HAS ANYONE BESIDES ME BEEN AT A BAR DRINKING AND SOME OTHER

Niiiiiiiiiiiiiice.

 

LOL

I have a freind whose nick name is King-Shit Kooj. He shits like once a week and it's the size of a small meatloaf. Even as a kid he did that. In high school he would never shit anywhere but at home. That was until one day we were roaming the halls and fucking around during a class and he ended up taking a Kooj. We were amazed and told him to pick it up. He picked up the Kooj and threw it on the walls of the bathroom. It made baseball sized chunks on the wall. I died laughing. There was a big search by the staff for the shitter. They were concerned because they thought someone was compacting their shit into piles, but it was just his giant normal shits.

 

Meow! Whatever you say...

 

Whipone, is that your car?

 

i wish it was mine..... dreams are just that though dreams

 

Christ, you all have gone WAY TOO FAR. midget porn, racist jokes, amputee porn and the "bathtub girl" i can handle but this is sick. i am staying the hell out of here and that other thread about numbers. dayum.

 

Rat, no--its not what you think!!

 

Everybody shits. It's just sometimes they don't make it to the bathroom.

http://www.hillison.com/snl/oops.mpg

 

Goddamnit.

Watch the video here:

http://hillison.com/snl/oopsicrappedmypants.html

 

Yeah, '72 Plymouth Roadrunner. Her name is Angel.

I have a '70 Roadrunner as well named Daisy:




Daisy~!

 

Your dreams can come true my freind... for only $13,000 you can have the coolest car in your town!

 

Very pretty cars. I'd paint them black.

I'd like to have one of these:



or



I'd like to have a second car. I'm looking for a cheap 1985 Camaro or Firebird.

 

hell my buddy just sold his 85 camero to a junkyard for $100. i wanted the engine tranny (hehe i wrote tranny) rear axle and drive shaft to make a monster gocart or buggy.

i wouldnt mind having a Datsun 510 made race ready

or this bitchin Volvo

http://www.hilmersson-racing.com/bilder/


mmm s30 aka the Z car

 

I dig caddies

 

Oh Yeah Baby....

The Gremlin is to hotrods as France is to armed conflicts.

Barry

 

I like the kinda car that gets me from A to B. But sometimes my car stops at A½

 

Re: HAS ANYONE BESIDES ME BEEN AT A BAR DRINKING AND SOME OT

From the alt.tasteless archives (circa '94) -


From: Anon...

King Shit

All these excrement stories are stirring up memories of a
fine foul day, some 12 years ago, when my little brother decided
to give anal birth to the biggest turd I have ever seen.
I was raised, in typical appalachian style, as poor white
trash without running water. The outhouse is the center of many
fond and wondrous memories for me; spiders, the combination of
summer heat and the overpowering stench of centuries-old feces
and urine allowed to fester, wasps, billions of biting flies,
freezing cold winters, and little or no privacy available. But
then, I am tasteless. My brother is not.
To his little-kid brain, the outhouse was a place of great
terror and fear. He had been stung, as I remember, one time while
trying his first on-my-own poop. He was terrified, and decided
that the shitter was a BAD place, and little kids didn't even
poop in bad places. So, with that knowledge, he decided. "I am
not going to poop anymore."
My parents and I first noticed his odd behavior four days
into his Ironman Sphincterclench Endurance Competition. He seemed
to be sick, as he would occasionally get glassy-eyed and stand in
deep concentration. Mom was concerned, but didn't say much other
than "Are you feeling well? Are you sick?"
He was fine, he just hadn't shit in four days. And, his
little-kid brain had neglected to realize that if you don't want
to shit anymore, you must AT LEAST cut down on the amount of food
you intake. If anything, he doubled the amount of food he ate,
since he was not going to have to poop anymore.
He tells me now that day four was the worst day. After that,
his butt seemed to enjoy the vacation, and didn't mind letting
its work pile up, so to speak. Days five and six passed without
much difference, but his odd attacks seemed to be more frequent
and of a little more intensity than before, but a lot briefer.
Mom really began to get worried. She thought he might be
epileptic.
Day seven rolls around with a force that would not be denied
much longer. Struggle and strain though he did, my brother
decided that it was better to do that than ever have to dump
anymore. He tells me that at this point, he had decided to poop
again, but was afraid to, because of what might actually come out
of his butt. (His brain, most likely). And the final clincher, he
has an anal spasm during a vacation bible school meeting, and
they bring him home because THEY think he is having an epileptic
fit. I would wager that my anus would have puckered up about that
time as well. Also, I'll bet that several of them thought he was
going to speak in tongues, and kiss a rattlesnake, or something
like that.
Mom would not let him talk his way out of this; the truth
had to come out. He confessed his crime against nature, and said
he would start shitting again if Mom swore she wouldn't punish
him, and that she would take him to the doctor if anything...
unusual happened to him while he was excreting. She agreed, under
the condition that he use a potty chair in the house, so that we
could run to his side and laugh hysterically if something
happened. That last bit wasn't strictly a part of the
negotiations, but that is what happened.
By God's grace, I happened to be in earshot when the
ThunderFudge(tm) decided to part company with my brother. The
actual sounds went something like; "<fart> oh. Oh. <fart, fart>
OH. <fart, fart, grumble, gears grinding, hellspawned demons
screaming for release,> ow. Ow. OWWWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWWW!
OWWWWWWWW! OWWWWWWWW!!!"
Oh, the humanity of it all.
I knew that he could hear me if I snickered, so I tried to
suppress the urge, which, as we have seen in the last few
paragraphs or so, urge suppression does not run in my genes.
I laughed out loud.
Repeatedly.
Louder each time.
He was pissed, but then, I wasn't the one who had decided to
pinch a loaf for the rest of my life.
He and Mom then left to apply some medication to the area,
leaving me wondering if I ever had children, would I ever have
the inner strength to cope with a son as brain-dead as this one?
I snuck a peek into the storage room they had been in. What
I saw astounded me. The butt-monster had run the length of the
pot, a good seven inches, and then formed an L-shape and
continued upwards for another solid (heh) foot. Towards the end
of the process, my brother must have stood, to be able to fully
excrete this DungO'Death (tm). It was smooth-surfaced, and looked
like it was about five inches around. It was about the same color
as mahogany.
It was taken to the outhouse, and laid to rest 15 feet below
the surface of the seat. It didn't even break when it impacted
with the mound; instead, it just sank in, like the King Shit that
it truly was, ruling over all the other worthless pieces of shit
around it. Nobility suited it well.
My brother recovered, eventually developed something similar
to intelligence, and later on we both moved out of the house.
That particular outhouse was abandoned, and another was
constructed. But I still think of King Shit, covered now by many
others, still the greatest one of all time.

 

Re: HAS ANYONE BESIDES ME BEEN AT A BAR DRINKING AND SOME OT

If you want more of this crud, just found out my archives are
still hosted at -

http://www.schwag.org/~mongrel/archive/

Don't know how long it will be there. The site owner has cancer
or something thats not very funny at all.

I'd still bunch him in his colostomy bag as he has a swig of his
beer tho'.

[cunt]

 

more shit

More toilet humour.

===

Newsgroups: alt.tasteless
Subject: Pyrotechnic schoolboy prank
Message-ID: <9408020852.AA17048@fugly.edu>
From: David.Cockburn@fugly.edu (David Cockburn)
Date: 2 Aug 1994 03:52:19 -0500
Sender: nobody@cs.utexas.edu
Organization: UTexas Mail-to-News Gateway
NNTP-Posting-Host: news.cs.utexas.edu
Lines: 78

Story starts in a Chemistry lesson, with Teacher demonstrating that when
you bubble acetylene gas through some standard lab reagent (can't remember
what I'm afraid! - maybe I'll x-post this to the rec.pyrotechnics mob for
comment) you get a black precipitate of god-knows-what, which when dried
out, forms an exceedingly unstable powder which explodes with a helluva
crack at the slightest provocation. Not surprisingly, Rick the class
boffin leaves the lesson at the end with a bottle of said reagent and a
bag of calcium carbide (+ water = acetylene, y'know) in his school-bag.

So Rick shortly goes into production of this stuff in a big way, and is
soon to discover that for optimum effect it can be detonated by packing it
v-e-r-y gently around a short length of eureta wire, and hooking this up
to a 9-volt battery via a nice long cable (battery heats up eureta wire,
causing detonation). Much mirth is then had by hiding tiny packets of the
magic powder along the road and rendering innocent passers-by almost
airborne by remote control from behind a nearby wall or wherever.

But this isn't enough to fulfil Rick's creative urges. Final refinement
of the technique comes with the realization that by tightly wrapping the
powder and wire with cling-film (saran-wrap in 'Merkan-speak?) it can
probably be rendered waterproof, and then...

But unfortunately supplies of raw materials are by this stage running
pretty low, so there is no opportunity to test the theory before putting
it into practice. Rick therefore packs his entire remaining stash around
the detonator, and tightly wraps the whole lot in clingfilm.

The stunt was to be staged in the school crapper after lunch one day, when
an unsuspecting kiddie could be predicted to arrive promptly to plant a
post-prandial pooh with a reasonable degree of certainty. Rick locks
himself in a cubicle with his kit, and carefully sets his charge inside
the porcelain, well below the water-line. The very thin cable is led up
the side, under the seat and through to the adjacent cubicle. Removal of
all the light bulbs in the area ensures that illumination is low enough
for the trap to be invisible to a cursory inspection. Rick shuts all the
cubicle doors except the booby-trapped one, installs himself on the
adjacent crapper, and waits...

The rest of us wait outside, watching from an overlooking balcony. Sure
enough, not long to wait before some kid saunters in for a nice relaxing
dump. So picture if you will Rick sitting there on the next bog with a
wire in each hand, with a half-crazed expression on his face like Anthony
Hopkins in 'Juggernaut', waiting for precisely the optimum moment...

Door shuts... lock clicks home. Belt undone... trousers down... buttock
touchdown... bladder voids... sphincter dilation commences... CONTACT!!!
Rick touches his wires together. For just a second, nothing happens.
Rats - the stuff must have got wet. Then K-A-B-O-O-M!! there's the most
almighty explosion... and then: complete, utter, total silence.

Pretty shocked by what's just happened, Rick hops down from his perch and
makes rapidly for the exit. What now? We all heard the bang and were all
now more than a little worried as to the potential consequences... "Oh
shit..." "Well it was *your* idea..." "I *told* you there was too much
charge there..." etc etc. In retrospect, God knows why nobody went in to
administer first aid or whatever, but no one did: we just hung about
ouside nervously biting fingernails. But eventually the youth totters out
of the lavvy, and amidst much relief, everyone crowds round to find out
what had happened.

Apparently the poor kid had just sat down and 'opened up' when the thing
detonated. Subsequent examination of the crimescene revealed what had
happened. The porcelain was covered in soot from the rim to the waterline
- not that there was the slightest trace of any water left in the bowl.
The cubicle walls were soaked to about waist-height, but most notable was
the wet line which ran from straight up the door almost top the top -
resulting from the piss-stream still emerging from the lad's flapping tool
as he went flying into the air upon detonation.

Mercifully and miraculously, it turned out that no damage had been done to
the boy or his wedding tackle. He hadn't had a clue what had happened to
him - he'd thought there'd been some sort of explosion in the sewers.
Afterwards he'd just sat there quaking in terror, unable to move himself,
let alone his bowels. In fact the word was that the poor little sod was
constipated for a fortnight afterwards... funny, that.


David Cockburn (who *always* checks before sitting down)