Super Frat

Okay, the first one, I’ll admit happened to me.

Some of you know that I used to host a TV show out of Philadelphia called The Comic Book Show, which aired on Channel 65 (the International Channel at the time).  I spent many late nights in the editing room, where I drank far too much caffeine and didn’t eat right.  One night I had to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t want to dump in the studio bathroom.  I was sort of afraid of stinking it up so bad, the guys who came in the next morning might still smell it.  Besides, I prefer to crap at home.

So it’s like two or three in the morning.  I get into my car and I immediately regret my decision.  I’m not two blocks from the studio and I’m already looking for a place to shit.  Fuck it.  I gun the car.  At least I can shit in New Jersey.

I get across the bridge, but, of course, everything is closed.  I’m so wired on caffeine I’m not thinking straight.  Instead of taking the road that had all the late night diners, I take the highway hoping to make it back to my house.  And on a completely separate note, I’m wearing the ugliest pair of pants that I owned at the time.  These were ugly, 80’s pants that were gray and white with this weird pattern and texture.  This was ’94 when I was doing the show, so these were old pants that I could be comfortable in while editing.  They were also impossibly thin.

So I’m on this road and I am easily five miles from home when it starts to creep out of my butt.  My first thought is, I have to keep shit off the car.  If the shit smell gets in the car, I’m never going to get it out and everyone will conclude that I shit my pants.  So I lift off the seat and buy myself a little time.  But now I’m worried it’s going to seep through these thin, worn 80’s pants I’m wearing.  So I finally just decide to pull over somewhere, shit, pull my pants back up and clean up when I get home.

Unfortunately, I’m in suburbia, so there isn’t a place to pull over.  I go a few more blocks and I can tell things are not good down below.  The damn is about to break all over my pants.  I let a little go and thankfully it’s just gas.  I buy myself some time, but now it’s getting really hard to hover over the seat and drive.  Finally, something poops out and I know I’m out of time.  I see this field, pull over, jump out of the car, run into the grass and drop trou.  I’m in trouble.

I manage to shit, but my underwear is a complete loss.  I manage to get my shoes, socks, pants and underwear off.  Thankfully, there are no cops and I’m not really sure where I am.  But I know I am in a field, so if the cops find me, at least I’m not on somebody’s front lawn.  I decide that I’ll wipe the good part of the underwear and just abandon them.  I put back on my pants, which does have some shit on them, socks and shoes.  I get back in the car and take off, planning to clean up when I get home.  Mission Accomplished.  That’s when I look to my right as I leave the field.

About 50 yards away is an elementary school.  It was blocked by this big tree and I really didn’t see it in the dark.  But now that I am back on the road, I see it clear as a bell.  I just abandoned shitty underwear in the middle of a field near a grammar school.  And I’m like, even if I wanted to go back it’s dark and it would probably be worse if the cop found me in a field searching for shitty underwear.  And I’m also praying that this wasn’t a really old pair of underwear that my mom wrote my name in it or something when I was 14.  Fortunately, I don’t think the local cops were going to bother to DNA test shitty underwear.

That’s my first pants-shitting story.  Now here’s the really good one.

This one happened to a friend of mine and is much shorter, but much funnier.  At the time, my friend drove his mom’s old station wagon.  He was in a rush to go home and really had to take a shit.  He stopped at a stop sign and was just about to pull away when he was rear-ended by this douche in a sports car.  Something douchey like a Pontiac Firebird or an Iroc-Z, right?

The impact surprises my friend and he immediately shits his pants.

Now my friend is a bit of a man’s man, in the vein of Ron Swanson and he didn’t want this douche to know he just shit his pants.  But the douche gets out of his car and immediately stars saying, “Are you all right?  All you all right?  It was totally my fault, dude!  I’m sorry!”

The second thing you need to know about my friend is that he’s not afraid to sue people.  So this guy admitting fault like the second he jumps out of his car was like a godsend.  He could’ve gotten a new ride that would’ve replaced his mother’s old station wagon.  Not to mention the fact that he was probably pissed off the guy hit him too.

But he’s sitting on his own shit pile and he’s afraid to move because the smell is going to waft out.  So he starts saying to the guy, “Don’t worry about.  Don’t worry.”

And then to make matters worse, the douche driver’s girlfriend gets out of the car and she is smokin’ hot.  Now he really doesn’t want people to know he shit his pants.  Before the girl can get to his car, he starts rolling out into the intersection.  The douche is like, “We should exchange information!”  And my friend is like, “No!  Forget it!  It’s fine!’

And he drove home, threw out his pants and hosed down his car.

© Anthony M. DiGerolamo Copyright 2012