As she was bent over puking, her ass released its cargo. Apparently she was literally firing 'rhea into the wall opposite the toilet, while simultaneously puking into the toilet bowl.
The worst (best?) part was that directly opposite the toilet, along the fecally-decorated wall, was a steam radiator. All her shit was dripping down into the fins of the radiator as well as behind it, makin it nearly impossible to clean.
My girlfriend a few years back was super sick. She called me one day specifically to tell me about her recent bathroom adventure, in which she had to deal with a combination of puking AND diarrhea. The apartment she was living in only had a small, narrow bathroom.
Well, she had a choice. She could either bend over and puke first, or sit down and sht first. Either way she was going to have to take a chance.
She chose to puke first.
She chose wrong.
As she was bent over puking, her ass released its cargo. Apparently she was literally firing 'rhea into the wall opposite the toilet, while simultaneously puking into the toilet bowl.
The worst (best?) part was that directly opposite the toilet, along the fecally-decorated wall, was a steam radiator. All her shit was dripping down into the fins of the radiator as well as behind it, makin it nearly impossible to clean.
Her dog was so traumatized that she later fond him under blankets on the couch shaking furiously. The dog though he did somethin wrong and witnessing that explosion of bodily fluids was his punishment.
She moved out a month later, but her roomate is, AFAIK, still living there.
This may seem bizzare, but I can say hand on heart that (with the exception of a couple of times when I was ill) I have never farted infront of my partner.
8 1/2 years.
My girlfriend a few years back was super sick. She called me one day specifically to tell me about her recent bathroom adventure, in which she had to deal with a combination of puking AND diarrhea. The apartment she was living in only had a small, narrow bathroom.
Well, she had a choice. She could either bend over and puke first, or sit down and sht first. Either way she was going to have to take a chance.
She chose to puke first.
She chose wrong.
As she was bent over puking, her ass released its cargo. Apparently she was literally firing 'rhea into the wall opposite the toilet, while simultaneously puking into the toilet bowl.
The worst (best?) part was that directly opposite the toilet, along the fecally-decorated wall, was a steam radiator. All her shit was dripping down into the fins of the radiator as well as behind it, makin it nearly impossible to clean.
Her dog was so traumatized that she later fond him under blankets on the couch shaking furiously. The dog though he did somethin wrong and witnessing that explosion of bodily fluids was his punishment.
She moved out a month later, but her roomate is, AFAIK, still living there.
My girlfriend a few years back was super sick. She called me one day specifically to tell me about her recent bathroom adventure, in which she had to deal with a combination of puking AND diarrhea. The apartment she was living in only had a small, narrow bathroom.
Well, she had a choice. She could either bend over and puke first, or sit down and sht first. Either way she was going to have to take a chance.
She chose to puke first.
She chose wrong.
As she was bent over puking, her ass released its cargo. Apparently she was literally firing 'rhea into the wall opposite the toilet, while simultaneously puking into the toilet bowl.
The worst (best?) part was that directly opposite the toilet, along the fecally-decorated wall, was a steam radiator. All her shit was dripping down into the fins of the radiator as well as behind it, makin it nearly impossible to clean.
Her dog was so traumatized that she later fond him under blankets on the couch shaking furiously. The dog though he did somethin wrong and witnessing that explosion of bodily fluids was his punishment.
She moved out a month later, but her roomate is, AFAIK, still living there.
I was travelling in Mexico with my then wife. Like many young hands, we were in a VW van equipped with a potty to provide for our fussy American preference for sanitation and privacy.
My wife and I had been quibbling all day, due to the stifling heat and humidity of the sea level jungle in which we had been camping. We took the road toward Mexico City, hoping that higher elevation would gain us some relief from the tropical heat.
On a switchback road several thousand feet above sea level, my dear wife announced the need to use the convenience, and lurched toward the rear of the van. I suggested that she wait until I could pull over, but she was resolute in her determination to attend to matters promptly.
From the back, I heard her irritable voice say, "Why's this sodding potty rocking?" I pondered, and realized that the potty was under pressure! It had been last used at sea level, and we had gained significant elevation. The bottom of the potty was bowed with pressure, causing the rocking. And, to my good wife's impending grief and mortification, the potty was nearly full.
A beat too late, I called back, "Honey don't flush..."
I was interrupted by a mighty "WHOOSH" and a slurpy noise. Then silence. Then a horrible stench, and the unhappy sounds of my dear bride cursing like a Liverpool longshoreman. In the rear view mirror, I saw that the interior of the van was dripping with brown fluid. Since she had to face the potty to flush it, and since she hadn't put the lid down, my hapless wife had taken the full blast from the pressurized holding tank. She looked like Al Jolson in blackface.
Convulsed with laughter which was the proximate cause of our subsequent marital decline, I pulled over. My soon-to-be-ex lady marched down the highway cursing and dripping. When I recovered my composure, I cleaned the van and picked up my luckless hitch-hiking wife. Our conversation was limited over the next few days, and never regained it's former gaiety and charm.
That pressurized potty took us out of the gene pool.
My girlfriend a few years back was super sick. She called me one day specifically to tell me about her recent bathroom adventure, in which she had to deal with a combination of puking AND diarrhea. The apartment she was living in only had a small, narrow bathroom.
Well, she had a choice. She could either bend over and puke first, or sit down and sht first. Either way she was going to have to take a chance.
She chose to puke first.
She chose wrong.
As she was bent over puking, her ass released its cargo. Apparently she was literally firing 'rhea into the wall opposite the toilet, while simultaneously puking into the toilet bowl.
The worst (best?) part was that directly opposite the toilet, along the fecally-decorated wall, was a steam radiator. All her shit was dripping down into the fins of the radiator as well as behind it, makin it nearly impossible to clean.
Her dog was so traumatized that she later fond him under blankets on the couch shaking furiously. The dog though he did somethin wrong and witnessing that explosion of bodily fluids was his punishment.
She moved out a month later, but her roomate is, AFAIK, still living there.
hehe, just wait until you are married with children. You'll find out that not only does your wife poop...but the kids poop too. And for some reason, kids can never remember to flush the damned toilette, so you'll be a witness to the #2's!!
I've heard of others who make the same choice. Have they not ever heard of a garbage can. Shit in the toilet, puke in the can.
I don't know if I could date a girl if I knew she pooped :|
Classic Schneider posting.
My second favorite AT user ...
Then you need to stop that shit immediately. Seriously, you can stick your erect penis into her vagina, and you're too embarrassed to fart in front of her?
Man card should be revoked.
Everyone poops shitloads. Everyone knows this.
win tags. I don't think I've ever been around my gf when shes pooped lol.
Yeah...you've gotta be a special type of retarded to not do this.