It was right around 1999-2000ish and I was living in the Bay Area, CA. One of my best college friends lived up there with his wife and we hung out a lot. My buddy's cousin played hoops for Contra Costa College (a JC) in the area. Well, they were in the playoffs and we went to all their games. One night they were slated to play across the bay in South San Francisco against one of the best JC's in the nation. So we decided to make a whole ordeal of it... go to dinner, get beers, then drive to the game and whoop it up. Both me and my buddy are elite ish-talkers and would always rile up the opposing fans with our nonsense.
So we decide to hit up Zachary's, a well-known pizza joint in Berkeley, right by the Cal campus, for dinner and pre-game beers. For those of you not keen to what kind of pie they serve, it's thick-crust Chicago style, so with crushed tomatoes slopped all over the top. Now, even as a younger lad, tomatoes had always done a number on my stomach, but I didn't expect what was to come.
We took our time, slammed several beers, ate a ton of 'za, and then decided it was time to head across the Bay Bridge to get to the game on time. Well, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, it was starting to rain, and like most weekend nights, the traffic going into the City was nuts. So we were stop-and-go from Berkeley all the way across the bridge.
Right about halfway onto the bridge, my stomach started to gurgle a bit. A few minutes later, it was happening. I had to roll down the window 'cuz I was starting to get the sweats. At a few points, I had to press down hard with my foot onto the floor of the vehicle we were in to create enough pressure so that the poo wouldn't come exploding out.
Once we got over the bridge, I begged my buddy to pull off in SF real fast so I could take a massive dump. It was imminent. He said to hold it, because we were already running late because of the rain/traffic. Eff. So I sweat more, and his wife and her friend in the back made me roll the window up cuz the rain was coming down harder now. So there I was, stomach gurgling, sweating my azz off, pressing my feet down into the floor and just hoping I didn't destroy my buddy's seat.
We finally make it to the JC campus and I literally yell "PULL OVER" to my buddy as we get into the parking lot of the gym. I hoist myself out of the vehicle, making sure I didn't let much pressure go out of my poophole. I waddle as fast as I could to the ticket window and bought my way in. I ask the lady where the bathroom is and she proceeds to tell me "down those stairs". WHAT? I now have to somehow waddle down a flight of stairs to get to the can.
I navigated the stairs and fortunately found an empty stall. I yanked my jeans and drawers down as fast as possible, and before my sweet cheeks had even hit the toilet seat, it was like a volcanic eruption of liquid poo. It was noisy, smelly, and lasted for a good 5-6 minutes. The sweating subsided and I felt a sense of relief like I had never felt before. I waited another few minutes ... just to be sure. Got myself together and headed up to watch the game.
Buddy's cousin's team ended up beating that studly other team, and man were we talking some major ish. I told my buddy I was THIS close to crapping in his car and he was like "well why didn't you tell me!?!?!" Seriously!?!?
Poop. Gotta love it.