Submitted by GoobaJugger (Washington, DC) on 09.21.16
November 25th, 2013. It started as a Black Friday being trapped in an outlet mall, specifically a JcPenneys searching for a dress shirt to wear for my 6:30pm date with Francesca. Girl was an absolute smoke show and we'd been dating for around 3 months now and she was meeting my parents that night. At 4:45ish, I found myself in a dressing room with a line of 10 people waiting outside. I was trying on some pants and an embroidered plaid shirt, which was very nice. I'd been ripping ass throughout the day, even blaming it on other people in the mall, and up till that point I'd practically gotten away with murder. Almost as much murder as that bowl of chili had been getting away with in my digestive tract. As I was attending to my clothes, I bent over and felt another sweaty fart trying to escape from the depths of my now extremely active asshole, so I let the goose out of its cage. My friends, it was at this moment that I realized it was not another ass ripping, it was one thing and one thing only....Big Dookie. Poopy was launched in at least 7 different directions, all over the clothes I'd worn in, and big dookie filled the room like a Friendlys on Ice Cream Sunday. I quickly cleaned up the shit with the outfit I was wearing, knowing that I'd have to wear the clothes I was attempting to try on. I changed into said clothing I'd picked out, ripped off the tags and left, leaving the bag of shit drenched clothes still in the dressing room as I glided by the line of bystanders. One jackass very eloquently said "It reeks of shit in here." Yes, thank you. He was right though. That had to have been the worse smell that has ever come from a human body, and I've worked as an EMT before, and my friends this was worse than the several dead bodies I'd ever encountered in my life. Running out of the store now in my new outfit and having made out like a bandit, I came upon someone who looked very familiar. Suddenly I was petrified and found myself in quite the pickle, very similar to the pickles my asshole had now found itself in. Realizing I had told Francesca I was at the mall prior to our 6:30 date, of course she'd found the time to track me down and surprise me there. Seeing me, she ran and hugged me with mighty fervor, exclaiming how she couldn't wait to meet my parents that night. I told her that we needed to leave the store immediately. She resisted, saying she wanted to shop, so I took it upon myself to start running ahead of her a few strides, thinking I could lead her toward an exit. Suddenly, as I was running, Big Dookie sprung upon me like an ambush in my stomach. Like a homeless man fighting over the remnants of a forlorn sandwich with a pack of pigeons. This beast was not done yet. I clenched my abused asshole with the will of God, and while I knew it was just my body attempting to hold it in with all the strength at my disposal, my asshole knew it had surely been divine intervention. I quickened my pace while shortening my steps, finding a bathroom out of the corner of my eye with Francesca behind me straggling on. I could taste victory, I could feel the pleasure and security of that toilet seat under my buttocks. I got within ten feet of that bathroom when all of a sudden, the same jackass from before came back screamed, pointing finger at me and said "that's the guy who planted the bomb in the dressing room!" Fearing for my life, I fell over my legs and unclenched my butt cheeks as I went flying through the air. Suffice it to say, I let out a second, angry dump that could only be compared to the second nuclear bomb dropped during World War II. After the attack, I had no choice left but to surrender. My asshole had fought a hard battle, grinding it out and displaying both courage and resiliency that I had never before witnessed. Unfortunately, it was all for naught. The back of my pants had completely blown off and one of the pocket squares laid severed on the ground, ensconced in doodie. "Don't you fucking move!" was the first thing shouted, probably by a security guard. And there I laid. Covered in shit, unable to move. My girlfriend was crying, screaming. Onlookers were passing by, saying a variety of things. "This guy put a bomb in the dressing room and then shit himself in front of his wife." That's exactly what happened. Finally, the head of security came out with a desk attendant by his side, and looked down on me with mercy. He scoffed, then said "Oh, yeah. This guy definitely shit himself." I was then taken into custody and held for 2 hours before they uncovered the bag of clothing, and came to the unanimous conclusion that I had "just" shit myself multiple times and wasn't a terrorist. Francesca and I scampered off to meet my parents, and boy would we have a story to tell them indeed. You would think someone accusing you of being a terrorist, albeit on the largest shopping day of a year in an extremely crowded mall, would be enough for one day. Maybe even a life time. However, shitting yourself for a second time wearing clothes you'd been attempting to steal in front of your girlfriend while being called a terrorist and then being temporarily arrested easily takes that cake. I do believe that I will come face to face with Big Dookie once more in my lifetime. And when he comes, I'll be waiting.
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