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  • Never Talk On Your Phone in the Bathroom

    ..........................
    Last edited by Nine3Probie; 07-28-2013, 06:08 PM.

  • #2
    You're right, about that.....I havent laughed that hard in a while.

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    • #3
      DANG IT! Darn near got chicken soup all over the freak'n keyboard! (and it dont feel too good when it wants to come up through the nose either)
      If you don't do it RIGHT today, when will you have time to do it over? (Hall of Fame basketball player/coach John Wooden)

      "I may be slow, but my work is poor." Chief Dave Balding, MVFD

      "Its not Rocket Science. Just use a LITTLE imagination." (Me)

      Get it up. Get it on. Get it done!

      impossible solved cotidie. miracles postulo viginti - quattuor hora animadverto

      IACOJ member: Cheers, Play safe y'all.

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      • #4
        I never did find my phone...
        So you call this your free country
        Tell me why it costs so much to live
        -3dd

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        • #5
          Originally posted by voyager9
          I never did find my phone...
          Maybe not. But I felt soooooooo much better when it was over
          K-9 hunt, the ultimate challange.
          EVERYONE GOES HOME
          IACOJ

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          • #6
            What I hate is when people answer their cell phone while in the bathroom. Especially in the office. Usually the conversation goes a little like this:
            "Hello?... Oh, Uhhhhhhg, Hi Bob, Noouuh it's not a bad time...... Yeah I've got those CPS Repooooorts."

            I mean, C'mon. If there's a better time for voicemail, I don't know what it is.
            So you call this your free country
            Tell me why it costs so much to live
            -3dd

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            • #7
              This one time at college I totally nuked the toilet. It was so bad that some classes were cancelled. I walked out of the bathroom and people were about to drop. My classmates just looked at me and we just busted up laughing. The topic of our hazmat class that night was 100 LB gas cylinders. oh man the laughs we heard.
              J
              It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.

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              • #8
                OMG that was funny! Pulled a muscle and had tears running down my face, so I guess it was a good one, although not quite as funny as the IACOJ one.
                September 11th - Never Forget

                I respect firefighters and emergency workers worldwide. Thank you for what you do.

                Sheri
                IACOJ CRUSTY CONVENTION CHAIR
                Honorary Flatlander

                RAY WAS HERE FIRST

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                • #9
                  i tried reading this at my college's library without laughing, i had to of looked like i was crying, i had to stop and read it when i got home. that was hilarious.
                  "Let's Roll." Todd Beamer 9/11 first soldier in the war on terror

                  "I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America. And to the republic for which it stands ONE NATION UNDER GOD indivisible,with liberty, and justice for all.

                  I.A.C.O.J. Probie and darn proud of it.

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                  • #10
                    That was great!! THANKS!
                    Do it because you love it, not because you love being seen doing it.

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                    • #11
                      Not trying to hijack your thread, but i thought this was along the same lines as the story you posted. I still laugh when I read it!

                      I saw this a year or two ago on another forum...

                      Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damned thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night-which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little runts. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening,

                      I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been panused in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

                      I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good dump. But in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a dump. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances.

                      By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my anus was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones anus toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of poop at the exact same second that one's anus is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even anusures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the **** stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

                      I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little runts attending kids night. It was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events is a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct it as best I can.

                      In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over crap no matter what is about to come slamming out of your anus. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since crapping will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my anus exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of crap the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my anus. But remember I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment. The crap wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

                      Recall that when that event occurred, I was already halfway to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the crap wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls. Unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of crap remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

                      Now, back to the vomit...

                      While all the crapping was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.

                      In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended. Yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit-my back covered in crap that had bounced off the toilet-spattering on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet-which still had enough force to come back at me-covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid crap. All while thick crap was spread all over my anus in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no stinking toilet paper.

                      What could I do but laugh? I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK. I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper.

                      When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had ****ed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

                      About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left.

                      The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage or just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

                      Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors. They have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels.

                      Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes-still stuck in the stall-since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed (in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little runt kid walked in). At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

                      When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

                      The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.




                      Kevin
                      Fire Lieutenant/E.M.T.
                      IAFF Local 2339
                      K of C 4th Degree
                      "LEATHER FOREVER"
                      Member I.A.C.O.J.
                      http://www.tfdfire.com/
                      "Fir na tine"

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                      • #12
                        Ahh, bathroom humor. Made my day.....still wiping away the tears. My office-mates think I've finally lost it. Thanks!
                        In Arduis Fidelis
                        Faithful in Adversity

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                        • #13
                          I REALLY need to stop reading this thread in office meetings. Everyone keeps staring at me.

                          Probably two of the funniest things I've read in a long time.
                          So you call this your free country
                          Tell me why it costs so much to live
                          -3dd

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                          • #14
                            Well.... since we're on the topic of bathroom humor... here's one that I got in an e-mail not too long ago...

                            Using the Bathroom at Work - Work Poop

                            We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our cubicles (or offices) and suddenly felt something brewing down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.

                            CROP DUSTING: When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.

                            FLY BY: The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If here are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

                            ESCAPEE: A fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of embarrassment. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee. It is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

                            JAILBREAK: When forcing a poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

                            COURTESY FLUSH: The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poop hits the water. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

                            WALK OF SHAME: Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist...... can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

                            OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER: A colleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.

                            SAFE HAVENS: Seldom used bathrooms somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.

                            TURD BURGLAR: Someone who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a poop at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

                            CAMO-COUGH: A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

                            ASTAIRE: A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.

                            WATERMELON: A poop that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

                            HAVANA OMELET: A case of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water..... often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using Camo-Cough with an Astaire.

                            UNCLE TED: A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to poop when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.
                            Do it because you love it, not because you love being seen doing it.

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                            • #15
                              Nice rules for work. See how well you can do on the Men's Room Test
                              -------------------
                              "The most mediocre man or woman can suddenly seem dynamic, forceful, and decisive if he or she is mean enough." from "Crazy Bosses"
                              -----------------------------------------------
                              Genius has its limits, but stupidity is boundless.

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