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January 28, 2009


This is a true story.  I usually tell it after many rounds of drinks so i hope it translates well to written word.  I encourage you all to post back you're funniest story ever to match or beat this one.  We get a bunch of these together an now we've got a book worth selling!
First, some background.
My older brother graduated from college in the mid 90's and more to Barcelona.  After college he had been working for the local cable company installing cable.  He managed to save up about $10k and decided to move to Barcelona where, after much desperation he got a job telemarketing for, you guessed it, a cable company.

He repeated this racket in London and eventually ended up in Sidney Australia, where our story begins.

At the time I was living in downtown DC, just off of Thomas circle.  I received a call around 3AM that woke me up.  It was my older brother calling from Sidney, recovering from a drunken stupor on the other end of the line and he recounted to me the following.

My brother was living in a group house in the suburbs of Sidney working in customer service for Australia's largest cable operator.  The house was run by a single woman in her mid 40's who enjoyed cooking horrible meals for her younger housemates.

It was the end of the work week and my brother returned to the house to grab some food with his roommates before heading out on the town.  The offering for the night was pancakes, which seemed odd for dinner but a fitting foundation for a night of heavy drinking.

After dinner my brother an crew head out the Kings Cross bar district and take a few rounds of billiards and many rounds of beers.  Close to 10pm they decided to head out to some clubs where the drinks of choice turned from beers to liquor.

After several rounds of mixed drinks, my brother began to feel nauseous and stepped outside to get some air.  As the nausea began to subside the pressure and pain began to move lower and build.
He knew now that he only had minutes to find a bathroom.  Across the street from the club was a KFC, and caddy-corner to that was a McDonalds.

As he crossed the street to the KFC his ass was whistling like a teapot.  He was like Charlie Chaplain baby-stepping it across the street with all his mental facilities trained on keeping his ass knot in locked position.  It was a battle he was losing.

He entered the KFC and asked where the mens room was and met with a manager's kurt  reply, "Customers Only!" Out of cash and out of options his only hope rested on themen's room in McDonalds across the street.

Again he crossed the busy street and stumbled into the McDonald's ahead of a group of girls who had just parked a minivan near the back of the McDonald's parking lot.  He enter and asked about the restroom only to be told, "We don't have a public rest room."

That was the moment of truth.  Internally his body was taking over to release the poison.
He ran out of the McDonalds and spied the only remnant of privacy available.  A dark shadow between a minivan and the dumpster.  He dropped trough and before he could get his pants fully off his ass exploded fast and heavy with hot liquid shit.  An unholy mixture of pancakes, pilsners, and mixed drinks began to fill the asphalt between the vehicle and the dumpster.  it was horribly wrong, and yet delicious relief.

And then he heard the sound of his impending death.  The door to the McDonald's opened and out came the group of girls he had rushed past on his way in.  They were headed towards the minivan.  Towards him.  There was no way he could stop the torrent of fury that was pouring out of his ass.  As they rounded the corner all he could do was scream,  "No, No, Please No!"

Of course they too could scream. And scream they did.  In absolute horror.  At this point all he could do was begin to run.  Run and try to pull up his pants.  But run where?  The only target he could fix on was a cab parked on the street.  As he ran he heard someone screaming 'Stop! Rapist!"

The screams of the girls moments earlier had caught the ear of a local resident of the apartments that backed up to the McDonald's parking lot.  The unknowing good Samaritan awoke to screams, looked out his window, saw the girls standing by their minivan, and saw my brother running away from the car pulling up his pants.  The good Samaritan, assuming the worst,  got up, and ran out his back door into the parking lot to defend the girls and kill my brother.

As my brother entered the cab he was screaming for the cabbie to drive.  He peered over the backseat to see the good Samaritan rounding the corner to ground zero between the car and the dumpster.  At this magical moment the good Samaritan, screaming his head off, wiped out in my brother's pile of shit.  With his good intentions properly coated in my brother's feces and the shocked coeds still frozen in horror, my brother made his inglorious getaway in a $5 cab!