Pull Over . . . . I'm Going to Shit My Pants!

I have a couple of poop stories. So what. Don't judge me. I'm sure you've had your run in with random instances where you couldn't hold it anymore and you had to utter the exact same sentence above with extreme impatience. This did not happen to me though, I have excellent sphincter control. But, for the sake of confidentiality, we'll just call this person "Shit-ee"

Shit-ee and I had gone to Magic Mountain for the day for a company outing. We had consumed, against our better judgement, gray hotdogs. I know, but I have a strong stomach. Poor Shit-ee doesn't. After riding a couple of rollercoasters, we had to leave the premises. It was just too much for Shit-ee's stomach. The tricky part now was trying to get back home from Magic Mountain in a timely fashion so that the impending diarreah could be taken care of.

About 20 minutes into the trip back to our area, and 10 minutes away from our destination, Shit-ee let's out the aforementioned "Pull over . . . I'm going to shit my pants!". By the time that those words had exited the vocal cords and made their way out the esophagus, I could smell the shit. I looked over at Shit-ee, with trepidation, as I did not want my car pooped in.

I have no idea what area I'm in, so as I exit the freeway, I frantically find a gas station and Shit-ee runs to the nearest port-o-potty and lets loose a shit-storm that you do not want to get caught in. Relieved, Shit-ee gets back in the car and says . . . "Wow, that was a close one". When I ask Shit-ee about the pre-shit smell, I learn that it was not indeed poop but an extremely potent fart that had escaped while Shit-ee was doing his/her darndest not to soil her/himself.

Let this serve as a cautionary tale to you. If the hot dog is gray . . . just move on to the hamburgers. If they're gray as well, might as well get yourself a pack of Depends adult diapers. You're going to need them.