, but thankfully it was just an errant faht.

  7. #7
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    I keep a lot of things that I write because reading them years after the fact usually brings a smile to my face. The following is a true account of an incident involving your beloved Jets Things that occurred on May 11, 2006 in a high-traffic workplace bathroom. I sent it to a bunch of my friends. In hindsight, I should have saved some of their replies, but oh well. Before anyone claims they like doots or anything involving doots, I think you should read this. Any names have been blocked out.


    "Those of you who know me best know of my penchant for poo humor. It's been a staple in my joke/insult repertoire for as long as I can remember. This person eats poo, that person brushed his teeth with a semi-solid globule of stool, Mrs. X masturbates with frozen butt-logs, etc. Well...yesterday at approximately 3:45pm, I finally got a dose of my own proverbial medicine. Admittedly, my fecal cycle has been off lately, probably because I've been so busy moving, looking at wedding sites, getting in the ever-increasinly important nap, etc. It's been a while since I've had the pleasure of moseying into the bathroom for the third time on any given day and voiding the contents of my digestive tract. No. The frequency has gotten less and less over the past few weeks. It comes to the point yesterday where I had a partial turtle-head poking out of my dirt-hole and I knew I had to get to the bathroom immediately. Friends, I've sent some of you pictures of my best turds before. This would have ranked right up with them...if I had my camera phone on me. The behemoth was released - imagine Ron Jeremy's slab coming out of my butt. And then...it happened. It made contact with the bottom of the bowl while still working it's way out of me. Fast, I flexed my anus and broke it off, causing it to fall forward and hit the back of my balls. So now I have sh1t on my sack. Great. But that's not all...the behemoth must have been a stopper or plug of sorts, because what followed the behemoth was an explosion of Nagasaki proportions. The fecal bouillabaisse hit the surface of the toilet water with such force that it deflected the stinky mess back onto my backside, rendering my a$$ mud-masked in my own butt sick. Terrified, I pulled a meek wad of paper off the roll and attempted, feebly, to clean up. Little did I know that when my hand surfaced, it would be covered in digested muck from my innards, so much that the tip of the cuff of my sleeve was tinged a burnt sienna brown. Words cannot describe my anguish. I flushed the toilet about six times and began to mummify my wiping hand in toilet paper so that the next clean-up attempt would not be so revolting. For the first 10 minutes I mummified my hand, got as much as I could cleaned up, dropped it into the bowl, and flushed. Once I was satisfied that everything was reasonably dried, I continued the mummification of my hand, but this time, dipped it into the toilet water and began scrubbing my ENTIRE hiney area, the crack and beyond. For 15 minutes I did this, my friends. When all was said and done, I was in there for about 40 minutes. I know I'll never be shied away from making dookies - heck, the less frequently I go, the less likely I am to wipe my a$$ bloody - but I doubt I'll ever attack the process with the same exuberance I once exhibited...now that I have looked in the face of absolute horror, charged at it fully armed and defeated it...but it stole a part of my soul that I don't think I'll ever be able to recover."


  8. #8
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    wow....just....wow....

  9. #9
    JT, that was fargin' great

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