Joe College Steps Up His Game

As turkey day break comes to a close, it is necessary to recap the "realmen" in action. The night before thanksgiving brought out the usual old school crowds and finished with the hunt for food...eventually leading to chicken fingers at quick check.

Friday night brought the game to a whole new level. Beginning with vino, followed by a few vodka drinks, JB decided that it was going to be a low key night. Ignoring all concerns for his current heavyset physique, JB decided he wanted a burger. A few beers into the meal, burger devoured so quick he almost lost a thumb, JB looks up after licking his plate clean and says, "lets do this". JB turned into Joe College and his instincts took over. From that point on the night took a turn for the worse/better.

Two bars...whiskey and tequila shots...vodka sodas...beers...saying goodbye to the same girl multiple times and enjoying each one...trip to the diner...answering a random old drunk guys phone..."you want to talk to eddie? oooooo, hold on here he is...hello this is dan glesack"...a person who will remain unknown not finishing his taylor ham egg and cheese sandwich (your better then that), half ride home...second half with the popo's (always good to have connections)...non-stop bullshitting and farting...jersey bagels...extreme dumps caused by the actions of the night...

20 pounds heavier and a liver that has taken a beating...my thanks goes out to our fellow realmen who continue to take things to a whole new level. If it weren't for JB's claim of the week, none of those things would have happened. Well done sir. Hope everyone had a good break. Enjoy the holiday's coming up sooner then later.

Taking Miami By Storm

In the past several days, miami was taken by storm by two men daring too take things well beyond where things should go.

Thursday consisted of sushi, seven bars, getting hustled in pool by a woman and a man in tuxedo shirt, car bombs, tequila shots, fist pumping, poor wingman play, more fist pumping, a very natural woman saying "sing to me" on the dance floor, and late night mcdonalds that tasted like heaven. A great start to what would be an unreal weekend.

Friday consisted of tight calves, dehydration, and a weird early morning all to be forgotten as these two balding studs flew to the bahamas. Shipwrecks, goats in a cinder block park (yeah that actually happened), enough conk to make you never want to say that word again, beach vibrations, reggae music, more conk, loud music that only the guy with superman hearing could hear over, a native of the island who had a wife from jersey, a flight home... all followed by scotch, snake bites, and passing out while you were still awake.

Saturday took things to a whole new level. Surfing on south beach, women hearing things they are not supposed to hear, getting black on the beach, brain freezes and a buzz at wet willies, more beach, a house party, rum punch, the band that rocked the house, a smokin tv reporter "way of your league"...Permi Lounge, couch dancing for an hour, tequila and vodka tonics (really?), fist pumping, more fist pumping, tearing up the dance floor, going to the ghetto side of the party and not feeling welcome and very awkward, shorts in the club, losing your license and debit card, getting made fun of for being from jersey and in true jersey fashion saying "go f yourself", drive home, taco bell, locked out of the house, eating taco bell on the porch, passing out on the couch, waking up to a friend sawing wood on the couch so loud you can't sleep, 8am flight: Priceless.

Living the Dream,

G

Coming to you live from the mens bathroom at gate E5 departing for miami.

The man next to me is currently blasting farts so long and loud that I am beginning to feel uncomfortable and overpowered.

I find myself wondering, could it be a heavyset man producing that kind of fart power? Or is a smaller man who appears weak but packs the shit power of a cow? Maybe its someone we don't even know about. All I know fellas is that its not the size of the man that determines his fart-poop power.

While I attempt to play battle shits with this mystery man, I find I am fighting a losing battle. Will I ever see my opponent,who knows, but a good game of battle shits with a stranger at an airport: priceless.

Happy trails from the airport.
G Money

Taking It on the Road

In the next few days we will be coming to you from beautiful Miami, Florida. It is a rare opportunity for a fellow deucer to take his act on the road and have the ability to bless the throne's of such a place. Keep a look out for new updates and continue posting on the best scenes of all time.

Happy hershey trails,

G

The Bubblies

I find that my colon’s kryptonite is that of the wing variety, from hot to honey. Give me any amount of those delicious little fowls and I am likely to fellate the lot of you. However these little birds pay me back from beyond the grave with Bettlejuice insanity on my rectum. They bestow upon me the little gift known as the bubblies.

One of the most terrifying feelings in the world is the bubblies. You know what I mean. It starts with a small rumble/stomach gargle, then your brow and upper lip start to perspire as if you were just caught cheating on your wife. Like lighting it hits you that this shit is going down quicker than Justin Guarini’s music career.

It started early one October morning around 5am. A night of a wing feast to end all wing feasts had me soundly asleep. Instead of rumbles and gargles, my stomach was at war with itself…300 style. My stomach was hit with an invisible hot knife. Sweat began to bead off my face like a fat kid waiting at the ice cream truck on a hot summer day. I said to myself its nothing…sleep it off. My mind kicked me one more time in a stomach as if to say “Who are you kidding?!”.

I sprang to life, being that I sleep naked I had to find something to cover myself up before making my break to the bathroom. It was a frantic search for shorts and a t shirt. All the while my stomach kept on churning. I raced to the first bathroom only to find it occupied. I cursed the mighty Zeus for that. I felt the onslaught of shit coming quicker then one of my premature ejaculations. I raced to the second bathroom. I barely had time to position my cheeks over the throne as a hot stream of waste slide out my buttock. Pain and sweat was written over my face as I stared at myself in the mirror taking this mighty dump.

As I type this now I tremble for the memories I tried to repress from that morning. It was one of the roughest moments of my life. I got up after barely surviving the rape of my digestive tract. My legs were weak from the fight and stomach hinting at the fact that there might be a second wave. I looked down to see the orange goo that laid in the bowl that could only be describe as gallons of what I could only imagine that Gerber carrot baby food looks like. I flushed and as I watch mounts of liquefied wings go down I was relived.

In close FDR said, “All we have to fear is fear itself.” Ladies and Gentlemen I add to that we also must also fear the bubblies. For like the Koreans, they can strike at any time and any hour.

In honor of the World Series...

In honor of the 27 Time World Champions and our new writers contributing their poo pranks, I would like to add one of my favorite baseball themed poo pranks.

A homerun is awesome, but a home run to the upper deck is that much better, so friends I give you...

The Upper Decker: reserved for assholes and Sox fans

When in a persons house who you may not be the biggest fan of, simply muster up that shit of yours, hold in it for a while, let it bake, you don't want to undercook your masterpiece. Proceed to this poor soul's bathroom, remove the top of his toilet tank, place your feet on the seat and sit on the tank. Proceed to throw your loaf into that sorry son of a bitch's tank, cover and disappear.

Note: if you have the skills to pinch your load half way, it can be beneficial to leave a floater in the bowl to lead the homeowner to believe the awful smell is just your lack of flushing, however when they flush, that stench will not go away until they have to meticulously scrub the inside of their tank and all the equipment held therein.

Men, poo is a way of life for us, and sometimes there are those that deserve to feel it's rath, and for those I say hit em with the Upper Decker.

-JB

Poopy Prank!

Figured I would add this as well. Merc has posted the "poo-hammock", a long time favorite of mine I picked up from my friend from HS who ended up living with me in college as well (not Jorge). Call him Dank-Hawk. He is arguably the person I know with the longest-standing, most genuine appreciation of the hilarity that poop can incite. To this day, i still get pictures of particularly harrowing plops he has taken through text message, which to many is almost a prank in and of itself. However I would like to take a minute to toot my own horn, because poop pranks are not limited to the poo-hammock. A friend of mine from 5 apartements down in college had a girlfriend. And because most broads are completely fucking illogical and do not think about anything intelligently before they act, she decided to adopt a cat. This isn't a terrible idea if you ignore the fact that cats are soft as shit, and owning more than 2 of them is proof of pending clinical insanity (everyone has a local cat-lady who is batshit insane and genuinly believes they are her children), however she decided the best time to adopt would be 48 hours before she left for college, a college in which she was not allowed to keep pets, and a different one from where myself and her BF went. So she adopted the cat, and promptly gave it to my friend to keep while she was 6 hours away. Real fuckin logical. whatever. And let me tell you, this cat was a real piece of shit, and my friend was kind of a homo about it. The problem was, I had to deal with this thing all the time. When i described my house as a party box, i wasn't lying. No furniture, no tv, just pure, unadulterated drinkin', grindin' and fingerin' heaven. So my friends house essentially served as a living room, one occupied by a faggot cat that no one likes and shouldn't have been there in the first place. My solution to get rid of it? Shit pranks.

Answer me this: if your cat started taking huge, man-sized shits in your room, what would you do? stand up to your girlfriend and be like, enough is enough, take this stupid thing back? or maybe go the passive-aggressive route and tell her it "ran away" or got eaten by a badass, half-chocolate lab/half-retarded puppy? I sure hoped so. So I decided to start eating a load of chipotle double-meat and guac and hot salsa burrito's, and unleash hell on the litter box. I'm talking multiple meaty logs or cat-dissapearing dookie. And everyone knew, except for him. for about 5 or 6 months. And i know at least one person who joined in (yet another roommate, what a house!). Now did the cat go away? No, but let me tell you, there is nothing more priceless than seeing a friends face when he realizes he has spent a good part of 5 months sleeping 5 feet from your intentionally-aggressive shit, and been the only one who didn't know about it. So get out there, step your game up, and start poo-prankin' anyone and everyone. But for the love of god, get something more original than "upper-decking" people's toilets. What is this, High School? Thats the bush leagues bro, lock it up.

THERE'S SHIT EVERYWHERE

For any true pop-culture shit conneseur, there are certain scenes that stand out, many of which have already been plopped down onto this sight for your viewing pleasure. This is not one of them, because outside of this 30 second scene, Dumb and Dumberer is arguably the worst sequel to a classic movie ever made. For those of you who wear a helmet to school, the "pop" in pop-culture stands for popular, something this movie will never be. However whenever I watch this scene, I feel all warm and fuzzy. How is this, you ask? Because I really do feel Bob "I stole 17 pairs of Kimmy Gibbler's panties" Sagat's pain. See I went to college, and had roommates. So what you say? First, fuck you smartass. Second, I would like to regail you with the life and times of an esteemed housemate of mine, who we will call "Jorge", to protect his identity(sort of).

What can I say about Jorge...Well he is really good guy. He would probably give you the shirt of his back, if it wasn't that sweet of a shirt, or it wasn't weather-appropriate or something. But he is also a college student, so he likes to drink. Heavily. Big ups to Jorge for that, right? Well, sort of. See freshmen year, he became infamous for going home, going to sleep shitfaced, and then whatever happened after that was a crapshoot (get it?). Normally this consisted of drunk-sleep walking, generally bare ass naked, through this freshmen dorms, sometimes stopping to piss in a water fountain or accidentally get into bed with the wrong person, because we all know doors can be tricky when blackout sleepwalking. However this slowly progressed to worse offenses, which is where I eventually gained a particular affinity for this Dumb and Dumberer clip. See my last two years, I lived in the greatest college partybox/apartment ever concieved, but hygene was certainly a secondary concern as far as the living situation. I can deal with beer on the floor, spitters full of skoal (OHIO!!!!) and even the occasional pile of dogshit in a corner left by my adoring yet retarded puppy I got for 25 bones off of craigslist from a methlab in a trailor park. Seriously. But what I awoke to on this fateful morning crossed the line.

Roll out of bed, try not to shart on whoever was my"companion" for the evening (nothing gets girls in a romantic mood like boxed wine, left over chinese, loud music, and forgetting her name. trust me). Pretty standard. And if you are reading this site, you obviously know that a sunday morning after a hard-charging night is not complete without the obligatory beer-shit. As I left my room, I was greeted by a terrible smell. Pretty standard so far. But this was a little bit different. I figured Brady, my puppy, had probably just drank too much or something, and shit on the stairs again, until I realizes he was still in bed with the afformentioned "companion" (cute, right? the only thing that trumps boxed wine and grinding? a puppy). About to explode, I entered the bathroom, only to see what was almost an exact replica of the setting as Bob Sagat ran into. There was literally shit EVERYWHERE. Walls, floor, ceiling, bathtub, and even on the rod that held up the shower curtain. Only thing i think was sparred was the mirror, and I could be wrong on that. Who would do a thing like this? See if it was a prank, I would actually probably put on a rubber glove and shake whoever did it's hand, but I was curious as to the culprit, that is until I took a look at the shower curtain and bar. Sure enough, there was one of my roomate's clothes, soaking wet, hanging from the bar. Now I know you have to be a whole 'nother level of drunktanious in order to do something like this, but fuck, man! Hide your damn clothes, thats like evidence. I mean a huge fuckin' paper trail. Thats seriously like knocking up some broad one night and using your real name; you just don't do that!

While this has been long and drawn out, I figured THEBRICKSHITHOUSE needs to introduce himself, and to be honest, the majority of my stories revolve around Jorge. See the best part is, he tried to deny it was him that day. And the rest of the week. Now I know you may be saying to yourself "maybe he just jumped in the pool or something, and it really wasn't him". Listen dumb-dick, I need to reiterate that I lived in a slum apartment. Pool? are you kidding me? The thing is, I am actually starting at the end. See this wasn't Jorge's first adventure with shitting, more like his 4th. So you can see how rediculous it is to try and deny his involvement, since he was previously responsible for the only other 3 self-shitting instances I had seen. And while the thought of someone shitting all over themselves is sad, the fact that the only logical explanation for the shit-carnage I witnessed was that Jorge decided to multi task, both shitting and doing the "soldier boy" dance or the electric slide or something at the same time is sadder. and the saddest? you have never witnessed a person truly depressed until they are on their hands and knees, hung over, scrubbing shit off every inch of a room. And with that, I would like to formally introduce to, our readers, "Jorge". You will learn to love him.

A true classic and a situation you never want to find yourself in.

Ever get mad at someone and just want to do this?

Step Brothers

Great scene

Probably my number 2 favorite farting scene of all time (GM beat me to Blazing Saddles)

"whachu you think a colonic is? you take your asshole down the carwash?"

HERCULES! HERCULES!

And another classic:

Did you fart?

Keep it going men, add you favorites!

-JB

Best Fart Scenes of All Time

Today from the throne we ask our followers to think long and hard about their favorite fart/shit scenes of all time. Hollywood has created thousands, but only a select few are among some of the greatest ever. There are those you laugh at and those that you rewind and watch again ten times because you laugh so hard. Here is one for thought and one that is a pure classic:

Blazing Saddles Camp Fire Scene

Check it out and please respond to this post with all of your favorites. We will compile a list of the all time greats

and post it in the days to come.

G

The Traveler

Today, I would like to bring to the discussion table an issue that has been facing men since the ice age. To put "the traveler" into perspective I would like to share a story, which i'm sure will hit home for many.

It is Sunday afternoon...you are at a friends place with a bunch of buddies and some ladies. The day is going well...your team is winning...you're talking it up with a fine lady sitting next to you. You try to not to break the seal, but the beer keeps flowing, and eventually you just have to go. After two trips to the pisser, the beer begins shifting from making you have to pee to making you have to fart. Now comes the trouble. You can't fart in the living room. So on your next trip to the bathroom, you figure you will just drop a few air biscuits. Safe, right? Not if "the traveler" is in effect. You take your piss, drop a few silent duds, and things seem great. But then you realize the stench...your personal scent...is traveling around your pants and all the exhaust has not escaped. While everything went well in the bathroom, you begin to think that when you go back out to the couch next to your lady friend and sit down, the remaining exhaust will be released upon impact with the couch.

How to handle this situation? Until someone invents a fan that keeps gas from floating around in the draws and pants and can push it out immediately, here is the best solution i have come up with. Drop it all. When you go to take your piss, drop everything and stand there bare naked while pissing. Yes, you may look like a two year old who just dropped it all to take his first piss, but when you fart, your gas will float freely through the air of the bathroom rather then travel through your pants. Make sure the door is locked...because if someone comes in and sees you taking a piss with your pants and draws wrapped around your ankles some questions might need to be answered.

Watch out for "the traveler".

G