Spook’s Playhouse

Posted on gaf.com for the humor of readers I have no clue who are.  Copy and pasted here for my family to know what hell they put me through.

Come here occassionally to laugh at your guys humor, post ever so rarely. Once again my good friend Zesty directs my attention to this thread with a simple “this thread was made for you lol”… Poop to me is hilarious so I was audibly laughing at both well described and detailed stories.

I have a story as well that can only be similar to the original thread poster.

A little info. I can’t eat onions. My family knows this. They USUALLY prepare a portion of whatever meal that they might be preparing sans onions for me, and the rest of the family gets to enjoy the delight of onions. To be honest tho I don’t really like onions so I’m not missing much. Well, regardless of whether or not I remove onions from whatever food I’m about to eat, even if it was improperly cooked with the onions that I asked to be removed, it’s littereally a crap shoot. I fight the odds to see if enough of the acids from the onion have been absorbed by the rest of the food that was cooked with said onions or do I get a hall pass.

One Thanksgiving I’m out in Madison, as my sister is hosting the family’s Thanksgiving Dinner that year. Well, in her preperations, she had forgotten the slight detail of my ever struggling gamble with the onion. Onions were litterally in everything. Me living in Milwaukee, which pending on how fast you drive, can be done in an hour or an hour and a half. Later that night on my return home, unknowingly I would test that time. After removing like a whole onion from my dinner, every bite that I took from that plate was just adding another bullet to the already overloaded gun. After dinner I was testing the waters so to speak. And amazingly I seemed fine. An hour past with no indication of anything to worry about. Then two hours. I had the feeling that I would be able to drive home with no incident. Wishing everyone a good evening I departed to take the one hour drive home.

Now for those of you not familiar with the Madison to Milwaukee drive, there are a couple stops. Usually 10-20 miles apart. Keep that in mind.

As I pull onto the freeway, I get the first indication that something is afoot. I pull on my seatbelt to relieve any pressure that might be placed on my intestines and then decide to fully unbuckle my seat belt as to not help things along. Unfortunately the intestines are to wide to hopefully block said passage ways from allowing whatever batter that was brewing to make it’s way further down the pipe work. To be honest with my system, any outside pressure pretty much assists anything to go down. So this move bought me some time, for when taking off my seat belt, the issue seemed to pass. An exit approaches… I guage the feelings in my gut and decide that I should be okay and not need any stop to vacate that which is brewing on the inside.

Two miles after the exit passes, it hits like the force of Comet Levy Schumacher 9 hits Jupiter. The bullet gets loaded into the chamber and the firing pin has met the primer… oh it’s coming now… and not much can stop it. I start wriggling in my car seat… hoping that some movement can buy me any amount of time, a second, a minute, a few minutes… anything… that prickly sensation starts to form on my neck knowing how screwed I would be if I unleash this hell that my sister has brought upon me. Sweat beads form on my forehead as I contemplate what to do… I pray for a Johnson’s Creek exit sign to appear in my headlights… I decide to do what any motorist would do at that time… as the pressure builds inside my bowels, my foot pushes down on the accelerator. At the time I’m driving a ‘94 Saturn SC2. I pray that the tiny engine’s dual over head cam system can get me to the light at the end of the tunnel. I’m doing 85 miles an hour on the freeway. Johnson’s Creek 2 miles ahead. I push the accelerator down a tad more… 87 miles an hour. I notice in my rear view mirror that a new set of head lights has appeared on the freeway out of no where. I dismiss it as maybe I passed someone not realizing it since I was concentrating with every fiber of my being to hold back that which was destined to destroy my car. Doing 90 now as I see the lights of the outlet mall on the Northside of the highway… holding back everything now as I don’t have much longer to last. I see heaven. The PDQ gas station which is about a half a mile away from the exit. I squirm a bit more… once again looking in my rearview mirror to see that the car behind me has caught up… and there’s something above its roof… “F**************ck…………” Well I ain’t stopping. As I get on the exit I’m about half way down the exit before I hit the brakes to slow down as to take the right turn ahead at a safe speed. And now the trooper is on the exit. He’s catching up fast and I start to think maybe I should just shit my pants right there so that he sees why I was speeding. However, duty calls and I need to make it to my planned destination which is a half mile away. Flying down the remaining state highway to the PDQ I park as close as I can to the front door and as I’m bolting to the rest room I see the trooper pulling in to the gas station. (This guy’s determined.) Now for the grand finale.

Normally I’m sh*t shy. I can’t poop if there’s another person in the bathroom with me. But for the last 15-20 minutes I’ve been holding back the doodoo demons racking against my sphincter for release into the free world. I don’t care if the Pope himself is doing his evening glory in the stall next to me. This stuff is coming out and I don’t care what it does.

Pants around my ankles, ass against free air it all releases with that great nice peaceful sound of detonation after detonation of air, and fecal matter splattering the porcelain. In the middle of the third detonation I hear the bathroom door open and the sound of boots and keys. The distinguishable sound of a police officer walking into the restroom. I could care less… my ass isn’t done with the percussion part of the show and is still going on.

The trooper had his answer. He was waiting to say it as he witnessed me flying down the freeway. In all his glory, he got himself a speeder on Thanksgiving. All hell was going to come down on this motorist. I knew he was going to ask the question, “What’s the hurry, kid?” Well… at that moment… my ass was giving him the answer.

The rest of the drive home I did 64mph. Just to make sure.