I Shit Where I WANT

From: drastic@camelot.bradley.edu (Gary Achenbach)
Date: 10 May 1995

Moving time.
Well, not moving per se. Let's be exact--I mean, packing. And cleaning.
Have to clean before I can pack.

So I'm cleaning out a year's worth of accumulated shit from my room.
People kept coming up to me and asking, "Gar, why don't you use the bathroom?
Why don't you use the indoor plumbing? Why do you just shit were you live
and leave it there?" FUCK THEM. I'm a YETI, SCRODDAMN them, and I SHIT
WHERE I WANT. Tight-assed pinkmotherfuckers are so programmed that they
think they can only take a shit in some Conspiracy-approved TOILET. Thanks
to "Bob" I'm free of the Conspiracy NOOSE of bowel and bladder CONtrol.
My sphincters will never clench again. THANKS, "BOB!" THANKS A LOT!
The Reverend Gar Drastic aka Gary Achenbach aka drastic@camelot.bradley.edu
"Do I advocate another revolution? What do you mean, -another-? We have
yet to see the first. But it's coming." -- Edward Abbey


Subject: Repost

From: dynasor@infi.net (Dennis McClain-Furmanski)
Date: 21 Apr 1995

Careful, it's a messy one. Don't get any on you. Unless you want to.

This is for all the peoples who are interested!!!!

Philcore Nabokov (nabokov@wookie.net) wrote:
**This story is very explicit!!!! If you are under the age of 18, wear a
**pace- maker, are a Congressman, are an animal-rights activist, a vegetarian
**or, like, an immature loser, then don't READ ON.

** This story represents my views and desires as well as those of my

** Copyright 1995, Anal Nectar Productions

** Call me Squish-Male. I feel as if I cannot reveal my true
** identity, because the nature of my particular desire is so horrifying, so hideous,
** so smarmily appealing, that I must evict myself from society. Yes, I am
** a isolatto, a lone palm-bearer of perversity among the blackness of
** darkness.

** I first discovered the nature of my affliction at the age of 15.
**I was a budding young haquer, ele3t as the day, sailing the alt.sex series
** in search of some needed titillation. I came across a post which was
** unlike all the others. It surpassed them all in twistedness, in
**delicious perversity. Let me reproduce it as best I can from memory, since it's
**evil, lustrous loveliness was so amazingly formative for me:

*Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
*by Coppafeelya@AOL.COM

* Hi guys. So, like, I was like taking a shit the other day, and
* it was so fucking amazing man, like I got a total erection. I
* didn't know why, but I were like totally aroused. So, I reached
*into toilet and smear shit all over my kneecaps. I thought this
*was gross, but then I realized how sexy it was. I continue to
*rub shit pellets over my stomach, and thighs, and nipples. I
*savor the sexy smell. I think now of stroking my penis."

** I was so riveted by his ejaculatory confession that, for days, I
** couldn't erase the image from my mind. I was terrified, like my
** predecessor, that I was ill, that I was "gross." My reservations,
** however, amounted to nothing. I had fallen in love with the image, the
** idea, the very thought of following in this daring, alt.sex poster's
** footsteps. And so, I embarked on a journey to the bathroom.

** I sat down on the cold, dastardly throne, like an enormous
**snow-hill in the air. At first, it's daunting chilliness made me uncomfortable,
**nay, rather afraid that I would never escape from this mad indulgence. But
**soon, the thought of my own immorality, of going blind, of getting piles soon
**diminished. I felt a slow, warm tingling between my legs. This was due
**to the storm which was not-so-slowly brewing within the confines of my
**colon. I knew that I could not turn back at this point, and suddenly,
**the roll of toilet-paper next to me, dangling reassuringly, began to
**finely tremble in time with the shuddering deep within my anus. I geared up,
**grasped the smooth, cool porcelain which supported me, and waited. A
**primeval rumble was emanating from the recess of my ass, so rich and
**profound in nature, that it seemed to forebode the massive profusion of
**chocolate riches which my digestive system so painfully harbored. I sat
**back, my hard, nubile young body, toned after years of sitting in front
**of a computer -- my fingers bearing the trademark callouses of my (dual)

** A slick, wet heat began to sear my anus. I began to feel my
**beloved ass-muscles parting, like two long-rusted gates barring the
**entrance to a enormously opulent, ancient city, pregnant with delights,
**hidden for centuries from trade and outside contact by a jealous ruler.
**Now, it began. Like a deluge of spring run-off, a gargantuan, bubbly
**flood, originating from the deepest, dankest recess of my being,
**excruciatingly exploded forth. Truly, this was the Chocolate Quik of
**the gods, an immemorial liquid ecstasy of mocha molasses. Studded with
**half-digested chunks, gemmed with peanuts and other small tributes to
**meals past, it flowed like the septis from a thousand ghetto sewers. It
**popped, gurgled, imploded, exploded. It gushed out in a gorgeous black
**blast, as if from a bursting fire-hydrant, seething, burning.

** During this amazing catharsis, I must confess that, like my
**predecessor, my penis became hugely erect. It stood before me like an
**old friend, practically purple with anticipation, it's veiny impudence
**beckoning further, forbidden action. I paused for a second, remembering
**my previous doubts. But, this was not the time for hesitation, and so I
**quickly moved forward. I reached down into the vortex of the toilet,
**into that by now wonderfully odorous abyss, and scooped out a large gob
**of diarrhetic mass. Holding it aloft, I regarded it lovingly, it's
**burnt sienna slickness so inviting. Immediately, I splashed it all over me,
**really in an aimless, wasteful manner. My gesture was more one of
**release, one of defiant self-liberation, than one of studied
**self-titillation. After that, however, I took my time.

** I looked down at myself, at my brown, peanutty glory, and began
**to weep. I wept for all the years during which I had been imprisoned in
**a terrible cage of sexual intimidation.

** I smeared every last bit that the toilet, like a goblet of finest
**porcelain, had to offer. My arms were caked in now drying shit. My
**face bore the most malodorous decorations, the tattoos of the jungle hunter.
**I placed a little giblet of crap in my belly-button, which I intended to
**keep there long after my escapade. I squished the diarrhetic mash
**between my toes, working it under the nails. I luxuriated in it,
*smelling it, kissing it -- at times, yes, munching on it.

** And then, I began to rub the gorgeous garbage onto my cock. It
**was so liberating. So lovely, so outlandishly great.
** My pee-pee swelled with lust. Little Richard throbbed with
**fecal delight. I worked the brown elixir all over the length of my shaft, and
**smeared it deep into the skin on its head. "Better, as well, than
**Vaseline Intensive Care!" I began to pump and jerk, drawing in the sexy
**fumes -- that delicious combination of chocolate and crotch-sweat --
**and, as if after an age of work -- it began. Torrents of creamy, milky
**explosion began to course from the depths of my wee-wald, contrasting so
**sexily with the blackness of the darkness all over my body -- the effect
**splurging me to the precipice of orgiastic abandon.

**Well, that's my story! Please, I'd love to have feed-back. I want to
**know what you guys think!! If you all want, you can either mail me or
**post. Let's keep the comments constructive, though!!!!!!

dynasor@infi.net The Doctor is on.


Subject: alt.slack.scatalogical

From: mtownsend@interramp.com (Michael Townsend)
Date: Thu, 27 Apr 1995

I smell a new splinter newsgroup forming. Literally.

Water sports and golden showers?
I pass.

Thanks, but no.

Must be a midwestern thing.

Dog fart explosions?
First you gotta get me in the mood.

Placenta sandwiches?
I already had lunch.

Garlic high colonic?
Sorry, gotta run...

Oxygen therapies?
Getting closer.

The shit-eating grin of J.R. "Bob" Dobbs?

>>>Dad's Frapulous Tape Torture<<<
**Send a tape. Get a tape. It's that sleazy!**

Mail to: Dad's New Slacks - P.O. Box 4272 - Portland, Maine 04101-4272
::::or kill me for more email:::::

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