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Submitted by Andy Nonymous (Atlanta, GA) on 04.04.13

So no one supposedly knows about this besides me and my pet parakeet, whom looked at me with a look of disgust and pity. Can birds feel sorry for humans? I don't know, but after I told my pet bird I shit myself I bet he could.

Here's what happened. Went to see Mary Poppins the Musical at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta tonight. Traveled there in a white van, white seats, with a group from the local college where I am a student.

At the Varsity in Atlanta, I ate onion rings, a slaw dog, a bacon cheeseburger, fried pie, milkshake and a Sprite. If that wasn't a warning sign to me that my bowels were about to embark on an adventure the likes of the U.S.S. Enterprise could not even match, I don't know what would have done it for me. But alas -- I had visions of spoonfuls of sugar and flying women with umbrellas. I didn't give a damn about my potential anal adventures.

After the show - during which I had consumed a small popcorn - my intestines started banging against my groin shortly before the cast on stage burst into song for Chim-Chim-Cheerie and right after Mary Poppins decided to leave the kids to become a professional female wrestler.

Or something like that. It was difficult to pay attention with my gut feeling like I had just been bitten by a background extra in The Walking Dead.

So as the lights come up I manage to scamper to the bathroom - a bathroom of which, by the way, someone said "Oooo it's the Fox, you should see their bathroom, it's like a palace!" Well I guess the Mongols or the Monty Python cast or someone had invaded and raided this palace because all it had was three urinals and two stalls. Yep, this place has 800,000 people inside its walls and the bathroom closest to the orchestra entrance where the concessions and alcohol are sold HAS TWO GODDAMN STALLS. And the urinals were floor-length without dividers. Good luck keeping your penis a secret there, buddy.

But back to my toilet shenanigans. I let loose and thought that was the end of it. Nope. As we hit I-75 my rectum started singing Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious and decided to Mr. Banks itself as much as possible into my briefs.

Six times.

I wasn't sure if I needed a diaper, a doctor, a miracle or a Maalox.

Thank FUCKING GOD I was sitting in the back. I was wearing a hoodie-type thing that went down pretty far past my butt because it was Atlanta in April, so of course the temperature was just above freezing and the sky looked like God had decided to say "fuck it" and go make some more planets or something.

I managed to pull the hoodie bottom down past MY bottom and sit upright enough to keep anything from flowing out onto the seat. The odor wasn't bad because it was all liquid and because it was dark and I was sitting alone....well Mary Poppins mentioned mircacles can happen, but that was before the bitch cast one of her spells on my asshole.

Made it back and was the last one out, still dark outside (thank fuck), I had actually changed into my khakis from blue jeans upon original arrival so I found a nearby dumpster and changed into the jeans behind it.

I just hope that the janitor or city or whomever cleans up behind it watches where they step since I left a two -inch pile of shit there.

And that's the story of how Mary Poppins cast a spell on my bunghole. Some might say it was just coincidence. Some would say she was just an actress. Some would question the onion rings and fried pie on top of popcorn.

I know the truth. I know that bitch is really evil. I bet she fled the kids because she was molesting them in their sleep. Which, by the way, she could make them do by merely snapping her fingers, I "shit" you not.

Fuck you, Mary Poppins. If I see you floating in the sky I am going to give you a taste of my shotgun. LEAVE MY ASS ALONE.

Vote:Yeah! You Shit the *Shit* out of yourself! 545 Not So Much 545


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