My Blog

Shit My Pants!

   Thu, July 24, 2008 - 4:34 PM
I had a rather vile scatological event take place in my car today, related to a bad ham and cheese omelette followed by a prostate exam by a doctor who isn't skimpy with the lube, lol.
I'm not writing this to reveal what a foul and disgusting creature I am, rather to reveal what I consider to be humourous events surrounding the frail human condition. When it comes to shitting your pants, it's the conversational equivilant of a no fly zone.
We've all seen the bums downtown, covered in their own feces, and said to oursselves, and perhaps others, what a nasty fucking fuck that dude is, all the while knowing that we, too, have shit ourselves on occasion. Now, if you don't immediately clean yourself up and don't care, then you are a nasty fuck, mentally ill or no.
Heavy drinking and drug abuse contributes greatly to a young persons' inability to hold his mud. In the '80's, many of you know from my blog i was strung out on crank. It was a strange and predictable phenominon that whenever I would score, especially when I already was in possession of a rig, that I would have to take a shit- it was like a Pavlovs' dog response. Get a rig, get the dope, have to shit. it would happen fast. One time I was heading to a place where i could shoot up in peace ( as if that were ever possible), and i was still downtown in the middle of the day. It hit me- OMG i've got to shit NOW. So I jumped into a set of stiars going down the sidewalk, but couldn't get my pants off in time. I duked my drawers big time. Plus, since I was homeless, I could not readily clean up. I had to walk a few blocks through downtown in the lunch crowd, shit all over me, probably pursued by a large clowd of flies, lol. Yet, I was only slightly embarressed, as junkies are already low on dignity. As homeless junkies go, I had it together, though, I had clean clothes stashes, and places where i always cleaned up, brushed my teeth, etc. I'm nearing 48 and still have every one of them, despite decades of meth use and people trying to knock them out, heh.
One time I had contracted Hepatitis and decided to get clean, by removing myself from the geographic area. Of course, without dealing with the addiction, it just simmered until it again exploded 2 years later, at a most inoppotune time, I might add. Anyways, i was hitchhiking from San Diego to Eugene. This is kind of off track, but a memorable experience. I was 6 ft tall, wieghed 135 and sick. this dude picked me up in san diego, and asked where I was going. i told him, and he said "you're not going to make it, bro". Then he did something I will never forget, leading me to always remember, and try to pass along. He took me to the greyhound bus station and bought me a ticket. He gave me $40, bought me some medicine, and sent me on my way. I'm not in a position to help quite so much, but I will help bums with food or whatever, when it seems appropriate and possible. Leading to my next episode of Olympic- Pants-Shitting.
I got to Eugene and put my stuff, medicine, clothing which included a white collared shirt and pressed black pants for job hunting in the restaraunt industry, into a 24 hour locker for $1. I came back just over the limit, and they had removed my stuff. I tried to reason with them, telling them I was very sick, homeless, and that my job hunting clothes were in there. The counter person couldn't have cared less. he looked at me as if i were the biggest loser on earth, and demanded $10 for the return of my entire lifes' posessions. I pleaded, saying I was trying to turn my life around, and wasn't asking for a handout, like the spare-changers outside- i needed to look for work, in the clean and proper attire i had in the locker- he just laughed. I freaked out, already short tempered, and not much left to lose. I beat his ass fiercely- and threw rocks through the glass doors. then, as the police sirens sounded, I ran. I was wearing a pair of parachute pants that were the style of the day, though not usefull to trach and field events or job-hunting. I ran so fast, and I was so sick, that I shit with every step I took, all
down my legs. Now, parachute pants are made of a very thin and tight material, and their was no hiding the fact, as I ran towards the Willamette river through downtown Eugene, that I had a seriously improper hygenic event taking place. I escaped the law and ended up trying to wash myself in an ice-cold oregon river in late october.
Many years later, i had given up the dope shooting, but decided it would be much more safe, and possibly fun, to replace that habit with alcohol, rather than drugs! It was legal? What could go wrong? LOLOLOLOL. Everything, thats what. I had secured aposition as a high-rise window cleaner, and had a pad and bycylce, all paid through gainful employment, but had much yet to learn of the consequences of heavy drinking. I was cleaning the windows on a 20 story tower, by Bosuns' chair. To get to the roof, you had to go through an elaborate maze of stairs, darkened eqipment rooms and coded elevators. I was on the roof, getting ready to do another drop, when i felf it churnig-it was turtle-heady pretty good. So I ran through the dark maze, down the stairs, and pressed the elevator button. Too late! By now, it was prairy-dogging. I ran upstairs and grabbed a piece of carpet I used to protect my rope to shit on. It was dark. I finished my business and rolled up the carpet, and headed top the roof, figuring I would have some grade A entertainment by flinging a huge turd on some unsuspecting passerby from 20 stories, LMAO! But alas, as I unrolled the carpet, the turd was missing!! I had to find it- i had just fallen under suspicion of being the culprit, when the buliding engineer stepping in a turd I had pinched and covered with roofing rocks. But it was dark, and it was a maze. I took a lighter, staying low to the floor and creeping along, slowly tracing my footsteps, when my boss, also my cousin and partner in crime appeared. He says what the fuck are you doing? I said, well, Heh, I'm looking for a lost turd. I exlained the situation to him, and knowing if another building engineer stepped in another turd, we would be in serious trouble. We couldn't find it. We headed bach to the roof, and in the sunlightlight, he looks down, and says, coz, ther it is. It's on your shoe.
Perhaps some of you will think I am a disgusting fucker, some of you will think I'm mildly amusing. But all of you, one time or another have shit your pants. You know it's true.


add a comment
offline 135
Thu, July 24, 2008 - 7:37 PM
keepin it real
pants? what pants?
Fri, July 25, 2008 - 5:41 AM
Hahahaaa! I had drunk some super dieters tea, I thought i was safe to leave the house cause i shit the whole day before, but to my surprise i couldn't, I think i did about 100 mph trying to get home and plop there it was! I know how you feel!
Sat, July 26, 2008 - 3:55 AM
ha ha ha ha' Freakin' Awe'

Scinny dippi9ng in the river in Oct' brother this is what binbags and large ballons are made for'
So you can keep shitting and pissing whilst in inter-galacti laxatative consumption'
Just cut the corners off the bottom of the bag' n' slide your legs through the holes' then tie the wate band good stylee around your lower chest'
Sock ballon for the dork' sorted' you can slosh n' hum as long as you like' he he he'

Cool write brother Thanos'
Your the man'


Nobunoni +
Thu, January 22, 2009 - 9:35 AM
Ha ha -Intergalactic Laxative
I had forgotton all about that one from the Dr. Demento show...'if shitting is your problem when you're out amoungst the stars, the Intergalactic Laxative will get you from here to Mars."