The Shittiest Night of My Life

In Los Angeles, California - Sunday, July 8th, 2007

Part 1, the haste begins

Alright, this was a fucking shitty night, and by "shitty", I mean it in the most literal way you can think of. Let's start off the night when I'm leaving my friends house at about 10 o' clock, after a day and-a-half of hanging out. I actually left at a sudden haste; the reason? Well I really had the sensation to take a shit, and knowing that I had a Pinks burger with some chili, I knew it was going to be a really smelly shit at that. So, instead of making my friend deal with it; I just left with a quick "goodbye!" and headed to my car.

At this point it really wasn't that bad, I mean I had to take a pretty mean shit, but it was something you could hold in. Fast forward a couple minutes, right after I take a turn on-to "La Brea", I felt a horrible sensation of diarrhea arising. It wasn't a unique sensation, I've experienced it before; I bet you have too. It was the type that usually makes you say "Fuck, the pressure of gas building up is really starting to hurt. I really need to take a shit".

Not that horrible yet right? Well, I'm passing Melrose and then all of the sudden I feel the worst pain in the fucking world, it felt like someone was stabbing me in my gut. The pain was so bad, that by reaction I stomped on the gas from trying to hold the pressure in my asshole (I didn't want to burst shit everywhere, and you all know what I mean by pressure). I got to 3rd Street in what felt like three seconds, unfortunately I hit a red light. At this point, I was cursing to myself aloud; still having about ten more minutes until I'd get home."

While I'm still at the red light, I had an epiphany on the scenario when you see people weaving, and speeding through traffic. I know that I've always asked myself "What could they be rushing to?", now I know the answer, it's called "I really have to take a shit, get the fuck out of my way, I need to speed."

Part 2, when I started to sweat

Anyway, still going down La Brea, closing in on Wilshire, a sense of relief came over my body. I told myself "You can do it Daniel, you can do it. Just five more fucking minutes, you can do it." When all of the sudden all hell broke loose. Have you ever heard the term of "prairie dogging it?", yeah I just found out how that feels with liquid-shit. Actually, it's not even that bad yet from what is fourth to come; There's just a constant pressure of something going in and out and a feeling that resembles someone swinging at my gut with a dull, rusty, wrench. I start to freak out, in my mind I said "Oh crap, this is getting bad. I don't know if I can hold it in, oh fuck, oh fuck, pull over." I take an immediate left as soon as possible on my green. I hit some side-street a couple blocks before Wilshire and the Rita Flower Shop. At this point I'm shouting in my head, and then get desperate; let's re-play the scene for you:

"Daniel, get out the fucking car, pull over somewhere and fucking take a shit. You can't hold this in anymore, you're going to burst all over yourself in the car", it was really getting this bad. I stomped on the gas, found somewhere dark, tried looking for some bushes - "fuck it", I slammed the breaks, put the car in park and swung my door open. I tried to walk to the grass, but the pressure was so fucking intense that my prairie dogging technique turned into a fountain of shit and I felt a stream of diarrhea spray all over my ass. I was in complete distress, it was the most horrible, deteriorating feeling I have ever felt. Actually scratch that, because you know what happens next? I felt the shit slide it's way down my leg, behind my thigh, down my shin, and then a sensation equivalent to a river of shit pouring out of a pant leg. Thanks to me, there is shit all over the street now.

Oh, it's not even the worst part yet - a fucking car approaches and is shining their brights on me.

So let's stop the scene for a minute. Here we are, a typical Californian, Los Angeles-looking guy, about 6'4, wife-beater on, some jeans, sandals, and shit pouring out of one pant leg all over the street and on his sandals, with brights shining on the scene.

Yeah, I felt like a frozen deer in front of a semi-truck.

I didn't want to go back in my car with shit everywhere, I took off my pants, and at this point the car that showed me the light, is pulling over (What the hell are they thinking? No, I don't want any fucking help, don't you see the amount of self-distress I am in? GO AWAY!). I popped open the trunk as fast as I could, and took out a pair of shorts I had inside. I slipped off my boxers (Yes I was naked in public, on a street, for a temporary moment. In fact, the car that was practically stalking me, definitely saw it.), and wiped off as much shit as I could, as quickly as possible (it's been about 30 seconds so far), and then put my boxers on. I flew the back door open, threw my pants and boxers in there, closed it, and then prepared to leave in a haste.

There was still shit all over the back of my leg as I got in the car; all I could do is smell the horrible stench of diarrhea chili, and picturing it getting all over my leather seats. I also realized I had shit on my pants from attempting to clean myself off a little bit. Scrambling for my keys, I find them and then launch them into the ignition at lightning speed. Pushing the pedal to the metal, I sped as fast as my Caddi would go; away from the car that was stalking me, which is now probably looking at all the steaming shit I left on the street (If only you could see the mess).

I swerved into a quick right-turn on the closest opening block because I realized that I need to really clean some shit up before I cry myself to death. If you are wondering why I threw my pants and boxers in the car instead of leaving it at the scene of the crime, is well because these are my favorite pants, I couldn't just abandon them. It's a good thing I didn't either, because I had my wallet and iPhone in it; I was seriously considering just dumping it when I was in my state of panic. I realized that I didn't need my boxers, so I just threw it on the street in a panic. At this point I jump outside again, and I also realize that my trunk was open this whole time, "god I must have looked completely freaked out" I thought to myself, realizing how I just sped off with a trunk open. Luckily I had a towel in the back, so I try to wipe off as much shit as I can off my leg, and on the seat before I rush home, which is about five minutes away at this point.

After cleaning up for about a minute, I throw my pants in the back of the car, the towel in the front, and do the whole fast-paced-action-key-ignition-trick that I did earlier.

Part 3, the worst part finally passes

As I drive, the idea of shit being all of my seats starts to make me feel disgusted. What makes it even worse is that my seats are leather, so the idea of not being able to get the shit out, keeps entering my head. Getting a little more calm at this point, I just kept thinking about what had happened, realizing how insane I must have looked, how panicked I must have looked, and how embarrassed I truly felt inside.

Getting close to my apartment building, I start freaking out because my car smells like complete shit, and there is still shit on my leg and foot; I was just praying that no one was in the garage, or going to arrive in the time it would take me to park (I have a really difficult space to get into).

God must have figured he made me go through enough shit already, nobody was around. I take my pants and my sandals and rush up stairs. The first thing I do is jump into the shower and try to clean myself off. I also brought my pants in the shower so I could clean those to. I really didn't want this pair to be ruined, they're just too comfy.

About thirty minutes later I am pretty clean, and all the shit, for the most part is off of my pants. I get dressed again and then go clean up the mess in my car... god it was awful, I don't know if it still smells like shit, but I sprayed axe for about 5 minutes in there, after trying to clean it with the already "shitty" towel. I think I need to go get myself some Febreeze or something.

Part 4, finally, it's almost over

After I busted my own hazmat mission, I still had to take a shit, so I went back up to my apartment to finish what nature intended (not as forcefully this time, thankfully). As I was on the jon I realized that I should make a dedicated website just for this story. Why? Because it was one of the shittiest fucking nights of my life. The amount of pain, panic, and embarrassment that I went through in those five minutes was ridiculous. Not to mention the amount of shit that ended up being in my bath from trying to clean up my pants. Ever see that show "Dirty Jobs" on the Discovery channel? If so, have you seen that cow episode with the steaming shit? Yea, it was sort of like that, except a tub-full.

Anyway, I'm just glad it's over, and if anyone else gets a kick out of the story, you're welcome. Otherwise, this is just a permanent journal page for a memory that will always be in-grained to my memory.

By the way, if you happen to live in Los Angeles, and even more coincidentally live off of La Brea and what ever street I took a left on (close to Wilshire), next to the car lot, well sorry if there is a steaming pile of shit all over your front-street to the house you happen to live in.

- Daniel