The Mad Pooper strikes again and this Colorado family can't take it anymore!

Senior Dickfist wrote:Shit, I'm in Colorado right now. I'll keep an eye out for her.

TheReal_LWS wrote:I blame a fat person.

Signed,

Rocinante

Death Roe wrote:

TheReal_LWS wrote:I blame a fat person.

Signed,

Rocinante

It stunk on tRCMB, so why not say it here?

Death Roe wrote:Sorry, I hurt your feelings. I hope you don't not post anymore unlike the vanillafied Ty.

DWags wrote:

gHost Spartan wrote:It's strange because I've had quite a few close calls while running over the past few months. Also shit at the beach too. Not long ago I shit while running at night through the woods.

Oh man, am I glad you said that.  I've had some real adventures in running too.
A few months ago, I started jogging, maybe about six.  I quickly became addicted to it.  Endorphins I guess. Awesome!   I didn't think I could run anymore, slowly I got better and better.  I started running backroads in Harrison Township ..... That's about the same time I started having a problem.  I had to pee all the time, it started as no big deal, and this summer I would sweat so much I thought, WTF, if I pissed my self nobody would know, honestly.  Some of my running friends who do it religiously and one who does it for a living, said unless I pissed myself at least once, I wasn't a real runner.Well Ghost, I never have pissed myself yet.... yet.... but man, here's the story

During a four mile run it happened, I had to go to the bathroom.  Not pee, but the big duece. The DEUCE!  BROWNS AT THE POOL, LINCOLN LOGS BROTHER.
I was  two miles in on a backroad that had one entrance in and one out.  On the side were houses, I'd conservatively guess 2 to 3 million dollar houses.    They had big gates and yards it probably took like three hours to cut the grass.   I was FUCKED.  I wasn't gonna make it, so I got on my cell and called my wife, I left a message for her to leave work immediatley cause I had to go to the bathroom.  She later told me "What the fuck kind of message was that? leave work cause you have to go to the bathroom?  What the fuck is wrong with you".   I don't think I was very clear.   She thought I was joking or something.  I wanted her to pick me the fuck up.  My bowels were in excruciating pain.  I can't describe it Ghost, it was horrible.  Ghost I didn't know what to do.  I started to do this weird walk/gate thing like I had Lou Gherrig's disease or something, squeezing my butt cheeks together and inching along with my toes pointed towards each other with each six in step.  Fuck Ghost, you wouldn't fucking believe what the fuck I was going through.  I finally saw what was about a knee deep ditch.   a little U shaped ditch between the gravel road and what looked like maybe the Rockerfellers mansion.   As I did my polio type toes pointed in shuffle towards it and plopped down in it, my feet started sinking there was a about six inches of water.  But, fuck, there were no options.  So, I dropped my shorts, and did my business.  As I did that, wouldn't you know, right at the time three fucking cars come down the road. Two mercedes benz, and I think a fucking range rover, two of the three passed by with what looked like bra models driving them and the third looked like maybe a 23 year old trophy wife.  Worst part of that one was we made eye contact as I was grunting it out.  She looked horrified Ghost, like maybe she just saw her twin sister blowing her sugar daddy husband. Fuck Ghost, maybe a top ten worst moment of my life. Here's the worst part, I knew I had left a good Deuce down in that ditch, but fuck, I instinctively looked to my right and left like I was going to magically find some fucking toilet paper.  What the hell was I thinking?  So, I pulled them up and started jogging home.  

I came home just horrified, like I was bubba's girlfriend in a jail cell left unguarded for a week and a half.  So, I started researching it.  How did that happen, i have good bowel control ghost, it was a four fucking mile run. I had no inkling of shitting when I left.  Here's the deal:  It's called runners trot.
NOt joking, it's a real thing.

The exact cause of runner's trots is unknown, but the stress of long-distance running may bring out symptoms in people with underlying irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) or those with food intolerances such as issued caused by lactose. Common factors include: The up and down motion of running, which can jostle the bowels.


Some foods that bring it on, some that help stop it.


So, I calmed myself and ran some more through the summer.  Then, I joined a race for some kind of cure in Ludington in August.   Well, I hadn't felt the runner trots all summer, but this race i felt a little urge.  I knew it was only a fart, so I looked around and everyone was running with headphones, no problem.  i let it go, it was aseries of farts and i didn't care, nobody could hear me.  I did it for a good 50 yards.  I kind of laughed to myself.  But, about 200 more yards down the track, I still couild smell my fucking farts ghost, I'm like WTF?   The breeze should have taken them away. Then it hit me, yep, I had sharted myself.   Lups of coal started bouncing around in my shorts.  the only thing more horrifying than that was the possibility of one of them leaking out and plopping down behind me.   

I ended up just quitting the race.  Called my wife, she picked me up.  I'm never running again.

Travis of the Cosmos wrote:

DWags wrote:
Oh man, am I glad you said that.  I've had some real adventures in running too.
A few months ago, I started jogging, maybe about six.  I quickly became addicted to it.  Endorphins I guess. Awesome!   I didn't think I could run anymore, slowly I got better and better.  I started running backroads in Harrison Township ..... That's about the same time I started having a problem.  I had to pee all the time, it started as no big deal, and this summer I would sweat so much I thought, WTF, if I pissed my self nobody would know, honestly.  Some of my running friends who do it religiously and one who does it for a living, said unless I pissed myself at least once, I wasn't a real runner.Well Ghost, I never have pissed myself yet.... yet.... but man, here's the story

During a four mile run it happened, I had to go to the bathroom.  Not pee, but the big duece. The DEUCE!  BROWNS AT THE POOL, LINCOLN LOGS BROTHER.
I was  two miles in on a backroad that had one entrance in and one out.  On the side were houses, I'd conservatively guess 2 to 3 million dollar houses.    They had big gates and yards it probably took like three hours to cut the grass.   I was FUCKED.  I wasn't gonna make it, so I got on my cell and called my wife, I left a message for her to leave work immediatley cause I had to go to the bathroom.  She later told me "What the fuck kind of message was that? leave work cause you have to go to the bathroom?  What the fuck is wrong with you".   I don't think I was very clear.   She thought I was joking or something.  I wanted her to pick me the fuck up.  My bowels were in excruciating pain.  I can't describe it Ghost, it was horrible.  Ghost I didn't know what to do.  I started to do this weird walk/gate thing like I had Lou Gherrig's disease or something, squeezing my butt cheeks together and inching along with my toes pointed towards each other with each six in step.  Fuck Ghost, you wouldn't fucking believe what the fuck I was going through.  I finally saw what was about a knee deep ditch.   a little U shaped ditch between the gravel road and what looked like maybe the Rockerfellers mansion.   As I did my polio type toes pointed in shuffle towards it and plopped down in it, my feet started sinking there was a about six inches of water.  But, fuck, there were no options.  So, I dropped my shorts, and did my business.  As I did that, wouldn't you know, right at the time three fucking cars come down the road. Two mercedes benz, and I think a fucking range rover, two of the three passed by with what looked like bra models driving them and the third looked like maybe a 23 year old trophy wife.  Worst part of that one was we made eye contact as I was grunting it out.  She looked horrified Ghost, like maybe she just saw her twin sister blowing her sugar daddy husband. Fuck Ghost, maybe a top ten worst moment of my life. Here's the worst part, I knew I had left a good Deuce down in that ditch, but fuck, I instinctively looked to my right and left like I was going to magically find some fucking toilet paper.  What the hell was I thinking?  So, I pulled them up and started jogging home.  

I came home just horrified, like I was bubba's girlfriend in a jail cell left unguarded for a week and a half.  So, I started researching it.  How did that happen, i have good bowel control ghost, it was a four fucking mile run. I had no inkling of shitting when I left.  Here's the deal:  It's called runners trot.
NOt joking, it's a real thing.

The exact cause of runner's trots is unknown, but the stress of long-distance running may bring out symptoms in people with underlying irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) or those with food intolerances such as issued caused by lactose. Common factors include: The up and down motion of running, which can jostle the bowels.


Some foods that bring it on, some that help stop it.


So, I calmed myself and ran some more through the summer.  Then, I joined a race for some kind of cure in Ludington in August.   Well, I hadn't felt the runner trots all summer, but this race i felt a little urge.  I knew it was only a fart, so I looked around and everyone was running with headphones, no problem.  i let it go, it was aseries of farts and i didn't care, nobody could hear me.  I did it for a good 50 yards.  I kind of laughed to myself.  But, about 200 more yards down the track, I still couild smell my fucking farts ghost, I'm like WTF?   The breeze should have taken them away. Then it hit me, yep, I had sharted myself.   Lups of coal started bouncing around in my shorts.  the only thing more horrifying than that was the possibility of one of them leaking out and plopping down behind me.   

I ended up just quitting the race.  Called my wife, she picked me up.  I'm never running again.

hold on hold on hold on just a fucking second dwags. I just read your story, and I have some questions on the two bold parts. Mostly centered around- did you explain to your wife about what happened when you pooped in front of the bra models? Did she believe you? What was her reaction? Did you explain to her the runners poo thing and then she was sympathetic so she picked you up the next time?

Maybe if you could put in some detail I wouldn't have to ask these questions.

DWags wrote:

Travis of the Cosmos wrote:
hold on hold on hold on just a fucking second dwags. I just read your story, and I have some questions on the two bold parts. Mostly centered around- did you explain to your wife about what happened when you pooped in front of the bra models? Did she believe you? What was her reaction? Did you explain to her the runners poo thing and then she was sympathetic so she picked you up the next time?

Maybe if you could put in some detail I wouldn't have to ask these questions.

I had to Keep it short, guys like D.R. don't like detail.  Of course I explained everything to her.  She let me hear the voice mail I left.  Like I say, it wasn't very clear as to my problem.  It sounded like "cooooooomeeeee gait mah, I need to pooooooooooppppppppp." then I just hung up liek she had some magical gps tracker.    It was a pretty brief message of pain.  The second call in Ludington, I didn't need to even tell her what was up.  SHe just showed up with three raggy towels on the back seat for me to sit quietly in my shame.

DWags wrote:

Travis of the Cosmos wrote:
hold on hold on hold on just a fucking second dwags. I just read your story, and I have some questions on the two bold parts. Mostly centered around- did you explain to your wife about what happened when you pooped in front of the bra models? Did she believe you? What was her reaction? Did you explain to her the runners poo thing and then she was sympathetic so she picked you up the next time?

Maybe if you could put in some detail I wouldn't have to ask these questions.

I had to Keep it short, guys like D.R. don't like detail.  Of course I explained everything to her.  She let me hear the voice mail I left.  Like I say, it wasn't very clear as to my problem.  It sounded like "cooooooomeeeee gait mah, I need to pooooooooooppppppppp." then I just hung up liek she had some magical gps tracker.    It was a pretty brief message of pain.  The second call in Ludington, I didn't need to even tell her what was up.  SHe just showed up with three raggy towels on the back seat for me to sit quietly in my shame.

COLORADO SPRINGS, Colo. - A man claiming to be the "spokesman" for the so-called Mad Pooper posted two videos, trying to explain her actions.

He won't identify himself or the jogger, only calling her "Shirley," and said he is speaking on her behalf.

He said Shirley is sorry for desecrating people's lawns but claimed her actions are not her fault.  He said she has a traumatic brain injury and after gender reassignment surgery, can no longer control herself.

The "spokesman" also claimed that her actions are protected under the First Amendment and the government cannot control where and when she relieves herself.  He compared the action to breastfeeding in public.

Other Teams Pursuing That wrote:They called the shit poop!

Criminal Defense Attorney Jeremy Loew said those claims are bogus.

"Defecating in someone's yard is definitely not protected under the First Amendment and it is actually a crime," Loew explained.

MSU addict wrote:

Criminal Defense Attorney Jeremy Loew said those claims are bogus.

"Defecating in someone's yard is definitely not protected under the First Amendment and it is actually a crime," Loew explained.

With all due respect to Mr. Loew, when I shit - it is truly a work of art.  

Public works of art enjoy considerable First Amendment protection.

tGreenWay wrote:

MSU addict wrote:
With all due respect to Mr. Loew, when I shit - it is truly a work of art.  

Public works of art enjoy considerable First Amendment protection.

It's not public if you're pooping on the front lawn of a someone's home. That's private property and therefore, the 1st Amendment doesn't apply.