Let’s Read About People Crapping Themselves For A While

I don’t know why, but stories about people shitting themselves are almost always funny. It’s a fact. A clinically proven one, even. Hey, if everyone in a commercial can throw out that phrase regardless of it’s truthfulness, why can’t I?

Anyway, here’s a collection of stories about doing just that that some folks sent to Deadspin. And here is a sample, in case you somehow don’t understand what you’re in for.

So, I was very young, maybe four or five, and a bunch of my family (immediate and extended) were staying at a Howard Johnson’s for who the hell knows why, because I was really young and only cared that we were staying somewhere with a pool.
Anyway, at some point, almost all of us are in the pool area. The kids are in the big pool and the adults are hanging out in the hot tub. I’m swimming and having a generally great time, as young kids in pools tend to do. Then…I realized I needed to take a crap. Here’s my dilemma: if I go to the bathroom, that means that I will have to leave the pool to do so, and that, my friend, was clearly not an option. So, I did the only logical thing I could do: dropped my shorts and pushed that log out underwater. I figured it was the perfect scheme because nobody would know what I was doing. One problem: it was a floater. That damned thing immediately bobbed right to the surface—I felt it as it grazed my back on the way up. I pulled up my shorts, turned around, and immediately pushed it back underwater with both hands. But, it stubbornly refused to remain submerged and popped right back up to the surface again.
So, now I knew I was screwed and I had to act fast. I scooped the poop up with both hands and dutifully went over to my parents at the hot tub because obviously they would help me—that’s what parents do. Unfortunately, they both developed a sudden case of temporary, traumatic, amnesia, and didn’t seem to know who I was. None of my aunts and uncles could seem to remember me either, so it must have been contagious. After a minute or so of trying to get help from the grownups, I realized I was on my own. So, I went looking for a place to dispose of my payload that would be as short a trip away from the pool as possible. I don’t recall if I had actually left the pool area or not, but in a short time I came across one of those wall-mounted ash trays—the kind shaped like a bowl that had a button to push and the ash tray would open up and the cigarette butts and ashes would fall into a chamber below. PERFECT! I dropped that sucker onto the ash tray and pushed the button so that it would disappear. Except, I was too young to understand concepts like relative size. Even though the ash tray opened, the turd was too long, and it just hung there, stubbornly. At this point, I decided that this was good enough. I had gone above and beyond the call of duty and I had lost precious pool time to make up. So, I left it there, went back to the pool, cleaned my hands once I got back in, and all was well.