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My third year of college I went to Australia to play rugby. I played for the Manly
Rugby Union Football Club and had an amazing time. Manly is great town. I had an
apartment within walking distance to the beach, the game field, the practice field, and
the bars. In addition I had a cash-in-hand job that paid $100 a day. Enough to cover
rent, food, and booze. Manly is north of Sydney, and we played in the Sydney rugby
competition. The Sydney rugby season is a long one, with about 20 games in 6
months. After the season ended, I went with a few buddies from the team to Surfers
Paradise. The group included: Muscles, Slim, Red, Marsden, and I. Our goal: get
drunk for 4 days straight, get laid, and look at strippers’ titties.
Surfer’s Paradise is in the southern portion of the state of Queensland which is the
state above New South Wales which is where Sydney is located. It is sort of the
spring break spot in Australia although it was not spring break when we went. I know
what you are thinking: thanks for the geography lesson asshole, just get to the
fucking fecies but this is what they call background!
We spent the first few days going to strip clubs and going to the bars at night. We
pretty much drank all day and all night. By the third day I was hurting but still up for
it. After coming back from the strip clubs and with a little bit of a buzz we decided to
get KFC for dinner. I am not a big fan of KFC but when I am drunk I will eat anything
(that’s right ladies, anything!).
While eating the KFC, I jokingly said that I was going to shit myself later (I believe
they call that foreshadowing). After a few Victoria Bitters we headed into town.
Downtown was about 1 or 2 miles from our hotel and in between there was a strip
club. One thing I remember about the strip club was this one stripper with huge
boobs on her tiny little body (huge boobs on a girl with a tiny body ----- BRILLIANT!).
The surgeon that operated on these whoppers should win a noble peace price. We
should send this broad to Iraq to end the conflict. Both sides would put down there
weapons and stare at her titties. The crazy Iraqi fucks would be too busy whacking
off to bomb us. I think these titties were made out of helium instead of silicon
because they seem to be defying gravity.
We ended up at this place called Shooters, which could be the single best place to
drink in the entire world. First of all, there was a bikini contest going on. You would
think this would deter the chicks but this place was packed with ‘em. Secondly,….ah
fuck this! I am way too lazy to make a list of why this place was awesome. Just take
my word for it.
I started off the night talking to some hot broad. Not porn star hot, but the type of
exotic hot where you would actually be concerned with her orgasm if you ever got
that far. The song “Kung Fu Fighting” came on and we went off to dance. Somehow
I lost her, which is probably good because when “Kung Fu Fighting” comes on I sort
of become a man possessed by Bruce Lee’s retarded cousin. I think I start to believe
that I am “..fast as lightening” when I do my karate kicks and chops while I dance.
I thought she ditched me when all of the sudden she reappeared…and she had
multiplied. Goddamn it if it wasn’t ridiculously-hot-identical twins. I am not exactly
sure what I said, but I am pretty sure I was stuttering worse than Bugs Bunny. At this
point Slim came up to jump on the goddamn-hotter-than-shit-grenade-sister. My
memory is a little hazy, but I am pretty sure he said something about how he is tired
of his girlfriend complaining about having to get so many abortions. Okay, maybe he
did not say that, but there was enough uncomfortable silence that I considered
farting just to break it.
Needless to say the twins left, although a good portion of that would be due to my
lack of game in addition to Slim’s lack of game. I kept drinking until around 10 o’
clock. About then the shit monsters came calling. The ironic thing about Shooters is
that while it may be the best place to drink, it might also be the worst place to shit.
From what I remember, the toilets were simply nasty.
The shit monsters were not fucking around. They wanted out and they wanted out
now. I quickly evaluated my options: 1) Shit at Shooters (sounds like an adult
themed children’s book) or 2) Shit somewhere else. I chose #2.
My plan was to calmly walk home then shit in the hotel. About 10 seconds into the
walk I started sweating from shit pains. I realized I would not make the 1.5-mile walk
unless I ran. So I broke into a jog. The shit pain got worse. I broke into a stride.
Shit pain worse. I shit you not (that is called a pun) I broke into a fucking sprint. If
you put me in the same situation and told me I had to run 4 laps around the track
before I could crap, I could break the world record.
There were a lot of people roaming the streets of Surfer’s Paradise and they were all
looking at me like I was running in the finals of the Special Olympics (only much
faster). Finally I made it back to the hotel dripping with sweat. The combination of
my feet hurting and the shit pains made me walk with a strange limp.
Earlier, we had hid an electronic key card in the bushes because we only had one.
The first one home was supposed to use it, and then let everyone else in when they
called him. I limped over to the bush to get the key, and as I was leaning over to get
it, I noticed that the key was not there. This is where the shit monsters revolted.
I completed lost control. I was wearing boxers so it was a pretty clean out. Crap has
a pretty bad rep but I will give it this, it is pleasantly warm. The amazing thing about
KFC is that somehow you can shit out more after eating it than you ate in the first
place. I would guess that I ate about 27 ounces of chicken. While I am not sure
because I did not have access to a scale, I am pretty sure I shit out about 79.4
ounces.
After I was done pooing I sort of stood there for a second and thought: wow, I just shit
myself. I stayed pretty calm, and did a quick assessment. Most of the crap was
resting at the bottom of my right pant leg. It was conveniently pinned there by my
pants and the rugby sock I was wearing (rugby socks look like dress socks when
worn with pants). Luckily, there was nobody around that saw what happened. I could
not get to our room because you need a key to get into the building. I could call our
room and see if anybody was there but I did not want them to know I shit my pants.
I needed to clean up. I found a solution. To my left was the hot tub and pool area.
Too keep the non customers out they had a fence about 8 feet high around the pool
area. I limped over to the fence, being especially careful not to bend my right leg
and let the poo fall out. Once I got to the fence, I jumped up using mostly my left leg
and grabbed a hold of the top of the fence. The fence was made out of long wooden
pickets and was sturdy enough to hold up my weight and the 79.4 ounces of shit
(estimated). I was able to kick off the fence with my left leg while pulling up with my
arms. All the while I kept my right leg straight to avoid losing any of the pooh. For
some reason I thought it was important to keep the pooh in my pants.
At the top of the fence I was able to carefully swing my right leg over the fence. Then
I swung my left leg over and used my arms and my left leg to lower myself to the
ground and drop the last couple feet or so.
I took off all of my clothes except for my boxers. I threw my pants and one sock in the
garbage. However, I still had fecies on my shoes, leg, boxers, and all over my ass. I
took my right shoe over to the pool and cleaned it off. Next I got in the hot tub and
started scrubbing off the fecal matter. The bubbles were quite effective at cleaning
off the poo. While in the hot tub, I heard someone outside the fence. I quickly went
into commando mode and ducked underneath the surface of the water. While under
water, I tried to look up through the water to see if I could see anyone outside the hot
tub. There were little pieces of pooh floating all around me. It was sort of like being
inside a toilet while it was being flushed. When I resurfaced, there was nobody there.
Having cleaned off, I decided to try and get back to my room. I threw my shoes over
the fence, put my shirt back on, and climbed back over. I called up our room, and
realized Muscles was the bastard that beat me to the key. He came down to let me
in, and as soon as he saw me I confessed. I am not much of a liar and would have
had trouble convincing him that I had just decided to go for a swim and then decided
to throw away my pants.
When I got back to the room I took the longest shower of my life. The next day I told
everyone what happened and I had a new nickname: Winnie the Pooh.
Next up on Just Put that Fecies Anywhere:
Urine Luck
More Fecies Stories