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 Posted: Fri Nov 16, 2007 6:50 pm
Shadow in the dark Jer excellent choice in theme. :3
Yes, yes. They're awesome n' all, but for once the theme actually applies to a character, so xp
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Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2007 6:44 am
Want to make Lokapele a happy kitty for Christmas? The song in your sig for Loke's Theme? Mhmm. I think it fits him very well. Then get something off of her Christmas Wishlist!
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Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2007 10:15 pm
I like to call this short story Mobile Diarrhea Jihad. Usually I save it for webcam conversations so I can watch people fall out of their chairs laughing, or spew various liquids upon the screen and camera, but I thought I should share it with you gaise so you'd be prepared. >.>
The Gurgle
All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to pick up an order for my wife. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathroom. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 0 through 4 for your convenience:
0. Occupied
1. Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
2. Poo on seat.
3. Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
4. No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #1. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly shameful shitter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
Hurricane Sphincter
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Shitter was blathering to Mrs. Shitter about the shitty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder in one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall. The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Eye of the Storm
Once my a** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench.
It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poopmate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with the suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that? (gag)"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side onto the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my a**l symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth.... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficulty to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by a string of swear words and gags. My poopmate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
The Aftermath
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final a**l announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced to the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty, unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom--momentarily proud and shameless--looking around for a face glaring at me, but I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has manged to transfer my shamefulness to my anonymous poopmate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.
The End
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Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2007 10:36 pm
Amazing story. Actually made my girlfriend turn around and ask what I was laughing so much about during a scary movie.
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 1:45 am
All I can say is... typical American humour Jer. I think I yawned at about the third stage of that story and that was it. Sorry.
Anyway!
For any of you who HAVENT heard! I had my Ortus re-inked. Now this SHOULD turn into a funny story JUST for the fact it involves me in my most splendid sadomasochistic moments ever. And the idea of me in true pain is one you will not come across often.
Now, before I begin, it is VITALLY IMPORTANT we all remember something here. A tattoo, folks, is COLOURFUL SCAR TISSUE. You know, that thicker kind of skin that has more nerve endings stuck in it that it has any right to? Right.
And I went to the tattooists, and sat for FIVE HOURS under teh gun having BOTH SIDES reinked, one after the other. At first it was ok. I winced a bit. I had the red ink done first. I even had a conversation, as the guy who runs the shop, a friend of mine now (You will note if you ever shop with me that with the exception of food bills, I NEVER pay retail price for ANYTHING cos I know everyone, or I know someone who DOES know them), had bought me a coffee not half an hour ago and we had sat chatting in the coffee shop, and now I wished to bring my tattooist up to date.
Then came my USUAL reaction to pain, stage 2 if you will. I started panting like a whore in heat and moaning. The small little u shaped details on the inside of each ortus run along the sensitive top ridge of my shoulder. I moaned. I whimpered. I panted. My tattooist was heard to remark 'THAR she blows! There's those noises....' and grin madly. Yes, I sound like Im having sex when Im in pain. Oh well.
Enter stage three. He is now inking in the large sections at the front and back of the slope up to my neck. This is skin full of nerve endings NORMALLY and its now SCAR tissue. I did something unHEARD of for me having a tattoo - I gritted my teeth and keened with ACTUAL pain. Unbelieveable! I never grit my teeth. Im more of a tense your whole body up kind of person. But there it was.
And then IT happened. Mucalinda's head. The bit highest up on my body. I SCREAMED. And no, the S shouldnt be in brackets. ******** OW. It felt like he was peeling the flesh off with a scalpel. It BURNED. TEARS were running down my cheeks and I was heaving for air. Adrenaline flooded my entire body, I lost feeling in my nose and cheek bones and started shaking like a leaf. I went whiter than normal.
Now, much as this scene of total pain from me in itself is a wonderful event of rarity in and OF itself... it's missing a certain me-like quality and I DID promise sadomasochism.
I was laughing.
Now I dont mean the quiet, agonised chuckles some peopel occasionally utter when they are fighting pain here. I mean FULL on deep throated manical LAUGHTER. I was roaring with amusement. My tattooist actually moved his chair away form em once he finishe dthe head and I sat there crying like a baby and laughing like a villan. I was officially dubbed one sick puppy and asked if I was ok.
Five minutes later, I was. I could stand again, my neck was a firebed of hot aching pain a sthe ink settled in and I managed to stop laughing and drink a sugary drink. Apparently, I kept muttering 'There is a fine line between pain and pleasure' over and over.
Then I had the other side done. I went straight from ok, through stage 1 and 2 in half and hour then jumped straight to stage 3, then 4 for an entire HALF AN HOUR.
By the end of it, I was a wreck. Exhausted form adrenaline rush for 5 hours straight, I couldnt stand or move for 10 minutes. I shook like a leaf and sat talking until I felt better, then slowly dressed. Oh yes! I forgot to mention my toilet break....
After I had the red one finished, I needed the loo. SO I borrowed teh keys to the staff area downstairs and took myself off. Now, there is a slight problem here. I am still shaking a bit, I have a VERY painful tattoo on my neck, and to get to the arcade's staff room, I have to go downstairs through the goth shop (packed with people), walk past the two music stores, the music accessories stores, the phone shop and the tobacconists, then let myself into the room, which is usually full of builders working on the facade of teh entire arcade. Fun. I cant wear a top at this point. I have a bra on, but the straps are hanging off me. I got some very weird looks.
Anyhow! I dressed, and as I did so I was taling to my tattooists girlfriend, who is a very high up lady in computing. Which you wouldnt expect if you;d ever seen her back and chest. Her back is a MASSIVE showpiece of a phoenix that curls from the back of thights right up to just under the base of her neck. It is a thing of immense beauty, as it the massive black rose on her chest. She has small dots (5) tattoo'd over her collar bones and so she knew EXACTLY why I was screaming when I was and SHE told me I was her hero at the end of it. Effectively, all the tattooists and tattoo afficonado's present agreed a re-ink on the collar bone is possibly one of the maddest things anyone has done in their studio and I earned some kind of pain award, for all they didnt want to get too close to my laughter.
I tottered out of the shop eventually, having bought a new sword from downstairs, a cloak for myself, and a SWEET a** Malmsteen-esque pair of leather trousers and black ruffled shirt for Bard as part of his xmas pressie, and wandered home. I ached my way there, desperately dmanding my iPod touch took my mind off the pain in my neck. Regardless... I got home. Only to recall I had to go out at about 8pm for a damn Anne Summers party with some of the girls from work.
Now, I dont know how many of you have had huge tattoo's done in one day. I dont know how many of you produce quite the same amount of adrenaline I do in response to pain, or how many of you have ever experianced the thoroughly WASTING downer you get when it WEARS off. Having been through this feeling many times from both fighting AND tattoo-ing, I knew I was going to be a wreck, but I STILL went.
The idiots gave me alcohol as well. I tried on far too many slinky outfits for everyone's benefit, made some terribly lewd comments about the vibrators, admitteded wholeheartedly to the actual truth's behind my sex life, and ordered a butt load of stuff by the end of the night. Then I came home, giggled once, and fell asleep.
How were your nights guys? sweatdrop xd
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 7:30 am
... So wrong. XDDD
Needless to say... I choice a bad time to read it, my mom was trying to rock Kat back to sleep... and I couldn't hold back the laughter and tears. XD
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 8:59 am
Jer, not only am I disgusted at the thought of you writing a STORY about your issues in a public bathroom, but I feel like kicking your a** for writing- how many paragraphs was it?- About 13 full paragraphs on it. May I just say,
What the ******** is your problem? Are you PROUD of it? D=
And my lord, if you can write that well about s**t, maybe I should pay closer attention to your RP posts. -Insert Facepalm Here-
XD;
Roan, if anything, your stories of tattooing, and being re-tattooed are probably only pushing me closer to getting one later on in life. When I'm 50 years old, monsterly in size and fat rolls, I will blame you for the stretched out, unrecognizable vision of ink I get in my early twenties. Though, I'll probably be grateful to you at the time that I get it. If not, then uttering every foul word in my vocabulary after saying your name.
Though the thought of you at an Anne Summers party? D= I'm sorry to say, but my brain simply can't picture that. Something about the image doesn't seem to want to show itself, so I'm left with some rather demonic image of you burned into my retinas.
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 9:44 am
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 9:55 am
Roan DeSeer I SCREAMED. And no, the S shouldnt be in brackets.
Goddamn right it shouldn't. Respect my gimmick, woman. heart
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 10:56 am
lol - hopefully there should be photos from me in a moment...
Check the photos thread ^^
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 12:20 pm
Nice...for some reason, I thought that Corbin had some similar tattoos...on his neck or shoulders. Could have been wrong. As a side note, apparently I look good in lipstick and painted nails. >_>
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 12:35 pm
in b4 Roan starts drooling, getting odd ideas, and (s)creaming.
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 12:41 pm
xd Corbin does indeed have those tattoos, on his neck, Naota. I have them with his permission on the tops of my shoulders.
*commences drooling and man love etc*
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 12:44 pm
o.o; Are they really hot on him or something? *Fails to understand why there is drooling, let alone how Loke predicted it.*
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Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 1:09 pm
*Snickers and pets Naota.* Have fun and don't clench... >>
*Curls up with Jerbear.* Jerbear ish all knowing. >>
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Reply
