E R N I E ' S   H O U S E   O F   W H O O P A S S

Let me put it straight out. I can only shit at home. That's right. Not at the boyfriend's house, not at work, not on vacation. Just can't do it - unless it's related to food poisoning or taking 4 or 5 Ex-laxes. But on a normal day, every time I try, I get all nervous and veto the idea and wait the four more hours until I can go home. It's a dreadful way to live, but I've gotten used to it over the years. BUT, then I realize, only tonight, how foolish that psychosis is. I'm sitting here in my clean, dry pajamas with full-seat, cotton, white, OLD LADY underwear wondering if E-coli has just decided to make my cunt its home. Yeah. You heard me, so lemme tell you my story.

I was at my work holiday party this evening. Feeling fine, not drinking too much and not eating too much (for once). So, after the buffet dinner, I'm sitting, chatting, etc, etc... and feel a little bit of a twinge in my stomach. I figure that I'm getting gas from something I ate, so I ignore it. Half hour later, I'm almost doubled over in pain, so I put a fake smile on my face and try to say quick good-byes. I have to get out of there because something is rumbling in my stomach that is determined to let loose. I head for the door and two co-workers ask for a ride to their car. Oh my GOD, I have to get out of there, but I say "sure." One of the co-workers makes a pit stop. I'd like to too, as I'm sure I could have gone in THIS type of emergency, but realize that it would be a very bad scene so I veto the idea of getting a little "tension release" in the hotel restroom.

I drive them to their car, wondering if I should run into the office and let loose, but I convince myself that I can make it home - only about 7 miles. I start to drive, just as I entered the Ted Williams tunnel or as I call it "the point of no return", I almost crash my fucking car because of the painful twisting of my intestines. So then I convince myself that maybe if I let myself let out a little bit of that gas that's building up, that will take care of the pressure inside so that I can make it home. NOPE. It was not a fart that wanted to escape. It was a hot, liquid blast of shit that escaped my ass and I couldn't even stop it. The pain subsides for a moment, and I kind of like the warm feeling as it was about 12 degrees outside, but soon realize what actually MADE that warm feeling.

I JUST SHIT MY PANTS!!!!

So I try to scootch myself up off the seat so that I don't squish it. The problem here is that I'm wearing a short velvet dress with a thong and sheer nylons. I was wishing that I were one of those girls who wore that old-lady underwear because it would have a place to collect. NOPE! And worse off, I drive a stick and every fucking time I had to change gears, my left leg would squeeze the shit between the threads in my nylons, my thong, my legs. I was in a panic. Half way home, I shit again and again. Painful, putrid smelling explosions from my ass. I COULDN'T STOP THE SHITTING. And the SMELL. OOOOHHHHHGH! I began to get nauseous so I opened the windows. Dry heaves escaped me as I tried to balance myself above the seat and trying to stay on the road. I finally get home - by the way, my co-workers live in the same direction and actually PASSED me on the road as I shat my arse off.

I got home and was happy that I drive with a pillow on my seat. I hobble out of the car, crouched over, exhausted and in pain. I climb the three, NEVERENDING flights of stairs as shit drains down my legs. No one home - thank GOD! I hobbled to the kitchen, while drops of shit marked my trai. I grab some trash bags and spread them out on the bathroom floor. I take off my jacket - NO, my SISTER's suede coat that she let me borrow because it was so much nicer than mine. The entire bottom had fallen victim to my shitting frenzy. My driving pillow? That's a goner. I pull off my shoes. At least there was no shit there. I pull off my nylons and thong in one shot and am amazed at the amount of shit that came along with them. Liquid, mustard yellow and smelling so grotesque. Then I panic. I'm still wearing my dress, because I'm afraid to take it off. I wonder if I should just hop in the shower with it on, but realize the mess that is all over and between my legs. I think..."maybe I can just cut it off and throw it away", but it was, again, my SISTER's. I was dripping shit all over the trash bags at this point and would never have made it to the kitchen to get scissors.

So I do it. Yes, I pulled the dress up, over my head - the ONLY WAY IT COMES OFF!!!! As my dress slid up my body (I tried my best to do it without contact), I smeared shit up my back and into my hair. I plop the dress on the floor and hit the shower. It smells so fucking nasty in my bathroom, but I MUST wash this shit off me. I have a dreadful shower, trying to clean myself and clear the shit away from my urethra and vagina....all the while wondering if E-coli or fecal coliform are somehow being splashed into my most private of parts. I get out of the shower and throw my dress and bra in the tub. I trash my nylons and thong. I consider my sister's beautiful suede coat. I know she doesn't wear it in the snow or rain. What the fuck do I do? I'm not taking it to a dry cleaners so that I can explain that I SHIT on it. I think, "maybe it'll dry and no one will notice," but then I smell it. EWHHHHH!! So...what else can I do? I tossed it in the tub. Well, she can wear it in the rain NOW, I tell you.

So my little velvet dress, bra, and sister's coat are taking a bath right now. And the first thing I did after that was put on the biggest pair of white, cotton, full-seat, old fucking lady underpants because you never know when your ass is going to explode....you might need a place to hold it until you get home. And if ever again I need to shit in public, well, just get the fuck out of the bathroom if you don't like it, because I'm not wearing this shit home.

Merry Christmas!