Friday, March 16, 2012

This Is The Post Where I Talk About The Time I Pooped My Pants.

This is the post where I talk about the time I crapped my pants while viciously vomiting in The Pilot's parents basement while the said parents and The Pilot happen to be having a dinner party upstairs.

Yeah, that statement? I never thought I'd have to write that sentence in my life ever. This is my life, this is what my life is about. Crapping my pants in the basement during a dinner party.

It all started when we had the bright idea of going to The Pilot's parents for a few days because it seemed like the best idea ever after I went to school and paid a shit ton of money and suddenly became instantly poor. You know, because I gave them all my money. And they took it without ever making eye contact and treating me like every other John on the street who's dick they suck for money. But, you know, like the metaphorical dick of money. Because I don't have one. Or, at least, I think I don't have one.

So, between running to the bank and paying the school and packing up our stuff we happened to forgot to eat before we left and that's a big no no in this household because if The Pilot doesn't get three square meals a day that's packed full of meat he starts murdering little baby kittens and turns them into baby kitten angels.

OK, I haven't seen this happen yet but I can assure you that's what he probably does.

Half way to his parents we stop at Tim Horton's for some quick food because we figured it would be better than the other options and also, hello, we're fucking Canadian. Duuuhhhhh.

We eat it, continue our journey, get to his parents, have a great time, spend the night, and don't have sex because it's his parents house and that'd be weird. Also, we didn't bring condoms. Duuuhhhhhh.

The next day we get up and help around the house with some painting and moving things around when mid-day The Pilot starts feeling like crap and is all poopy. And I make fun of him because that's sympathetic to his plight.

And then a few hours later, right before a dinner party his parents arranged with family members, I start to get fucking poopy. Like, this poop? It's not even poop. It's orange water coming out of my ass.

But that's OK! Because I can power the fuck through this and while in the basement trying to get dressed I figure, BATHROOM TIME! And I get up and get to the door and BLAAARRRFFGGGGHHHHH! I vomit all over the brand new carpet that was just installed the day before we got there. And it just keeps coming.

When there is a break between the throw up I rush to the bathroom to finish throwing up only for it not to finish. It just kept coming.

And then I fucking crapped my pants because of the force of the vomiting. 

Yes, I crapped my pants. Like, no just a tiny squirt. Full on crapped. Pants destroyed. Underwear ruined. Dignity shattered.

The best part? Everyone upstairs was having a good time and laughing. It sounded as if they were laughing at me crapping myself. It was the perfect soundtrack to the shame I was feeling at that very moment.

I probably kneeled at that toilet for a good ten minutes crying my ass off because I had just crapped myself in The Pilot's parents house. I never thought I'd have to carry around that dirty secret ever. It's not like when I first came into their home I was secretly thinking "I'm so going to fucking ruin your carpet and shit myself all over the place, just you fucking wait."

But it gets better! Once I've cleaned the bathroom, myself, and changed into The Pilot's pajama pants and stashed my shitty pants outside in a bag, I go to the stairs and ever so quietly call "The Pilot!" up the stairs in hopes my baby whisper would come to his attention.

Thankfully his dad noticed and told The Pilot to come downstairs. And then I burst into tears telling him I shit myself and vomited all over the floor and I need his help cleaning it up. 

The Pilot takes one look at the vomit mess I had made and the fucker throws up twice as worse all over the place in response.

Because he's sick too. And always throws up at the sight of vomit. That part I should have remembered when I was asking for help.

At least he didn't crap his pants too.

The people upstairs? Still laughing.

And the pooping? Didn't stop.

I bet these people are so happy to have me as part of their family.


  1. Are you joking? Projecting bodily fluids from two orifices at the same time? Not only should your family be happy to have you, they should be proud of you.

    1. They better be happy or else I might just have to violently ruin more of their good things.

  2. Oh God! I had that poop once. It was awful!!! The worst part? I was at my neat-freak in-laws' house and they got wind that I was not hot into Amway or whatever it was they were selling and proceeded to have a "talk" about it the entire time I was trying not to shit my pants on their white couch.

  3. Ohhh...reminds me of last summer when I got food poisoning. Not. Fun.

    Trust me. You WILL live this down.

    -Barb the French Bean

    1. The upside is if I don't live it down they will probably die first of old age.

  4. My buddy calls that 'shurling'

    Shitting and hurling at the same time.

    He must do it often enough he decided to give it a name.

    1. I'd be concerned that your friend has named it. He must shurl all the time.

  5. I feel like a total bitch for laughing at this, but it did make me pee myself a little, so, you know, we're sort of even now.

    1. I'm a total bitch for laughing that you peed yourself a little but that's OK, I shit my pants.

  6. I really need to stop reading your blog at work. I just guffawed so loudly that 5 people turned to look at me. Did I also mention that I pulled muscles in my chest and back last week, and now I may have done more damage from laughing? Worth it.

    P.S Sorry you pooped your pants I peed my pants in my car once...when I was 19. Yeah. That happened.


I once punched a baby kitten and then it died of cancer. The punch might have given it cancer. Comment or I'll punch you in the baby-maker.

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