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I was in Florida when I was 14 with my family. We went deep sea fishing and somewhere between the motion of the ocean, the Taco Bell lunch and the fact I hadn't taken a dump in a day or two (this always happens to me on vacation) I felt the urge. Not just any old urge, I mean the full-on, red-flag waving, cramping, bloated, painful to tears kind of urge. Both heads on the boat were in use, so I stood there doing my best 'gottashit dance'. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, I was practically in tears it hurt so bad...I whipped down my shorts, hung my ass over the railing while my dad held my arms to keep me from falling overboard and went for broke. And do I ever mean I went for broke. Now please keep in mind that the boat is rocking around and clipping along, heading for shore, which was just a faint line on the horizon.
It was a very light yellow/brown coloured soup that my dad described as 'looking very much like a clogged spray can', in that it came out almost in a mist. A few people saw what was going on, but said nothing. Bowels empty, I clean up with some napkins and get myself sorted out. Looking over the side of the boat, all you can see is this awful yellow smear down the whole side of the hull. When we docked, it was THAT side of the boat that was pulled up to the jetti and tied up, with everyone (and thier catches) forced to walk past my mark. And it stank...worse than the fishing pier, worse than the bait...it was all you could smell. I think my dad gave the guys some cash towards cleaning.
I wanted to die.
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