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(Washington Post)   Washington, DC has a massive leak problem, which could have explosive consequences   (washingtonpost.com) divider line 41
    More: Obvious, gas leak, aging pipe, explosives, 16th state, Environmental Science & Technology, United States, adverse effect, natural sources  
•       •       •

4317 clicks; posted to Main » on 17 Jan 2014 at 11:53 AM (44 weeks ago)   |  Favorite    |   share:  Share on Twitter share via Email Share on Facebook   more»



41 Comments   (+0 »)
   
View Voting Results: Smartest and Funniest
 
2014-01-17 11:02:10 AM  
Al Roker's back in town?
 
2014-01-17 11:54:34 AM  
Gas, with oily discharge.
 
2014-01-17 11:55:30 AM  
And yet, they found no gas between the White House and the Capitol.
 
2014-01-17 11:56:09 AM  
They will do something about it once an important lobbyist, senator, house member gets all blowed up.
 
2014-01-17 11:58:21 AM  
I smell a Roland Emmerich movie.
 
2014-01-17 11:59:12 AM  
i4.asntown.net

What a massive leek might look like
 
2014-01-17 12:00:28 PM  
Could be me. We froze the bone and meaty leftovers from the Christmas ham and recently made some hearty ham and bean and potato soup, and I'm on day 5 of eating it, and the farts are simply earth-shattering. The office next door to mine is empty, so I keep going over there to "drop ordnance." As luck would have it, yesterday not 30 seconds after I was back in my office a secretary comes round to the empty one to look for something, opens the door and I hear her go, "What the hell?...OH MY GOD--URKH!" and go tearing out of there, slamming the door behind her. Later in the day some maintenance guys were wondering around seeing if something had died in the ventilation system, but couldn't find anything unusual (I'd gotten it out of my system by then), so now they think she's nuts.
 
2014-01-17 12:01:55 PM  

bearded clamorer: [i4.asntown.net image 649x855]

What a massive leek might look like


2.bp.blogspot.com

SOUPS ON!!
 
2014-01-17 12:02:39 PM  
America's D+ in Infrastructure

$3.6 trillion with a T needed by 2020.  If we started this year that's $514 billion over seven years.  The longer we wait to fix it, the more it's gonna cost.

We got a D+, we're gonna graduate!!
 
2014-01-17 12:03:09 PM  
The team, after warning Washington Gas about those 12 locations, retested them four months later and discovered eight places where the gas buildup was still at concentrations that could cause explosions.

Team - THERE IS A GAS LEAK!!!

Washington Gas - I'm on FARK right now. I'll put it on my "to-do" list and check it out in 4 months.
 
2014-01-17 12:06:44 PM  
Crumbling infrastructure? Who has money for that?
 
2014-01-17 12:07:01 PM  

Prank Call of Cthulhu: Could be me. We froze the bone and meaty leftovers from the Christmas ham and recently made some hearty ham and bean and potato soup, and I'm on day 5 of eating it, and the farts are simply earth-shattering. The office next door to mine is empty, so I keep going over there to "drop ordnance." As luck would have it, yesterday not 30 seconds after I was back in my office a secretary comes round to the empty one to look for something, opens the door and I hear her go, "What the hell?...OH MY GOD--URKH!" and go tearing out of there, slamming the door behind her. Later in the day some maintenance guys were wondering around seeing if something had died in the ventilation system, but couldn't find anything unusual (I'd gotten it out of my system by then), so now they think she's nuts.

----------------------------------------

A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shiat, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shiat. I went to the normal stall.
In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.
I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shiat at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shiat no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shiatting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shiat the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shiat wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shiat wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shiat remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shiatting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.
In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shiat that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shiat. All while thick shiat was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no farking toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being.

She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
 
2014-01-17 12:10:34 PM  
Researchers who conducted a street-by-street survey of the District found nearly 6,000 natural gas leaks from the city's aging pipe system

Lightthematchlightthematchlightthematchlightthematch

BOOM

Heeeehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehehe!
 
2014-01-17 12:12:35 PM  
See, I was going to open up a hookah bar in Tenleytown but I guess that's off now.
 
2014-01-17 12:15:24 PM  
Washington Gas spokesman Guy Fawkes says there is nothing to worry about, and the fact that all these gas leaks are near congress is just  "a coincidence".
 
2014-01-17 12:16:55 PM  

ChipNASA: Pbbthtthhbbthththtthpfffftttttt flibberappappappappappappoooooooooot squiiirrrrrrrrrrrrt ppbptthth.


Delicious copypasta. I laughed so hard, I didn't even make it to the office next door. Like the man who's the only church attendee, I'm sitting in my own pew. Desperately fanning it toward the door and hoping nobody comes to visit me before it dissipates and my shame is revealed.
 
2014-01-17 12:23:57 PM  

Millennium: And yet, they found no gas between the White House and the Capitol.


The hot air flowing between the Capitol and the White House forces the methane out. This is called positive air pressure containment.
 
2014-01-17 12:31:33 PM  

bearded clamorer: [i4.asntown.net image 649x855]

What a massive leek might look like



I was too slow...at least I actually checked first before posting....

// ...trudges away dejectedly.
 
2014-01-17 12:32:04 PM  

Prank Call of Cthulhu: ChipNASA: Pbbthtthhbbthththtthpfffftttttt flibberappappappappappappoooooooooot squiiirrrrrrrrrrrrt ppbptthth.

Delicious copypasta. I laughed so hard, I didn't even make it to the office next door. Like the man who's the only church attendee, I'm sitting in my own pew. Desperately fanning it toward the door and hoping nobody comes to visit me before it dissipates and my shame is revealed.


I work in two offices....I have a CLOTH bottom chair in my morning office which totally muffles any gaseous ass cheese...well the other day I was in my second office where I'm helping out this really hot project support young lady who is training me......few problems....it's the Program Office, it's open (door always open to the hallway) and has tile floors (acoustics) and the chair they provided me has a *MESH* seat...... and I forgot where I was and when I felt this *significant pressure*, like in church in the summer in shorts on a flat, wooden pew, I tried to squeak out a tiny fart.....NOT. HAPPENING. I "accidentally" ripped out such a fart that it hurt my ass cheeks AND I was certain that *everyone* up and down the hallway heard it because it was deathly silent at the time.....I prayed....pleasedontsmell....pleasedontsmell ....pleasedontsmell ..and then it hit *my nose....Got DAMN!!! That's RANK!!! I sat there for a few seconds praying no one would walk in, the young lady I work with wouldn't suddenly appear, AND thinking maybe there was some way i could bail from the office without anyone seeing me. .... I tiptoed to the door and it was CLEAR. I turned left and like 6 feet away, I ran outside and took a nice walk around the building (even though it was like 40 degrees and I had no jacket), came in the back door and headed directly to the basement where I found a not often used men's room and had a "meeting there" for about 10 minutes to try to "pump the septic tank"  if you will.
Dodged the bullet but wondered if I surreptitiously crop dusted more than a few people.

/true "no shiat" story from a few days ago.
 
2014-01-17 12:32:24 PM  
All Taco Bell's were ordered to close.
 
2014-01-17 12:38:35 PM  
How to Poop at Work
We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our cubicles and suddenly felt something brew down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work. Memorize these definitions and pooping at work will become a pure pleasure.
ESCAPEE
Definition: a fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of panic embarrassment. This is similar to the hot flash you receive when passing an unseen police car and speeding. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee, it is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.
JAILBREAK (Used in conjunction with ESCAPEE)
Definition: When forcing poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom so to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.
COURTESY FLUSH
Definition: The act of flushing the toilet the instant the nose cone of the poop log hits the water and the poop is whisked away to an undisclosed location. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.
WALK OF SHAME
Definition: Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with all farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.
OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER
Definition: A colleague who poops at work and damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under their arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.
THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (PFN)
Definition: A group of coworkers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.
SAFE HAVENS
Definition: A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.
TURD BURGLAR
Definition: A pooper who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a dump at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.
CAMO-COUGH
Definition: A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.
ASTAIRE
Definition: A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.
WATERMELON
Definition: A turd that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.
HAVANA OMELET
Definition: A load of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire.
UNCLE TED
Definition: A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to drop your load when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.
FLY BY
Definition: The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.


/poop thread
 
2014-01-17 12:39:14 PM  

ChipNASA: I have a CLOTH bottom chair in my morning office which totally muffles any gaseous ass cheese.......it's the Program Office, ...and the chair they provided me has a *MESH* seat


Oh man, I've been there. Whoever invented the mesh seat chair apparently wanted to help end swamp-ass, but apparently had never farted in an office environment before. I prefer a deep squishy cushion that'll absorb the sound and smell. Those mesh chairs are evil to the prodigious farter such as myself.
 
2014-01-17 12:44:47 PM  

generallyso: Crumbling infrastructure? Who has money for that?


Not the US, we have that money dedicated for wars baby. No infrastructure spending until Northrop Grumman et al get a chance to form construction companies.
 
2014-01-17 12:50:38 PM  
I had an assistant that hired a data entry clerk that had been in a severe auto accident.  She had one good eye and the other one just kind of wandered around.  It was unsettling talking to her.  But it wasn't just the wandering eye.  She burped and farted more or less continuously unless you were talking to her.  If she knew someone else was in the room she would excuse herself, which only made it worse due to the frequency.  When you burp and fart every 30 second, excusing yourself after each outburst only adds to the discomfort.  But if you were talking to her or in a meeting she'd stop farting and burping, and the gas would just build up.  After about 10 minutes she'd start squirming, and that would be followed by obvious distress.  When the meeting ended (and they all ended ASAP) she would let it all out in one massive burp/fart compilation that would last more than a minute.

Thank God it didn't stink too.
 
2014-01-17 01:14:56 PM  
" Hi! I work for Washington Gas!!"

www.srbcommunications.com

i1191.photobucket.com
 
2014-01-17 01:20:48 PM  

ChipNASA: " Hi! I work for Washington Gas!!"

[www.srbcommunications.com image 257x194]

[i1191.photobucket.com image 224x163]


You work for it?  I figured it would have come naturally to you.
 
2014-01-17 01:21:50 PM  
'Researchers who conducted a street-by-street survey of the District found nearly 6,000 natural gas leaks.......'

435 or so in one building on the hill alone.Go figure.
 
2014-01-17 01:36:42 PM  

groppet: They will do something about it once an important lobbyist, senator, house member gets all blowed up.

Maybe if we are all  lucky, there will be more than one blown up!
 
2014-01-17 01:47:30 PM  
Time to ban Wow chips.
 
2014-01-17 01:57:50 PM  
Could it be because no matter what, at any given time, about 1/8 of all streets are being ripped up for some reason and then hastily covered with asphalt and steel plates? Maybe it's just because of the massive building and real estate boom that's still going on around here. I thought it would peter out but it's just kept going since the big financial collapse.
 
2014-01-17 01:59:18 PM  
Washington Gas is a public company that has been making a profit and paying dividends to shareholders but every time there is talk of infrastructure improvement with utilities like this they throw their hands out and say the govt needs to pay for it.

Anyone know why we are subsidizing for profit companies?
 
2014-01-17 02:01:59 PM  

ChipNASA: Prank Call of Cthulhu: Could be me. We froze the bone and meaty leftovers from the Christmas ham and recently made some hearty ham and bean and potato soup, and I'm on day 5 of eating it, and the farts are simply earth-shattering. The office next door to mine is empty, so I keep going over there to "drop ordnance." As luck would have it, yesterday not 30 seconds after I was back in my office a secretary comes round to the empty one to look for something, opens the door and I hear her go, "What the hell?...OH MY GOD--URKH!" and go tearing out of there, slamming the door behind her. Later in the day some maintenance guys were wondering around seeing if something had died in the ventilation system, but couldn't find anything unusual (I'd gotten it out of my system by then), so now they think she's nuts.
----------------------------------------

A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I w ...


TL;DR
 
2014-01-17 02:16:06 PM  

ChipNASA: Prank Call of Cthulhu: Could be me. We froze the bone and meaty leftovers from the Christmas ham and recently made some hearty ham and bean and potato soup, and I'm on day 5 of eating it, and the farts are simply earth-shattering. The office next door to mine is empty, so I keep going over there to "drop ordnance." As luck would have it, yesterday not 30 seconds after I was back in my office a secretary comes round to the empty one to look for something, opens the door and I hear her go, "What the hell?...OH MY GOD--URKH!" and go tearing out of there, slamming the door behind her. Later in the day some maintenance guys were wondering around seeing if something had died in the ventilation system, but couldn't find anything unusual (I'd gotten it out of my system by then), so now they think she's nuts.
----------------------------------------

A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress...

I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good shiat, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a shiat. I went to the normal stall.
In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my ass was reaching Biblical proportions.
I began "The Move."

For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of shiat at the exact same second that ones ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can.

In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crotched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over shiat no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since shiatting will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted.

At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of shiat the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. The shiat wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down.

Recall that when that event occurred, I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the shiat wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of shiat remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.
Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shiatting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles.
In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants...on the inside...with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in shiat that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid shiat. All while thick shiat was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no farking toilet paper.

What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being.

She left.

The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose.

Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.


Holy shiat ChipN. You've long been a favorite, but this makes it official. I just... I'm not sure what if any comment I should add to the favorite marking. "Restaurant Reviewer?" Pity the favorite colors don't include brown.

You are one funny, upbeat guy.
 
2014-01-17 02:16:21 PM  
Yes, our infrastructure is aged and crumbling.

Remember that movie Elysium? I expect to see something like that in the next 150 years in this country except the rich and affluent won't be living on a space station but in walled, guarded cities while everyone else is relegated to eking out a living in a decayed urban wasteland.
 
2014-01-17 02:24:06 PM  
Was it really a good idea to publish a map of potentially explosive gas leaks in the nation's capitol?
 
2014-01-17 02:32:36 PM  

brimed03: Was it really a good idea to publish a map of potentially explosive gas leaks in the nation's capitol?


What could possibly go wrong?
 
2014-01-17 02:38:51 PM  

MechaPyx: brimed03: Was it really a good idea to publish a map of potentially explosive gas leaks in the nation's capitol?

What could possibly go wrong?


We fix the cable leaky gas lines?
 
2014-01-17 02:42:48 PM  

uber humper: ChipNASA: " Hi! I work for Washington Gas!!"

[www.srbcommunications.com image 257x194]

[i1191.photobucket.com image 224x163]

You work for it?  I figured it would have come naturally to you.


NO I was posting that as if i was the dancing poop. I don't work for WG.
/gas, yeah i have NO problem with that.
 
2014-01-17 02:47:50 PM  

brimed03: ChipNASA: Prank Call of Cthulhu: Could be me. We froze the bone and meaty leftovers from the Christmas ham and recently made some hearty ham and bean and potato soup, and I'm on day 5 of eating it, and the farts are simply earth-shattering. The office next door to mine is empty, so I keep going over there to "drop ordnance." As luck would have it, yesterday not 30 seconds after I was back in my office a secretary comes round to the empty one to look for something, opens the door and I hear her go, "What the hell?...OH MY GOD--URKH!" and go tearing out of there, slamming the door behind her. Later in the day some maintenance guys were wondering around seeing if something had died in the ventilation system, but couldn't find anything unusual (I'd gotten it out of my system by then), so now they think she's nuts.
----------------------------------------

A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphrag ...


Well Brined03 that's not My story it's a copypasta internet story that's been around for a while of some other guy's experience but you can read about me and Prank Call of Cthulhu's Office Fart antics and those are real stories from us. (See shorter antics above)
 
2014-01-17 04:14:38 PM  
Wait until they hear about the dilapidated steam distribution system administered by the GSA.
 
2014-01-17 08:59:40 PM  

static3.wikia.nocookie.net

 
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