Most embarrassing moment.

Well that depends on the speed of the greens and how hard he hits it.

 

"The truck was clocked going 70 decibels per quart."

 

Now that's fucking funny.

 

The sign clearly said it was a 65 dpq zone. It's the trucker's fault.

 

After reading this thread, a couple come to mind....

Sometime during 7th grade I received a hall pass to go to my math room... I had no idea what it was about, but when I got there, there was a photographer and about six or seven of the hottest girls in my class. They were taking a picture and for some reason I was supposed to be part of it. I'm still not sure what's going on, but I go along with it.

Months later when we get our yearbook I find out, quite tragically, what the picture was for. The Equine Club. What the fuck?

Turns out that the first day of their club early in the fall, I stayed after school to finish a math assignment in the same room the club was being held in. The person writing down the names of the people in the club wrote my name down too. So when it came time to take the picture, I was invited.

I've never gotten so much shit in my life, and still do to this day. Now, I can laugh about it. Then, as an insecure boy, not so much.

Some of the bathroom stories reminded me of a time at UW-Whitewater when I had to take a dump so bad, I didn't care that the shitter in the bar didn't have any walls... Sitting on the john with my pants at my ankles in the open air was one thing...

Attempting to wipe was quite another...

 

I try to stay away from bathrooms like that, Trouser. I hate those damned things.

 

That would be a fart with a hang-time of Reggie Roby-esque proportions. When I worked at Sam's Club in Nashville, those were always fun to rip over the intercom during store hours.

 

Was Rebecca Lobo there?

 

Speaking of pooping pants ...

In elementary school, my older brother and I played a lot of whiffle ball in the backyard. He was in junior high and liked to mess with me. I was beating him for the first time ever and it was in the 9th inning and I just needed to get two more outs when a big deuce started moving through my bowels.
I tell my brother I need to call a timeout and go poo and he says there is no timeouts in baseball and if I don't keep pitching I will automatically lose.
So, I keep pitching.
One out to go and suddenly bad things start happening in my pants.
Sure enough a big log is coming out.
But, being the psycho competitive individual I am, I keep pitching.
I got the out I needed and did the duck walk into the house and into the bathroom where I was eventually met by my brother and his buddy who made fun of me for weeks, months and years.
Hell, I was made fun of it at Christmas this year.
The only response I have is: at least I won.

 

I was having a really bad day 'til I read that.

You can be on my whiffle ball team any day. Your dedication to win is amazing.

 

I don't know about your family, dude, but mine brings back all the embarrassing stories of our lifetime -- especially the worst ones -- to tell on Christmas. My mom called me the other day just to tell me about a stupid thing my brother did, and she said, "Do me a favor. Make sure he doesn't hear the end of it."

My brother hates holidays.

 

Not so embarrassing, but just a moment to go along with all the other shit in this thread (look at me, I made a pun).

During my college days, I ran cross country and we ran each year at Van Cortlandt Park in the Bronx. It was about two hours before the race and the bathrooms were packed, so we went to this restaurant of which my teammate knew. He said the owner was always gracious to him and let him use their bathroom.

So we walk to the establishment and it's this really nice steakhouse. They were opening in like 30 minutes, but the owner recognized my teammate and let us in.

I went to the bathroom that was right next to the kitchen and just let loose. Chuichi Nagumo would have shed a tear at how well I was letting the bombs drop.

I'm elevating off the floor with the pressure from my bowel movements and I mean, wow, the smell was even getting to me. I'm sure the people in the pictures in the bathroom were walking out for time being.

Well, I look at my watch, so I need to do the pinch/cut maneuver.

I flush. Doesn't go down. I flush again. Doesn't go down.

I look at my watch and it's close to when the place is supposed to open. I flush again, but the Browns keep fighting.

I'm getting ticked off and my teammates are waiting for me, so I just say forget it and walk out. A cook comes into the bathroom after me and just stares in my direction.

-------------------------------

We walk back to the cross-country meet and since I pinched, the floodgates want to open again. So I happy dance over to the bathroom and by now, it's pretty empty so I just go right in.

My teammates know the legacies of my bowl-winders by now, so they hang outside the bathroom to revel in my pain.

The only bathroom open is the handicapped stall, so I go in and just as I drop trou, it all rushes out again. I hold onto the rails in the stall and just let the good times drop. The splashback is vicious, but I grin and bear it.

I hear my teammates laughing from outside and soon enough, I hear laughter from inside the bathroom. Other people came to use the bathroom and their stifled laughter was not concealed well enough.

So I wrap up shop after getting it ALL out. These toilets are jet-flushers, so it all goes right down without a problem, but like the 2002 A's, it's a little streaky.

I step outside the stall and there's a physically-challenged fellow in a wheelchair waiting in line for the stall. I wash my hands and while I am making my way to the door, the guy wheels out of the stall immediately after shutting the door. I will never forget what he said, "Oh my God, just for today, I can't be handicapped any more."

I just walked right out the door.