My Worst Secret

My Worst Secret Is….

I hit a homeless man coming back from a New Years Eve party a couple years ago.  The night started out great, picked up the girl of my dreams and she was wearing an amazing black cocktail dress.  I was dressed up as well for my Firm’s Celebration party.   We partied and laughed the whole night it was a great start to a new year.  It was probably around 2:30 in the morning when we left and started our drive home.  I had definitely drank way too many vodka redbulls than I could handle but we only lived a couple miles away so I thought I could make it just fine.  Around the firm’s highrise are a lot of drunks/homeless people which was pretty standard for this downtown area.  I turned a corner not really paying attention down a backalley and clipped a man as he walked with his grocery shopping cart.  He slumped down over his cart which was the only way he was able to stand up.  I got out of the car in a panic and shook him to see if he was ok.  I was too scared to call anyone as I was drunk and I was pretty sure no one else saw the accident.  I got back in the car to drive home.  My Girlfriend was scared the cops would find us so she made me stop in a parking lot and took a shopping car and hit the side we clipped the man.  It made the story plausible the car was hit in a random cart accident in a parking lot at some unknown time.  A couple of months later it was a sore point in our relationship, she didn’t want to go out with me anymore and do social events.  We eventually broke up and to this day I’m not sure how bad I hurt the drunk man but I’m just glad no one ever found out it was me.

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My Worst Secret Is….

The excellent story, “I created a turd masterpiece while working at Home Depot,” reminded me of a similar escapade 30 years ago.  I had just been fired as manager of a small photo lab, by its owner, for no good reason – in my opinion.  So at home later that day, while taking a crap and smoking a joint, I plotted various ways of getting revenge on the lab owner.  I remembered that the lab occasionally received mechanically damaged rolls of 35mm film to be processed.  In these cases the film had usually been jammed in the camera, then removed from the camera, hopefully in darkness, and then placed in one of the light-tight film canisters 35mm film comes in when you buy it.  At the photo lab each morning, you had to shake each and every one of the 35mm film cassettes which arrived inside of film canisters, and listen very carefully before opening to determine whether they contained a 35mm film cassette or loose film, which of course would be ruined if it were exposed to light before processing.  Anything that sounded like it might be loose film had to be taken to the darkroom and manually spliced to the other films in darkness before processing.  Only the lab owner and I knew how to do this.  I got up off the toilet and chuckled as I found an empty 35mm film canister, took a piece of my shit out of the toilet, placed it in the film canister, and shook it by my ear.  I had to add a little more shit, bit by bit, but finally it sounded just like loose film when shaken next to the ear.  Then I dropped the film canister in my pocket, drove over to the lab, and dropped it into the drop-off slot.  And every day for a long time after that, I had a great laugh as I visualized the lab owner opening that film canister in total darkness, feeling around inside it, and smearing my shit all over his hands!

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My Worst Secret is…

When I was really young, I used to be picked on by other kids in church. I was always the active ADHD kid who would cause all sorts of trouble to fellow children and parents alike (but hey, that’s what kids do when their young). So a group of kids had it with me and decided to hold a “committee” to outcast me from all the kids from our church. The leader of this “committee” was a little b*tch who always tried to boss other people around (you know those kids).
So I decided to play along their game and act really nice and beg for forgiveness, while they were in their room making their decisions, I got a tray and some cups from the kitchen and filled each cup my scooping up from the toilet. Now this toilet was pretty grimy and encrusted with piss and shit stains. I then served them this noxious concoction, and they thanked me and drank it

I regret nothing.

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My Worst Secret is…

I used to work for Home Depot while I was in college.  One of my favorite things to do was relax in the can for about an hour after a long night of binge drinking mixed with a late night run through the old Jack in the Box.  After a particularly heavy night of drinking and a large meal I sat down on the commode and produced a beautiful 3′ brown corn snake that was about 4″ in diameter.  A serpeant of this length and girth is uncommon in southwest Illinois.  I wanted to share it with the world, so in a feat of creativity and engineering uncommon inside the walls of Home Depot I came up with a plan to do so.  Instead of the usual wipe then toss (of the toilet paper), I kept all of the shit-tickets used and flushed them down the adjacent stall.  I also covered the laser eye that auto-flushes after you’re done making with a piece of toilet paper adhered with spit.  I then took my black permanent marker and on the wall behind the toilet wrote “I wipe my ass with my barehands.”  I can only imagine the look on the face of the man who saw the meaty chud staring him in the face after reading that.  Luckily my department was right outside of the restrooms, so I spent the day following customers around the store that used the facilities.  Once I finished helping each of them I shook hands with them and had just enough chocolate on my palm to smear a little reminder to any that entered the stall.

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My Worst Secret…

One night when I was in college, me and some of my friends went over to some asswipe’s house for a party in search of a nice warpig to fuck.  I didn’t even know the owners, but after a few hours of underage drinkers puking in the neighborhood the police were, of course, called.  Like the frost-tipped abercrombie clad pussies that make up the larger portion of the college campuses of America, these guys had everyone pack into the basement with the hopes that if the lights were off and it was quiet for 10 minutes the cops would disregard the rows of cars lining the streets and just leave.  I knew a lot of the officers in town and volunteered to talk to the police.  I was able to negotiate with the cops to leave and check back in an hour after which the house would be cleared out so no one would be arrested.  The guys said we could stay and finish the keg off since I helped them out.

Well, the house cleared out and everyone but several skank bangholes, the guys from the house, and my friends were left.  After the cops left the guys said we had to leave too because they figured we would fuck up any chance of these pedophiles from getting their dicks wet. So, on the way out the guy let me use the restroom.  I pissed in his mouthwash-an almost full bottle-and returned it to the cabinet.  The guy rinsed his mouth out with my piss for the next several weeks.  Several weeks later I found out I had a bad case of the clap.  Hopefully he and his roomates did as well.  This happened at Southern Illinois University – Edwardsville in the fall of 2004.  I only hope that one of those tools happen by this site and read this.

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