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How to poop at work

Discussion in 'The Lounge' started by sunnyc123abc, Dec 16, 2005.

  1. sunnyc123abc

    sunnyc123abc 1/2 ton status

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    Got this from another forum.

    Pretty funny

    HOW TO POOP AT WORK

    We've all been there but don't like to admit it. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORKPOOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work.

    CROP DUSTING:
    When farting, you walk briskly around the office so the smell is not in your area and everyone else gets a whiff but doesn't know where it came from. Be careful when you do this. Do not stop until the full fart has been expelled. Walk an extra 30 feet to make sure the smell has left your pants.

    FLY BY:
    This is 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.

    ESCAPEE:
    This is 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 embarrassment.
    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:
    When forcing a 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 to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

    COURTESY FLUSH:
    The act of flushing the toilet the instant the poop hits the water.This reduces the amount of airtime the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

    WALK OF SHAME:
    Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. This very uncomfortable walk can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

    OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER:
    This is acolleague who poops at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under his or her arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.

    THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (P.F.N):
    A group of co-workers 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:
    A Safe Haven is 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.

    TURDBURGLAR:
    This is someone 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 poop 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:
    A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall is called a Camo-Cough. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. The Camo-Cough is very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

    ASTAIRE:
    An Astaire is a subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will all doubt that the stall is occupied.
    If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can
    poop in peace.

    WATERMELON:
    A watermelon is a big poop that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. Thi s is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

    HAVANAOMELET:
    A case 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 TODD:
    An Uncle Todd is a bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. This person could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror orsitting on the pot. An Uncle Todd makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should alwayswait to poop when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as other bathroom attendees.

    Hope the Survival Guide helps, as the WORKPOOP is an inevitable part of life
     
  2. MTMike

    MTMike 1/2 ton status

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    Really funny! That one always makes me laugh :D

    I have a safe-haven at work, personally.
     
  3. TSGB

    TSGB 1 ton status

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  4. 2High4U

    2High4U 1/2 ton status

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    That is halarious!:haha: :rotfl: :rotfl: :rotfl:
     
  5. txfiremank5

    txfiremank5 1/2 ton status

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    Even though I've seen it several times, .. I still like it. :wink1:
     
  6. kyser_soze

    kyser_soze 1/2 ton status

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    They need to add the "Proud Father" the dumbasses that leave their pride and joy for everyone to see.:D
     
  7. pauly383

    pauly383 Daddy383 Staff Member Moderator

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    Oh I wish I may , I wish I might , didn't have to put a sign up and lock the doors at work so I can go tonight .

    Only drawback to running the store solo :wink1:
     
  8. Stickseler

    Stickseler 3/4 ton status

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    We just walk into each others office, Bust A$$ and shut the door and leave.
     
  9. walla2k5

    walla2k5 1/2 ton status

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    That was seriously funny......again.
     
  10. roadnotca

    roadnotca 3/4 ton status

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    poop

    Visual. Big company, six stalls, of course I selected the one against the wall, seems more homey. Someone just about knocks the restroom door of the hinges, slams shut the metal stall door, just about unlatches mine. The seat slams down like a .22 shot, with echo, no ass gasket. Then this nuclear blast goes off; I raised my feet!!
     
  11. MTMike

    MTMike 1/2 ton status

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    :haha::haha::haha::haha::haha:
     
  12. newyorkin

    newyorkin 1 ton status

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    :haha::haha::haha::haha::haha:
     
  13. BoondocK5

    BoondocK5 1 ton status Author

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    In the large government facility like where I'm at, 12 stalls, stinks no matter what happens because it's been there since Jesus walked the earth, and is solid concrete and tile, so, it echoes!
    Your afraid to sit on a throne for fear of who was possibly there before. So you have to build the gigantor of an ass gasket, which is commonly called of all things a "Falcons nest" being as how we work on Falcons... it's easier to just try to avoid going in there.
     
  14. RGV72BLAZER

    RGV72BLAZER 1/2 ton status

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    :haha: I definitely use the camo-cough :haha:
     
  15. jonrpick

    jonrpick 3/4 ton status

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    Poop related hijack...

    This always makes me laugh--long but worth it.

    :haha::haha::haha:

    -----------

    I was a cute, relatively artistic, outgoing, 4 or 5 year old, attending the very small, catholic nursery school, under a church in Tottenville town in Staten Island, New York, St. Marks Preschool. When it came time to create a beautiful frame that would eventually hold the professional photo we would take in class, I took the task seriously. When instructed to bring Elmer's white glue, I brought Elmer's white glue, not yellow wood glue. When instructed to bring small, tubular, dry pasta, I brought small, tubular, dry pasta, not pastina, or Chef Boy-r-dee. When instructed to be careful with the glue, and not to apply too much, I glued each and every piece of pasta individually to the circular cardboard frame. Some students, I distinctly remember, were covering the cardboard in a thick layer of sloppy glue, and pouring their bags of pastina over the top. It looked terrible. There was no effort, no craftsmanship, no love. Mine, on the other, screamed hard work, and love.

    Some time later, the teachers helped us spray-paint the dried frames a lovely shade of gold. Gold, as you know, is the color of love, and rich people. When finally dry, the frames were ready for picture day. When picture day finally came, I was also very ready.

    I was dressed in my favorite blue pants. I wore a casually but neat, horizontally striped long sleeved, buttonless shirt. I looked cute.

    The students lined up and waited, in size order. I was one of the taller kids, so I was near the back of the line. Each students' preparation ritual consisted of the teacher combing their hair the wrong way, tucking their shirt in too far, and twisting their clothes into something far less than flattering. I dreaded the upcoming “adjustments” and stood impatiently on the line. After some time, I realized that I had to go to the bathroom, for number two, not number one. At the time I called it “poo” or “poop.” After a few more seconds, I realized I had go BAD. I was at least 6 or 7 students from the front of the line when I realized it was an emergency. My legs clenched together, and I decided to hold it in. This would prove to be the critical error.

    In order to understand what was going through my head, you must understand the bathroom situation at St. Marks Preschool. There was no bathroom in the church basement classroom. There was a bathroom up the stairs, through the church and in the back room where the priests would prepare before Mass. I know that sounds fishy now, and I guess it was. As much as I no longer consider myself Catholic, I can assure, that I was never inappropriately touched or fondled. It was, however, a terrifyingly supernatural experience for a young child. So complicated was the procedure, and so likely was the possibility of getting lost, that a buddy system was implemented and no student was permitted to the bathroom alone. My buddy, was always my best friend, Nicky. He was a nerd, even for a 5 year old. He had thick, black-rimmed glasses. His jet-black hair stuck straight up out of his head in every direction. It had no style, just “out.” He was nice though, from what I can remember. Anyway, the process of getting permission to go, getting the buddy, finding the bathroom, doing number two, cleaning up, and navigating back to the classroom, was, in my mind, bound to take an eternity. I was worried, panicked even, that I might miss my turn in front the camera. So, I made the conscious decision to hold it in until my turn had passed.

    As my turn was coming closer, the emergency was getting worse. I am sure I was red-faced with strain and discomfort. My legs were twisted together and butt-cheeks were clenched tighter than a crab's. My intentions were good. All I wanted to do was take a picture for my mother and present it to her the frame I had so carefully created. It was for her. I was for her that I agonized over the placement of those macaronis, for her that I used the right glue, for her that I dressed so nicely, for her that I stood there struggling with my own body, and for her that I sh!t my pants.

    I don't know exactly when. I think there were two or three students left ahead of me for their pictures. All I remember is that I let go. I gave up. I lost control. And I sh!t my pants. You have to understand what I mean here. Unlike Friday night, I did not have “the runs.” I was in perfect health. When I say I sh!t my pants, I mean I sh!t them. The whole thing. I completely relieved myself right into my pants. It sucked. And then it was my turn.

    I waddled up to the teacher's aid who would “adjust” me. She, as expected, un-combed my hair, twisted my shirt, and escorted me over to the chair on which I would sit. And I sat. And it was as horrible and you might be now imagining. I sat right in it, and struggled to smile. My hands joined by their fingernails, my nostrils flared, and my lips and teeth struggled to smile. Click. Click. It was over. Not really.

    I immediately walked over to the teacher and told her I needed to use the restroom. Following procedure, she teamed me up with Nicky, and we began our journey through the church. I distinctly remember Nicky asking me why I was walking funny. I didn't answer. We navigated our way up the stairs, through the church, and into the back rooms. We found the bathroom. It had a sink and a standard public stall, complete with crappy locking mechanism and open bottom walls and door.

    I entered the stall. Nicky waited outside. I slid my pants down and examined the mess. It was bad. Real bad. I did my best to clean it all up, and it strikes me now that I didn't even consider tossing out the underwear and going without. The underwear clearly took the brunt of the attack, and much embarrassment could have been saved if I'd just considered throwing them away. In any case, I didn't. I struggled to clean them with toilet paper instead. The memory is vivid. I will spare you any more detail on this process except to say that it wasn't very efficient. As a side note, I didn't spend any of the time in the bathroom relieving myself any more. The fact was, I was done. I had done the whole thing in my pants.

    I guess I was taking a long time, because after a while, Nicky had come into the bathroom and was asking questions. “What's taking so long?” “When will you be done?” “Are you OK?” My responses were short and panicked. “Everything is fine.” “Wait outside.” “I'll be done in a minute.” It wasn't good enough for Nicky and he approached the stall door. The door was hinged to open inward, and Nicky began to pound on it. I really panicked. The last thing I wanted was my preschool best friend to see a load of crap in my underwear.

    He pounded and pounded, and I yelled for him to stop, but he didn't. The door swung open just as I raised both feet up to get ready to kick. The door partially opened and I kicked out with full-force. The door slammed back towards its closed position but was intercepted by Nicky's face. The noise was horrendous. Nicky let out a surprised and injured noise that startled me. The aluminum door boomed. The floor slapped as Nicky's half-unconscious body fell to meet it. I remember distinctly looking down and seeing the bottoms of the soles of his shoes under the partial door. He wasn't out cold, but he was hurt, and moaning. I apologized, but quickly went back to work lining my underwear with six or seven layers of toilet paper.

    Finally, I was finished, or at least as finished as I would become. I found Nicky rubbing his nose and forehead in front of the mirror by the sink. I apologized again but scolded him for entering the stall. His only real injury was to his pride. Little did he know that my pride wound would last for 25 years.

    All I can remember after that is that I did complete the day of school with the rest of that smelly load in my pants. I can't imagine what other people thought. I can't remember what I told the teachers, if anything. I can't imagine what I told my mother. I wish I remembered more of the aftermath.

    Everyone who hears this story always asks what became of the picture. I will tell you. It was printed and inserted into the beautiful frame. A backing was glued on. It was presented to my mother who proudly displayed it on our serving table with the other family memories. I don't remember exactly when I told her the back-story, but I am sure it was years and years later. Where is the picture now?

    When I asked my mother about it, she was confused. Two weeks ago, we tore her house apart looking for it. I thought it was lost forever, and I have to tell you I was pretty mad. Well, as it turned out, it was buried deep in a drawer with other important memories and artifacts of my youth. I was glad we found it. I examined it thoroughly, and it is clear that my memory of its painstaking construction is not as accurate as I thought. Glue can be seen everywhere. Pasta is clearly unevenly spread. My face and hands tell the rest of the story. Take a look.

    [​IMG]

    So, it’s all true. I sh!t my pants traumatically 25 years ago in preschool, and I sh!t my pants traumatically 3 days ago. The big difference is that today I am not nearly as mortified, and 25 years from now I will remember it because I wrote it down and shared it with the world.

    :haha::haha::haha:
     
  16. mr.smartass

    mr.smartass 1 ton status Premium Member

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    :haha::haha::haha:

    I love pooping at work... we have 5 individual bathrooms in our brand new office building, all with locks, fans and sinks. Getting paid to poop here is great.:D
     
  17. TSGB

    TSGB 1 ton status

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    When I'm pooping, I wait for people to come into the bathroom, and for a lull in conversation. That's when I take hold of my cheek, and flap it back and forth to make wanking noises.


    :haha:

    I can never do it for very long without busting up laughing.
     
  18. Jagged

    Jagged 1 ton status

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    I'm purely evil. I'll leave the lab room to head back to my cubicle, cropdust along the way, fart in my cubicle while I quickly check email... then head back to the fart-free lab.

    We have lockable unisex rooms that are the designated ****-rooms. Other restrooms are designated non-****ting rooms.
     
  19. RockinChevy

    RockinChevy 1/2 ton status GMOTM Winner

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    Well, this got me thinking....

    What rules are you guys applying when using the restrooms at the Slickrock campground at Blazer Bash?? :ignore:

    Just asking because we are an online chat forum group, and you all know how we speak amongst ourselves. :laugh:
     
  20. jekbrown

    jekbrown I am CK5 Premium Member GMOTM Winner Author

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    I actually prefer to poop at work. Save $ on TP, water and cleaning supplies, plus it saves you a little time. Why waste time off taking a dump when you can do it at work and get paid for it? :grin:

    Only downside is that when I'm on 2nd shift, I am by myself in my office, so I have to haul ass, drop the duece and get back to my station. :thumb:
     

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