If you don't like reading stories about poo poo, well then this isn't the one for you. That's a disclaimer, if you will, for people who cringe at words like "poop," "crap" and "explosive diarrhea."

During my sophomore year at SUNY Buffalo I put together a caravan of Buffalonians to head southeastward to visit fellow Yorktowners Nick Rude and Mike Morano at SUNY Oneonta. We had made this trip to Oneonta the previous year with about four people and had a great time, so when kids heard about the trip the next year they all wanted in.

So we had two cars full with eight people, among them Zubazkateers Ian Valentine, Matt Fishman and Josh Kohan. Paul Cancun could have gone, but he pulled a "frat boy move" and decided to ditch out and hang out with his "frat boyz." Actually, we wouldn't have let him come anyway because he is a smelly loser who eats tuna fish straight out of the can. But that's for another day.

Zubazkateer Paul showing off his "Frat Boy Moves," literally.

It was a long four and a half hours in the car to Oneonta, but the anticipation was at a fever pitch as Kohan and I kept on talking and hoping about how beers would be placed in our hands as soon as we walked through the door of Nick and Mike's dorm room. And that is exactly what happened. Beers were placed in our respective hands immediately upon entering the room, and a raucous affair soon began.

It was a WILD night in Oneonta, something that is pretty much expected whenever you trek to the land of the Red Dragons (that's the schools mascot, not Marijuana leaves contrary to popular belief).

As you can see from the following pictures of that first night, things got pretty ugly pretty fast.

This was about five minutes and five beers into the trip. A harbinger of doom

Jay Han is one sick fuck

Ian mopping up my vomit after a wild night in the dorms and at the bar.

But as ugly as my first night was in Oneonta, things would take a turn for the worse the following afternoon.

Many of you know of a condition that most suffer from after a heavy night of drinking. Simply put, it is called "the beer shits." I was suffering from a savage case of these, so I headed out of Rude and Mu's dorm room and made my way to the bathroom. This was easy enough considering the bathroom was right down the hall from their room.

A problem arose upon entering their hall's designated bathroom, one that would set off a chain reaction of events that I won't soon forget.

Both toilets were desecrated and covered in vomit--not my own, if that is what you are thinking--and there was no way that I was going to be resting my beautiful butt cheeks in either stall.

"No problem," I thought to myself. "I'll just go upstairs to use the bathroom there."

I made my way up the stairs of the dormitory to the third floor and searched for the nearest bathroom in a haste because my ass was about to explode.

Down the hall I saw the telltale sign of a dormitory bathroom--a door with no handle--and scurried down and pushed my way in. This bathroom was immaculate and I was overjoyed so I got into the stall and sat myself down.

Well, the fact that the bathroom was immaculate should have tipped me off as to where exactly I was. As I was sitting there about to detonate Wilbur Hall with a J-Bomb, I happened to look down into a garbage pail. What I saw sitting on top in plain view was an empty box of tampons.

I was in a women's bathroom.

Luckily for me, there was nobody in the bathroom, so I jacked up my pants, peeked out the door to make sure no one was in the hall, and bolted out of there.

The problem of being in a girl's bathroom was solved, but I still had to drop a deuce that was making my ass feel as if there was one of those aliens from the Alien films in there waiting to burst out.

Now in agony, I traveled down below Rude and Mu's room to the first floor since there is only one bathroom in each hall. I wasn't thinking straight at the time, so I did not realize the pattern of bathrooms in Wilbur Hall. A simple logic problem done in my head would have lead me straight up to the fourth floor, but at that time I didn't realize that since floor 2=men's room and floor 3=girl's, floor 1 would also equal a women's bathroom. The only thing that was going on in my head at the time was the thought, "GOOD GOD, I HAVE TO SHIT!"

Making my way to the first floor, I sped down the hallway and ran into a stall of another unmarked bathroom. There was no telltale garbage pale in this one, and the room was slightly dirty, so I figured that I had finally made it to a men's room.

With that, I let loose a series of bombs that would even make flies cringe and pass out. Boy, was I relieved. I felt like I was on cloud nine and that all was right in the world again.

And then a couple of chatting girls entered the bathroom.

Oh ... my ... god.

A sense of dread came over me. I was scared shitless. No pun intended.

The girls' immediate reaction to walking into what was at that point equivalent to a toxic waste dump was this quote that is forever burned into my memory. "OH MY GOD! WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SMELL!!!"

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit," was all that was coming to mind.

The girls fled the room in disgust, and I was left there with my pants around my ankles and a freeze in my brain over what to do.

I didn't have much time to think, as both girls returned to the bathroom and sprayed air refreshener all over the place. Personally, I never think that that stuff works. It just makes the room smell like fruity shit instead of shitty shit. But whatever, I was knee-deep in a major crisis here.

The first thing I did was pull my pants up to cover my hairy legs. "If the girls somehow noticed my legs, I would be fucked," I thought to myself. In my head I was envisioning them calling the RA to tell them about some pervert pedophile that was hanging out in the girls room making stinky poops. At this point I was sweating bullets.

Apparently, the girls were in there putting on makeup or something, because I never heard any water running or toilets flushing. The goddamn girls weren't giving me any daylight to break out of there.

And then it happened. One of the girls came over to the stall and asked if I was alright because I had been in there so long at that point. If you know me, you know that I take my time when sitting on the john. Ian Valentine even once started a rumor that I brought the George Foreman Grill into the bathroom at our house in college to make cheeseburgers while I was taking a dump.

But back to the girl asking me if "I was alright." I was like a deer in the headlights at this point, with no idea of what to do or say. My first thought was to kick the stall door open, thus knocking her backwards and allowing me to make break for the door. Since this was obviously not a wise idea, I mustered up my best "girl voice" and said "Yeah!"

It was pathetic. I sounded like fucking Mickey Mouse. There was no way she was buying this.

Fortunately for me, she did. Both girls then proceeded to hop in the showers, and I knew my chance had come. I hiked up my pants sans wiping (this would take too long with the beer shits), opened the stall, and jumped into the shower with the girls and started singing "I'm the boogie man, the boogie man, who turns you on?!?"

No of course I didn't do that. I ran to the door as fast as I fucking could, peeked out ... and saw some dude a few steps down the hall facing into a room talking to some chick. DAMN!

His back was to me though, so I said "Fuck it" to myself and took off holding my pants a little below my ass so they didn't get all nasty.

I survived the incident without anyone knowing what had really happened. Well, except for all of my buddies who thought that this was the funniest thing that they had ever heard once I made it back to the dorm and told them of my shitty ordeal in the panic room that was the women's bathroom.

Questions or comments? E-mail Jim Byrne at Y2JimProblem1@yahoo.com

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