Funny story Long read but funny

[Chadd]

The Ryan's Steakhouse Story

by Anonymous

Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this
group and I am aware that a small number of things are perhaps sheer
fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth.

Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. 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 too 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
shit. 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 shit.

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
portions. 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 shit at the exact same second
that one's 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 halfway 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 is 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 crouched 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 shit no
matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is
apparently an evolutionary thing since shitting 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 shit the consistency of
thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my
ass.

But remember, I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment.
The shit 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 halfway 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 shit wave, though of
considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance
off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls - unlike 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
shit remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just
collapsed upon.

Now, back to the vomit...

While all the shitting 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 sweatpants 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 shit
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
shit. All while thick shit was spread all over my ass in a ring
curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no fucking 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.

[Crash Anderson]

I can't believe I just read that...

[Chadd]

LOL.... Great story huh...

[Ken]

I read that years ago...

It's so outrageous...it's probably true.

[MrPolaris]

Well I must say that I am not getting the last 15 mnutes of my life back form reading that, but it was an entertaining story. . . just what I needed after the long day I have had. . .

[Mr. Miyagi]

I fell asleep after the second sentence..... OMG. I'm A.D.D. lol.....

[Thrasher]

lol...i have that somepalce, thought i posted it here about a year or so ago...guess not.....still a great story