The Steakhouse Incident Now, I know that there is a lot of embellishment that occurs on this group and I am aware

that a small number of things are perhaps sheer fabrication, but I have a story to tell that is the absolute truth. Funniest damn thing that has ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment. We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down as far away from the front of the restaurant as possible in order to keep the density of kids down a bit. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you -- in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was sated. Perhaps a bit too much, however. I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in real trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first, I thought it was only gas which could have been passed in batches right at the table without to much concern. Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive diarrhea. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... I got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good steamer, but in this case, the door lock was broken and the only thing I hate worse than my wife telling me to stop cutting my toenails with a pair of diagonal wire cutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a squatter. I went to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall switch proved to be a bit too long under the circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my rear was reaching Biblical proportions. I began "The Move." For those women who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of physiological events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances.

Then I sat down. it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer. I was only half-way down on the toilet at that moment. as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30. I was about half-way into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of those little “children of an unwed mother” attending kids night. Needless to say.. results in the flawless expulsion of excrement at the exact same second that ones rear is properly placed on the toilet seat. To put a freeze frame on the situation. an enormous plug of excrement the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my rear. The wave was of such force and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall at an angle of incidence equal to the angle at which it initially hit the toilet seat. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since bowel movements will not kill you. My attention was thus diverted. But remember.. four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch. hooking ones fingers into ones waistline. And once that reflex started. . I would not have been bothered by such a thing. when performed properly. it even assures that the other tool is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the urine stream lets loose at the same time. most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over bowel movements no matter what is about to come slamming out of your rear.you know. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally. my rear exploded in what can only be described as a wake. Recall that when that event occurred. my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. I was already half-way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach. the wave. It is a very fluid motion that. but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. though of considerable force. Normally. Done properly. it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall.000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. you're going down no matter how limber you may be. with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. even though you throw water at the puddle. Now. the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet. but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense. beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet. What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy. and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls. like what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose. but when you get beyond a certain point. At that very split second. pants pulled down to my knees. that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex.There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet. I was half crotched down to the toilet.

And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper. back to the vomit. spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet. so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. positioned in between my knees and waist. but in no way was prepared for what happened next. but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles. I told him where we were sitting and he left.with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet. When the manager walked in. yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit.. I was still sitting on the toilet. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. and still had enough force to come back at me. he brought the toilet paper with him.. I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear. new pants. my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. All while thick poo was spread all over my rearin a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new . though. Therefore. What could I do but laugh. did I mention that I was wearing not just pants. new socks. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past. covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid poo.. and a couple of Big. Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants. bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs. my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice.. two or three Cokes.. Until I asked her. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet.There was a significant amount of excrement remaining on about onethird of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon. a couple of logs. my back covered in sludgee that had bounced off the toilet. OK. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall. Oh. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. and the event ended. the vomit was still on its way up. I think he was probably assuming that I had tinkled just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign. So I bent over. About two minutes later. And there was no $%##@ toilet paper. Now. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. she probably assumed that I had laid down a small rock or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. In one mighty push. At that point. some three pounds of macaroni and beef. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. there were a handful of farts. a new shirt. In the next several seconds.on the inside.. While all the other was going on.

what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage of just slightly above. commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately. At that moment. Just as I was finishing. I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again. but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door. She left. the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten. I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. I explained that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with. She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later. When I finished getting dressed. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. I was in a commercial bathroom. three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. Without giving him specific details. but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing. The manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done. washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way. handing the bag to my wife. He hooked up a hose. The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House. but when I walked out. still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little kid walked in. by far. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes.sneakers. At that point. Steve Crisp . Fortunately. They have. whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store. I had only made a mess.

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