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The "I couldn't hold it in" thread

Discussion in 'Off Topic [BG]' started by FireBug, Oct 25, 2005.

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  1. FireBug


    Sep 18, 2005
    Inspired by steveksux' nightmare pee post in the "biggest idiot" thread.

    I know everyone here has been in a situation where they just had to go so bad they couldn't walk. Whether you couldn't find a place to go or the place was too foul. The pressure builds up to an unbearable amount, then, sweet release... and hopefully you made it to a toilet or a tree with no cops around.

    Maybe not.

    Where were you when this happened to you?
  2. Munjibunga

    Munjibunga Total Hyper-Elite Member Gold Supporting Member

    May 6, 2000
    San Diego (when not at Groom Lake)
    Independent Contractor to Bass San Diego
    Sometimes I have to go so bad that, when I finally get to the urinal, I fear I might be asleep and only dreaming that I'm really there.
  3. FireBug


    Sep 18, 2005
    That happened to me. I could have sworn I got up to go to the bathroom. One time it ended up ok and I woke up after using the toilet in my dream to dry sheets.
    The other time...well...not so good. :meh:
  4. karrot-x

    karrot-x Banned

    Feb 21, 2004
    Omicron Persei 8
    That happends to me a lot on car trips and things like that.
  5. SuperDuck


    Sep 26, 2000
    There was one and only one time where I honestly didn't think I was going to make it and was going to pee my pants.

    I was in traffic, in the 'burbs (i.e., no forested areas to just go in), and was too far to turn back and too far to hold it until my destination. I started panicking, which never helps the situation.

    There are no business around, either. Mostly residential. Not even a gas station or a Walgreens.

    Finally! A 7-11!

    I run and tell the guy I really need to use the restroom. I believe I stated that it was an emergency. He said it was for employees only. I begged him. I told him I would buy something. He said no. Now, I'm not normally this aggressive, but I said that if he didn't let me use the bathroom I would have to pee on the side of the building. For some reason, that made him say yes. I did, and it was a glorious moment.

    In retrospect, if some kid has said that to me, I would have let him pee on my building and then called the cops on him. Luckily, this fine merchant had pity on my poor urinary tract.

    I bought a pack of gum and was on my way.
  6. DigMe


    Aug 10, 2002
    Waco, TX
    Well not really pee so much as explosive diahrrea. I believe I've shared this story before.

    Where was I? On a date at the beach with no bathrooms around.

    When we finally made it to our next destination (karoake), after playing it cool and pretending that I DIDN'T feel like all of my internal organs were trying to escape through my sphincter, I got to the bathroom and someone was in the only stall. Oh crap...seriously..CRAP..it was practically coming out.. Some of it did get out. oops...I'm on a date wearing light khaki pants trying to play it cool and I just crapped while standing in a bathroom. Luckily I was wearing tighty-whities that night and it mostly contained the escapee. I took out my trusty keychain swiss army knife, cut the undies right off, threw them in the corner of the stall, wiped up and I was off. She knew nothing except that I kind of spent longer than average in the bathroom...which is better than "Are you kidding me? My date -A GROWN MAN- just crapped in his pants?!"

    brad cook
  7. Brad, been there. Except I got pulled over for running a stop sign. I told the cop "follow me home, because I'm not crapping in my car. Write any ticket you want." I HAD already proceeded to grow a bit of tail.

    He let me go. Didn't even get my I.D.

    Thankfully I was about a quarter mile from my house.
  8. keb


    Mar 30, 2004
    The first thing that came to my mind was when I was in 6th grade. I really, really, really had to pee all throughout science class. My teacher didn't allow me to leave. So, finally, after that class period lets out, I race to the bathroom, get to a urinal, struggle with unzipping my pants, and I didn't quite make it in time.
  9. Once I went on a walk and I thought I could hold it.

    It got so bad to the point where I was seriously thinking about going on someones lawn.
  10. OK, this story has never been told to anyone before and it's something that I'm very embarrassed about, but equally proud of. In high school (12th grade), me and this girl had been friends for a few months. We hung out all the time, but never really went further then just normal friend stuff. So one night, we're driving around in another girl's car (a friend of hers). Just wandering aimlessly with nothing to do. Eventually we stopped at a gas station, got some beer, went to her backyard and drank it. Later we ended up at a pool hall (billiards, not swimming). After some pool and lots more drinks we're back to driving aimlessly. Don't worry though, the driver was totally sober and always responsible like that.

    So we're driving around forever and somehow I didn't feel the urge building up, all of a sudden it was just there and I had to go BAD. I asked the driver to stop somewhere, but we were at least 10 minutes from a bathroom. Being with 2 girls and somewhat drunk, I was feeling too much like a lady's man to pee on a tree so I had to wait. Eventually, when I'm about ready to just let loose on the dashboard, I see a Burger King a few blocks ahead and I freak out like a little kid going to Disney Land.

    We park, I sprint to the door, run past the lady saying "can I help you?" and just ignore her. I'm EXPLODING now. I open the door, get to the toilet, unzip and just a second before I get IT out, it just starts going. I get IT out and finish in the toilet. Then I look down terrified at my pants. There's pee on them. A good deal of pee, not like I just let it all go, but enough to be visible and very embarrassing. I panic for a minute, thinking "WHAT THE FU** AM I GONNA DO NOW" for a good 2 minutes straight. Then it hits me: I'm stupid. I'm wearing a hooded sweatshirt with a t-shirt underneath. I take off the sweatshirt.

    I leave Burger King, still terrified, holding the shirt in front of me to block it. Fortunately, the girl that was in the back took it upon herself to steal my front seat, so I jumped in the back and plopped the shirt on my lap, concieling it. We drove around for another hour nonstop before we ended up in front of her house again. I was still sure there would be some visible wetness, but I had no choice. I got out of the car with them and started for the backyard, preparing for the worst night of my life. I stayed a step behind so I could check it out and BAM. I'M DRY! I DID IT! I got pee all over my pants with TWO GIRLS, stayed within 3 feet of them for an hour and they had NO IDEA. I'm the man at this point. With new-found confidence, I waltzed to the backyard, grabbed another beer and relaxed in the comfort of knowing there's a bathroom just inside the door.

    And to top off the evening, as if I didn't already feel like the master of the universe, I got me the first kiss. We ended up going out for 8 months, and she'll never know that the first night we were together, started with me pissing on myself. :)
  11. Bravo.

    Just the image of you running past the "may I help you?" woman is hilarious.
  12. AuG


    May 22, 2005
    Fort Collins, CO
    I just took a road trip to Colorado about 2 months ago. Driving by myself, of course I had to take rest stops. For some reason after I stopped at a rest stop, I get back on the road and feel the urge to pee, I mean really pee. I'm desperately looking for the next exit, rest stop, whatever, and I see a sign that the next rest stop is 37 miles down the road. 37 miles??? I start looking around my car for a plastic bottle or something, anything that could hold liquid. Finally found one of those big gatorade bottles and let loose while doing 80mph on I-80. I had to put the bottle in one of my cup holders, I sure as heck wasn't gonna let that thing roll around my car and risk breaking open. Luckily I didn't think it was apple juice or something after a couple more hours of mindless driving. :smug:

  13. DDXdesign

    DDXdesign formerly 'jammadave' Supporting Member

    Oct 15, 2003
    Wash DC metro area
    Can't believe I actually have a forum-sponsored place to tell this story...

    OK - I was, I dunno, 10 or 11? My best friend's dad took him, me, and his big brother to Six Flags in NJ. It was a compact pickup with a cap on it - the dad and the big bro were in the only two seats, my friend and I were in the truck bed.

    Well it's a 3 hour drive to Six Flags, and when we get there, the first thing we do is the Drive-Thru Safari! Woohooo! Wild animals that could kill you if you got out of the car! (we were in the truck bed, but there was a cap, remember)

    Sure enough, 5 minutes into the little safari, I had to pee like I had never felt before. No buildup. Tried to hold it - that got difficult, so I was bouncing up and down - friend's dad opened the sliding window and was all "hey, quit shaking the truck!"... Well I can't, I have to pee! and it's like 30 minutes until we're done with this drive thru.

    So I had to find a bottle - okay, empty coke bottle, scoot to the back of the truck for some privacy..... ahhhh - wait - going, going, it's filling up fast guys! I have to change receptacles!

    Only other thing in the whole truck was a plastic grocery bag. crap. well it'll have to do.... Well upon my transition I couldn't stop - I peed all over my friend (up at the front by the truck cab) and myself before getting it in the bag. That was a LOT of pee.

    The kid's dad, once we got in the park proper, had to front me the cash for new clothes until I got home, and buy his own kid a new shirt on the spot.

    I felt so bad... and yet so good at the moment....
  14. xshawnxearthx


    Aug 23, 2004
    new jersey
    If its pee, I usually just whip it out and pee.

    Now, mr cook. I have two stories for ya!

    7th grade. I had just moved to nj from ri. This was the first 7th grade dance of the year. Besides the fact about bugging on what to wear I ended up getting really sick. I remember it was at the local club my uncle had owned and we were allowed free soda. I hated soda, so I drank cranberry juice. For those who know, craberry juice can do numbers on your system. So after about 8 or 9 cups, I did some kareoke to vanilla ice(I'm 25, this was at age 11) and the night was going very smoothly. I had even broken at of my shell and danced with the girl that lived down the block from me, I had such a crush on her.

    So as the night went on, I started feeling crappy. I hated pooping in public places because it was so gross. So I felt I would wait it out until my mom came to pick me up. Before I knew it, I had to ****. It was coming and nothing was stopping it.

    So I go to the bathroom. The liquid threat is there. Its coming and all I could do was poop it all out. So I get to the bathroom, and I didn’t make it. I got my pants halfway down and my butt exploded all over. Needless to say it was a big mess. To top it all off, there was no toilet paper in that stall. Fudge. So I had to use my undershirt to clean up. Took my underwear off and left it there. God it was such a nightmare. I ended up sneaking out the backdoor and walked home.


    So fast forward to to 1999. I met this girl through my job and she was amazing. Beautiful eyes, beautiful smile. Perfect ten. Not one thing was wrong with her(well, cept her love for phish and hemp stuff). We had worked together one summer, then she went back to school. I missed her very much. So on winter break, she came back to work here and we hung out a few times but nothing ever happened. So she was about to go back to school and she told me about this party that was happening at her dorm and how I should make the 3 hour drive to her school. I said f it. I had a show the next day about 20 minutes away so I said whats the threat? So I tell her cool, and I she goes back to school.

    2 weeks later, I head down to her party. I was in full mack mode. Fres hair cut, got my chinstrap hooked up. Went out and got some new clothes and what not. I made sure I was prepared for whatever. I don’t know why I had the thought that she was into me in her head(maybe it was because she flirted with me all the time, but I guess that was her just being friendly?). So I arrive at her apartment and there is no one there except her. So we go out to dinner and then pick up some booze for the party. I got a case of apple cider(remember when apple cider was the big thing?). So the party starts, and out comes the beer pong. Offcourse, I'm bad at this game cause I didn’t go to college. So I'm getting more and more drunk as the night goes by. The girl and i are really hitting it off(or so I think), and we go off to smoke a joint. So over walks this dude and he comes up, she jumps on him like her is "the boyfriend" and introduces me to him and she says "this is my friend shawn, shawn, meet my boyfriend jay." ohh boo-urns. So at this point, I was bummed. I finished the joint and then someone said the party was moving. It was like 3am and I was looking to sleep off my drunkiness. So I pass out on the couch.

    6 am in the morning, I wake up with bad cramps and I have to ****. I run to the bathroom, drop the draws and ****. Little did I know was the toilet seat was still down. I was so wasted that I had no idea untill I went to go flush. Luckily, someone had puked in the bathroom and didn’t clean it up, so after I cleaned up MY mistake. The roomates came home and were like *** happened to the bathroom. I freaked out and then someone said it was puke and then I felt relieved. I ended up driving home with the worst heartburn ever and the show got cancelled.
  15. bassmonkeee

    bassmonkeee Supporting Member

    Sep 13, 2000
    Decatur, GA
    A part of me just died reading this thread. :(
  16. SuperDuck


    Sep 26, 2000
    Hopefully it was the part that doesn't appreciate urine humor. :D
  17. bassmonkeee

    bassmonkeee Supporting Member

    Sep 13, 2000
    Decatur, GA
    Thankfully, it was the part that generates mental images when reading stories. :meh:

  18. Thor

    Thor Moderator Staff Member Gold Supporting Member

    My uncle used to do this all time. However, it was while
    he flew in WWII in the RAF. He told me the bottle was fastened to the left side of the cockpit and labelled:
    "Pilot, for the relief of".
  19. cheezewiz

    cheezewiz Supporting Member

    Mar 27, 2002
    I give you...the GREATEST "I can't hold it" story every written.

    It's been printed many places, but it is always worth a read.

    A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Ryan's Steakhouse for dinner. It as 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. It was salted.

    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 ****, 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 wirecutters is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a ****.

    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 ass 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 cannot be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones ass toward said toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of **** at the exact same second that one's ass is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the choad is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the piss stream lets loose at the same time it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

    I was about halfway 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 bastards attending kids night; it was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

    What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events are a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I was half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus. Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over **** no matter what is about to come slamming out of your ass. It is apparently an evolutionary thing, since ****ting will not kill you, 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. My attention was thus diverted.

    At that very split second, my ass exploded in what can only be described as a wake. you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something similar. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous plug of **** the consistency of thick mud with embedded pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my ass. But remember, I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment. 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.

    Then I sat down and recalled that when that event occurred, I was already half way to sitting anyway and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the **** wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls, unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to reform a puddle. There was a significant amount of **** remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

    Now, back to the vomit. While all the ****ting was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a goodly portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles.

    Oh, did I mention that I was wearing not just pants, but sweat pants with elastic on the ankles? In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited in my pants on the inside with no ready exit at the bottom down by my feet.

    In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple of turds, and the event ended, yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in **** that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid ****. All while thick **** was spread all over my ass in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat. And there was no ****ing toilet paper.

    What could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager. And told him to have the manager bring some toilet paper.

    When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for what happened next. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what was happening in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pissed just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

    About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had laid down a small turd or something and just needed to bring the car around so we could bolt immediately. Until I asked her, I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new sneakers. And she then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing.

    She began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. She left. 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. Without giving him specific details, 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, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage or just slightly above.

    At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, 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. And I was in a commercial bathroom.

    He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels. Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, 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 bastard kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess, I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

    When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff were there to greet me with a standing ovation. 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.

    The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Ryan's Steak House.

    They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
  20. Dan1099

    Dan1099 Dumbing My Process Down

    Aug 7, 2004
    If that happened to me, I think I'd try to hang myself, right there on the spot.

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