The Damned Thing

// // 27 Comments
m 1+ points - Newb
0
0

The end of the world at our place of work did not happen like it was supposed to, or at least not like we had planned for it to end. Or, to be more precise about the matter, the end of our workaday world did not end like we had been instructed to plan for. Things started to go all to hell when word got out that our section was to be considered culpable in the unwise petitioning of Pinkeye Finkelberg's public relations firm for information regarding their departmental policy of Civilian Extravasations. We had a man following the story as it developed, and Jerry Duke did what he was told and waited patiently, watching the events unfold in the usual plastic fashion, just as had been scheduled to happen.

It seems needless to point out, but it took quite some time, as you can no doubt imagine, for the documents in question had to make their way back to us through a bureaucratic maze of channels and filters before finally reaching our cubes where, once perused by the corner office, we finally had a chance to set eyes on the damn thing.

Our Section Chief at that time was Officer Terry "Twenty-Three-Foot" Thompson, a man who needed no introduction. Thompson staked his claim to departmental fame—if that's how you're inclined to describe such dubious notoriety—by birthing an anal entity on the locker room floor one day after work.

What made Twenty-Three-Foot's feat so impressive was that this semi-solid log extended well past the rim of the bowl until finally its unrelenting growth forced Thompson to stand, half-squatting, and laying the remainder of his slippery loaf right there on the terra cotta tile floor in front of God, the watch commander and everybody, including that nubile new recruit just up from Mississippi.

Before he finished, Thompson was duck-walking across the latrine with his soiled, yellowing under shorts scraping the ground between his ankles. Despite the way it sounds, it really was quite an impressive sight. Thompson's meandering trail of chunky butterscotch pudding spread out behind him in a thin, creamy paste from the scum-crusted toilet wall clear to where the white tile ends, turning underfoot into shower-wet foot stink and watered-down urine mixed with industrial antifungal sprays. This incredible hunk of what came squirming out of Thompson's hind quarters that day was so downright impressive that our entire office staff was inclined to make time in their supposedly busy schedules to watch it happen. They stopped to watch Terry Thompson anally birth what was easily the most talked about event at headquarters for next entire fiscal year.

I can still see it in my head. It happened on a Friday night as we were ending the mid-week swing shift. I was busily wetting my crisp white towel in the stainless steel shaving basin. A fellow named Finkelberg was making mocking gestures aimed at the Gait Recognition Software technician who was sequestered in the very last shower stall abusing what can best be described in current company parlance as his hungering other end. Despite the regular intimacy of our daily locker room rituals, we were all inclined to gawk and awe over Thompson's monstrous creation when, without warning a towel was unfurled at my backside. It cracked out a loud leathery snap, slapping at the soft unsuspecting ass. Red welts were raised on the thinly haired, sunless flesh. But still I couldn't help myself and had to laugh, transfixed by this enviable dump Thompson laid.

It went clear down to the center drain in the community shower and swirled there, gathering at the hair-clogged drain, looking under the buzzing fluorescent lights for all the world like a three dollar serving of frosty gourmet custard.

You can imagine the mix of surprise and pride which swept over those of us in the division. The previous poop production records had all been more solid bits, strainers, splitters and rippers, let go with a torrent of verbal abuse in an uninterrupted chunk of chocolate-colored colon gunk. No, they were hard, knobby offerings held fast internally with grey anal phlegm and polyunsaturated mucus spread through the turds like a complex vein system. But this Thompson kid, his came out soft enough so that when he finally commenced wiping the mess up, the creamy goo got smeared in his center hairs like so much lukewarm sour cream shot through a fast food caulking tube, if you know what I mean.

27 Comments on "The Damned Thing"

daphne's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardSite AdminComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatore 6000+ points

I'm sorry this is so late today, poopers. Last night I fell to a nasty bug. I don't know if it was food poisoning or just a twelve-hour thing, but it knocked my ass out at eight p.m. last night.


_______
.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

spattacus's picture
l 100+ points

Daph, we expect the full report asap!

Mason...Umm,..... Surreal......

daphne's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardSite AdminComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatore 6000+ points

There's not much to tell, Spatt. Lots of barf. My throat hurts. Were it not for the Benadryl (which is the best anti-nauseant over the counter), I think I'd have been up all night hurling.

I have no idea what caused it.

And yeah, isn't this narrative something? I am not sure if I actually believe someone pooped in the locker room for sport, but then again, we've heard weirder at PoopReport.com.


_______
.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

Deja Poo's picture
Comment Quality Moderatorj 1000+ points

Okay. I've read this three times and I still am not sure about what it states. About the only part that seems understandable is the guy crapping in the shower. Of course, why he's doing that is still a mystery to me. Some kind of hazing ritual?
_______
Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Thunderbox's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardComment Quality Moderatorj 1000+ points

No, Deja - it`s Hunter S Thompson reincarnated as our new PR, Mason. Acid, coke, ether, you name it....he`s still on it.

The voice of sanity

flushette's picture
l 100+ points

I think I'll skip lunch..


_______
Remember this: Even hot chicks poop and fart.

When you've got nowhere to go, and you feel it start to flow, diarrhea... diarrhea.

Deja Poo's picture
Comment Quality Moderatorj 1000+ points

I don't know, Tbox. I've read alot of Hunter's books. His mind may have been addled but least his writing was lucid.

With each reading of this story, it seems like there's something there but its just beyond my grasp. I'm still trying to figure out how the whole extravasation thing fits in.
_______
Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Hunter S Thompson's picture

My writing was never fucking addled, Deja Poop; it was always clear and functioning, never giving an inch to asshole politicians who didn`t deserve to get beaten about by my pithy journalism, or any other rats in a hole like this Obama guy who I`m going to follow like.....oh, shit, man, yeah, I forgot, I don`t need to do this crap anymore...fuck it.

sittingpretty's picture
Comment Quality Moderatori 2000+ points

This is a very wordy story. I think I got the jist of it: Thompson pooped a big gooey poop on the lockerroom floor in front of everyone.
_______
...And their flesh like dung. Zeph. 1:17

...And their flesh like dung. Zeph. 1:17

Deja Poo's picture
Comment Quality Moderatorj 1000+ points

Sorry, Hunter, but I wrote that your mind was addled, not your writing. Of course, you might have some reading comprehension problems caused by that bullet that you lodged in your head back at the hacienda.

So, you drug-crazed demi-gawd of gonzo journalism, as your attorney, I advise you to to start stoking up on cabbage soup and visit that latrine in Missouri and show that other Thompson what laying cable was about. And maybe you can piss on his shoes, like you did Richard Nixon's at the same time.
_______
Yo quiero Taco Bell.

Yo quiero Taco Bell.

plop cop's picture
l 100+ points

Mason my man, throttle back a mite on the metaphores and thrust forth a bit with some simple, understandable sentences so that simple folk like myself can decipher what in the wide world of sports you are trying to convey. Metaphors are like whiskey; in moderation greatly enjoyed, overdone not so much...... Welcome to PR!

_______
Now that's what a men's room is supposed to smell like!

Now that's what a men's room is supposed to smell like!

athenivanidx's picture
l 100+ points

Um, I'm confused now.


_______
We three shits of Mathematica are. Laughing on the toilet, har, har!

We three shits of Mathematica are. Laughing on the toilet, har, har!

C Everett Poop's picture
j 1000+ points

This is impossible to read and I don't get it, after trying to. Possibly written by a doper or asswipe is my diagnosis.

Poonanza's picture
l 100+ points

It's not that the words are too big, it's that it's covered by some sort of fog. My mind's eye was squinting and trying to swish away the stratus the entire time, to no avail.

daphne's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardSite AdminComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatore 6000+ points

I decided to read this and pretend that some overly-sotted, buck-toothed English gent with a pot belly and a red nose was telling the story. Maybe like a cross between W.C. Fields and Winston Churchill after a six day bender. It read much easier.

I have no idea why.


_______
.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

craptrina's picture
m 1+ points - Newb

Well... Obviously you work for Fox News.

Blind Mullet2's picture
m 1+ points - Newb

Well, it looks like I've made it back to the front pages again!
Hello everyone.
I tried to read this story, but failed the comprehension test. Maybe I've been to Jupiter, and come back stupider, but I just couldn't get a good grasp of the story.
I see the similarity to Hunter S. Thompson's semi-coherent ravings, but really, twenty three feet? And then theres this passage:
"This incredible hunk of what came squirming out of Thompson's hind quarters that day was so downright impressive that our entire office staff was inclined to make time in their supposedly busy schedules to watch it happen. They stopped to watch Terry Thompson anally birth what was easily the most talked about event at headquarters for next entire fiscal year."
So it was advertised in the Coming Events part of the company newsletter? Posted on a notice board? C'mon, the guy is in the locker room, but the entire floor of workers stopped to go there to see it? Like Halley's Comet?
Sorry Masonite Wicker, I don't mean to be negative, but I think I'll need another glass of Drambuie.

ChiefThunderbutt's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatorf 5000+ points

I was lost while reading the story also. Got any spare Drambuie Mullet? I like to stretch mine with a little single malt, a rusty nail.


_______
Eat chilies and feel the burn!!

If I had two faces do you think I'd be wearing this one?

MSG's picture
Comment Quality Moderatori 2000+ points

I wasn't exactly lost; I could tell who was doing things; it was just unclear what those things were. I gather a guy had an extra-long poop that he had to leave the toilet to finish; intriguing in a way, but still hard to imagine.

ChiliKahKah's picture
j 1000+ points

Lots of description of size and texture but nothing of the stench. If this were so awful, in the humidity of a locker room, you would think there would be some description of the toxic effect.

Rebekkah's picture
m 1+ points - Newb

I thought maybe I didn't get this because English isn't my first language. It is like if Hunter S Thompson, Lewis Carroll and James Joyce had a 3-way flipper-baby, who then wrote story about poop.

Bran Lover's picture
k 500+ points

Just as it became too wordy to understand, my eyes glazed over like a couple of Kripy Kreme donuts.

Why am I craving Taco Bell nachos supreme and Jello pudding?


_______
To affect the quality of the poo, that is the art of life. ~Thoreau, sort of.

To affect the quality of the poo, that is the art of life. ~Thoreau, sort of.

daphne's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardSite AdminComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatore 6000+ points

I like Drambuie, and I used to drink rusty nails, too, Chief. It's probably been twenty years since I've had one.


_______
.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

.....hugging bunnies since 1969
www.daphneszoo.com

ChiefThunderbutt's picture
PoopReport of the Year AwardComment Content ModeratorComment Quality Moderatorf 5000+ points

Och aye lassie, it's nectar frae th' Isle ay Skye an' th' favored tipple ay bonnie Prince Charlie.

Angus MacThunderbutt


_______
Eat chilies and feel the burn!!

If I had two faces do you think I'd be wearing this one?

Rattle yer Dags's picture
m 1+ points - Newb

I dunno, I sort of enjoyed it. The point isn't clear but the words have their own sort of Je ne sais quoi about them. It reminds of reading bad translations of foreign fairy tails, somehow. "A fellow named Finkelberg was making mocking gestures aimed at the Gait Recognition Software technician who was sequestered in the very last shower stall abusing what can best be described in current company parlance as his hungering other end." has a neat collection of alliteration the the rhythm makes me smile.

But yeah, no idea what's going on except that some guy managed to lay a turd all the way out the toilet and across the floor? I also don't know what kind of cube farm has a locker room AND would laugh at poop shenanigans.

Peter Pooper's picture

Was this centimeters or inches? Something might have been lost in the translation.

PooPooTigress's picture
m 1+ points - Newb

....Completely confused O.o'
_______
Shit happens...then you need a shovel.

Shit happens...then you need a shovel.

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