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Actually now that I think of it, I have two good shit stories from when I was younger.

I was 8 years old. I was a hot summer day, and I was sitting in the back of my Mom's van as she drove me and my siblings home. We were on our way home from my Grandma's house after a long day of swimming in her inground pool; it was about a 40 minute drive on the parkway from her house to ours. Anyway, about halfway home, I felt the beginnings of post pool diarrhea. You know the uncomfortable weighty feeling you get in your bowels after you've been swimming for a long time, indicating that something is horribly, horribly wrong.

So natrually, being 8, I said "Mommy I have to poop."

"You can hold it until we get home, okay?"

Ok. Fine.

So like a good little boy I hold it for another 20 minutes or so, until we get into the center of the town that we live in. By now, I really have to shit, and I begin to feel the slithery excrement making it's way to my asshole. I know that I can't hold it until I get home, and I also know that I don't want to shit myself wearing swim trunks and sitting in the back of my mom's van.

"Mom, I really can't hold it anymore, can you pull over here please?"

Now she's a little aggrivated: "No! You can hold it until we get home!"

"But mom I really have to go!"




Well she finally pulled over, and I rushed my little skinny 8 year old clenched ass into the gas station bathroom without saying a word to the attendant whom just looked at me with a knowing smirk. Took a huge diarrhea, and left. When I got back to the car though, I noticed a brown skidmark on the seat where I had been sitting, and my family was silent the rest of the way home.

My mom is a bitch.
Old 03-14-2005, 01:35 PM powertickle is offline