The IBS Diaries Vol. 16: Caught Brown-Handed

Happy Sweet 16 to the IBS Diaries and a quick thanks to everyone out there regularly dropping bombs in crazy places who make this franchise possible. Your struggle no longer goes unnoticed. This week we have a story that is legitimately horrifying. I’m pretty sure the person who sent it in created a burner email just to make sure this never found its way back to him. (Meanwhile I’m shaking hands with people who’s 1st question is yo you shit yourself today?) It’s not too surprising considering that today’s speaker is one who also dabbles in the world of competitive eating. Can’t make things much easier. But before we strap in, Anonymous has a quick warm up story to cushion the blow before the main event.

So, I am part of a competition BBQ team.  Comp BBQ is full of fat dudes who eat poorly and drink a lot.  So every comp has its fair share of stories, but this is my best.  We are at a competition and our trailer does not have a bathroom.  We are not far from the port o shitter’s.  So distance is not an issue.  Clothing; gym shorts with plenty of change options.  So clothing is not an issue.

Can we all agree that backup clothing may low-key be the biggest factor during any given grace period? Especially if your diaper-to-be is a pair of basketball shorts. Easy sacrifice. If you’re in position to change wardrobe without anyone noticing then it’s basically like nothing ever happened. If you poo your pants and on one notices then you didn’t poo your pants. That’s IBS rule #1.

Its Saturday morning and we are doing our thing.  Had an awful pot luck the evening before so who knows what the culprit was.  I get the all too familiar gurgle and know I have the standard 5-8 minutes.  Being a gambler I push it to the 1 minute warning and make my way the 30 or so yards to the portable toilet.  I go in there and it was AWFUL.  Someone standing outside and literally said, “It sounds like someone just dumped out a 5 gallon bucket of guts”.  Which is the most accurate description for an IBS dump ever.  I finish up and walk out the sad little plastic hut.  The person who made the previous comment is still standing there.  I immediately recognize him, its Myron Mixon, the Godfather of Comp BBQ.  He just cracks up, and says I wanted to meet the man who that came out of.  And that is how I met the Babe Ruth of my sport.

Funny how IBS can bring people together sometimes. Anonymous may have never even gotten the chance to talk to the godfather of Barbecue Competitive Eating, Myron Mixon of course, if it weren’t for the farm shit he took. It was like an IBS Make-A-Wish. We’ll take that silver lining every time.

Now, let’s show our guy the same love and support that we do every week as he takes the stage.

Scene: In my truck pulling up to a hotel that I stay in weekly for business travel.

Clothing: Full Suit

Distance: About 125 yards from parking lot to lobby toilet

Witnesses: Hotel staff who I know, and whomever is in the lobby.

So I travel for work and when doing so often eat terribly.  This time I ate at a greasy spoon at a truck stop in middle of no where Kentucky.  About 2 hours later I get the rumble.  This was not a warning, it was game on right away.  I haul ass to the hotel, park illegally and make a break for the bathroom. I know the lay out so I get to the lobby bathroom pretty easily.  Each step is getting closer and closer.  Stall is open, I get in there, undo my belt; and proceed to shit all over everything right before I can get my pants off.  Up my back, down my pants, into my shoes, everywhere.  I am in a 5 alarm panic.

After doing my best to contain the aftermath I make a break for my room.  I know the elevator is not an option, but I am on the 2nd floor.  I get into the stair well and use my shit covered hands to look for my key.

Nope, no key.  Left it in the truck.  I am firing through options as fast as possible, and right them the front desk manager busts into the stairwell.  The look on my face must have been priceless, cause his response looked like he caught me in the middle of a crime.  I just said, “I shit my pants and lost my key”, took off, while he was running away I yelled “room 242″.  He came back in under 30 seconds with the key.  I handed him all the money in my pocket, but he saw my hand and declined.  I went up stairs threw away everything and took a shower.

About 15 minutes later same guy comes knocking on my door.  I forgot I left my truck parked in the middle of everything.  I go down stairs to move it.  He clearly had told everyone working there what I did.  Got off pretty easy, except I had to wear athletic shoes with a suit the rest of the trip as I lost my only pair of dress shoes.