LaryBrains: One time when I was around 12 or 13 years old, I took a big dump and when I flushed, it clogged the toilet to the point where it was overflowing. I didn’t know what to do and the floor of the bathroom was like a murky toilet water pond and chunks of poo were floating all over and I was the only one home and I didn’t know there was a shut off valve behind the toilet and it just kept getting worse and worse. It was awful!
Snarkster: It was my second year of university, and my first year living in a house that wasn’t my parent’s. I had 3 roommates and shared a bathroom with the other basement dweller. One evening, I took a dump in the toilet. Nothing out of the ordinary, except it didn’t flush properly. So I flushed again… but instead of the water level going down, it went up… and over the top of the toilet bowl!!! Shitty water came pouring out all over the floor. It had been a fairly loose poo, so the poo was well mixed with the water and going everywhere. The bathroom had this ghetto shower that just had a curtain, no door, and there was only a tiny ledge between the shower floor and the rest of the floor. Well there was enough water pouring out of the toilet that the shitty water also poured into the shower stall. What a freaking mess. I had to sop up a toilet bowl’s worth of shitty water. There was also poo particles clogging the shower drain. To make matters worse, we didn’t have a plunger, so I couldn’t even fix the toilet and there was still poo in it. I was incredibly embarrassed, and didn’t want to tell anyone about it but couldn’t avoid it. After self-consciously explaining the situation to my roommate so that she knew not to flush the toilet until it was plunged, she felt it was necessary to make sure that I knew that I would be the one cleaning it up. I learned two lessons that night: 1) if the toilet water rises when you flush it, flushing it again will NOT fix it, 2) Laura is a bitch.
ABaums: It was my first night in Beijing with good old Jon. I had my first China poop after days of inactivity. It perched on the elevated platter if the squat like a cartoon Korean fecal depiction. So perfect, huge and brown it was a cause for celebration. My body light as a feather burst into action screaming, smashing at the door before opening it as poo water gushed forth. As i ran from the bathroom, I regret not shouting, “it wasn’t me! See? That huge mound is mine it didn’t even move from the flat part,” at the man shaving in the mirror not yet aware of the fecal fluid seeping toward his sandaled feet. The bathroom was closed for days. I didn’t wash my hands.