Golden Corral...

[The King]

Doc's getting bitch-slapped in yet another of his own threads, and by a girl again LOL

Hey doctor, why did you take down your other thread that same thing happened in? Get butthurt by someone?

[Silverback]

but i only order diet coke to drink when i'm there, that has to help

[Broncojohnny]

but i only order diet coke to drink when i'm there, that has to help

"I know I got the buffet but I am just going to take this whole pan of peach cobbler to my table with me after I put some ice cream on it. I'll have a diet Coke to drink and the moneybags trick hoe doctor over here paying for all of this shit, put $3 down for yourself too...."

[Pro88LX]

At least take the kiddos to a descent buffet place.

Furrs > Golden Corral

is furrs any good? ive seen it but never tried it...

[78X]

is furrs any good? ive seen it but never tried it...

Furrs is good shit

[Pro88LX]

Furrs is good shit

hmmm may have to hit it up. Usually not much of a buffet fan, unless its fadi's, or sushi.

[TexasDevilDog]

Obama needs to outlaw buffets. They are not good for health care.

[juiceweezl]

Page 3 and still no Golden Corral story? You guys suck.

This is probably one of the funniest darn things that have ever happened to me. A couple of weeks ago we decided to cruise out to Golden Corral for dinner. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef are on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night; complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the kids. It may seem that the events about to be told have little connection to those two circumstances, but all will be clear in a moment.

We went through the line and placed our orders for the all-you-can-eat hot bar then sat down. Then I started my move to the hot bar. Plate after plate of macaroni and beef were consumed that evening, I tell you - in all, four heaping plates of the pseudo-Italian ambrosia were shoved into my belly. I was gorged, perhaps a bit too much, however.

I had not really been feeling well all day, what with a bit of gas and such. By the time I had eaten four overwhelmed plates of food, I was in trouble. There was so much pressure on my diaphragm that I was having trouble breathing and unbuttoning my pants were not an option since I was wearing sweats. At the same time, the downward pressure was building. At first I thought it was only gas, which could have been passed in batches right at the table without too much concern.

Unfortunately, that was not to be. After a minute or so it was clear that I was dealing with explosive movement that was soon going to come out the backside, if you catch my drift. It's amazing how grease can make its way through your intestines far faster than the food which spawned the grease to begin with, but I digress... so I quickly got up from the table and made my way to the bathroom. Upon entering, I saw two sinks immediately inside the door, two urinals just to the right of the sinks, and two toilet stalls against the back wall. One of them was a handicapped bathroom. Now, normally I would have gone to the handicapped stall since I like to stretch out a bit when I take a good @#$%. But in this case, the door lock was broken and the thing I hate more than anything in the world is having someone walk in on me while I am taking a @#$%.

So I made my way to the normal stall. In retrospect, I probably should have gone to the large, handicapped stall even though the door would not lock because that bit of time lost in making the stall decision proved to be a bit too long under the current circumstances. By the time I had walked into the regular stall, the pressure on my lower unit was reaching Biblical portions. So I began "The Move."

For those who may be reading this, let me take a moment to explain "The Move." Most men know exactly what their bowels are up to at any given second. And when the time comes to empty the cache, a sequence of anatomical events occur that can not be stopped under any circumstances. There is a move men make that involves simultaneously approaching the toilet, beginning the body turn to position ones bottom toward the toilet, hooking ones fingers into ones waistline, and pulling down the pants while beginning the squat at the same time. It is a very fluid motion that, when performed properly, results in the flawless expulsion of poo at the exact same second that one's bottom is properly placed on the toilet seat. Done properly, it even assures that the poo is properly inserted into the front rim of the toilet in the event that the urine stream lets loose at the same time; it is truly a picture of coordination rivaling that of a skilled ballet dancer.

Well long story long, I was about halfway into "The Move" when I looked down at the floor and saw a pile of vomit that had been previously expelled by one of the kids attending kids’ night. It was mounded up in the corner so I did not notice it when I had first walked into the stall. Normally, I would not have been bothered by such a thing, but I had eaten so much and the pressure upward was so intense, that I hit a rarely experienced gag reflex. And once that reflex started, combined with the intense pressure upward caused by the bloated stomach, four plates of macaroni and beef started coming up for a rematch.

What happened next was so quick that the exact sequence of events is a bit fuzzy, but I will try to reconstruct them as best I can. In that moment of impending projectile vomiting, my attention was diverted from the goings-on at the other end. To put a freeze frame on the situation, I’m half crouched down to the toilet, pants pulled down to my knees, with a load of vomit coming up my esophagus.

Now, most of you know that vomiting takes precedence over poop no matter what is about to come slamming out of your bottom. It is apparently an evolutionary thing since pooping will not kill you, but vomiting takes a presence of mind to accomplish so that you do not aspirate any food into the bronchial tubes and perhaps choke to death. My attention was thus diverted. At that very split second, my bottom exploded in what can only be described as a wake...you know, as in a newspaper headline along the lines of "30,000 Killed In Wake of Typhoon Fifi" or something along those lines. In what seemed to be most suitably measured in cubic feet, an enormous amount of poop the consistency of thick mud with pockets of greasy liquid came flying out of my bottom.

But remember, I was only halfway down on the toilet at that moment. The poop wave was of such force, and of just such an angle in relation to the back curve of the toilet seat, that it ricocheted off the back of the seat and slammed into the wall - at an angle equal to which it initially hit the toilet seat. Then I sat down. Recall that when that event occurred, I was already halfway to sitting and had actually reached the point of no return. I have always considered myself as relatively stable gravitationally, but when you get beyond a certain point, you're going down no matter how limber you may be. Needless to say, the poop wave, though of considerable force, was not so sufficient so as to completely glance off the toilet seat and deposit itself on the walls - unlike what you would see when hitting a puddle with a high-pressure water hose; even though you throw water at the puddle, the puddle gets moved and no water is left to re-form a puddle. There was a significant amount of poop remaining on about one-third of the seat rim which I had now just collapsed upon.

Now, let us remember the simultaneous vomiting...

While the entire pooping was going on, the vomit was still on its way up. By the time I had actually collapsed on the toilet, my mouth had filled up with a large portion of the macaroni and beef I had just consumed. OK, so what does the human body instinctively do when vomiting? One bends over. So I bent over. I was still sitting on the toilet, though. Therefore, bending over resulted in me placing my head above my now slightly-opened legs, positioned in between my knees and waist. Also, directly above my pants which were now pulled down to a point just midway between my knees and my ankles. Oh, do you remember I was wearing sweats, not the new cooler sweats but sweatpants with elastic on the ankles. In one mighty push, some three pounds of macaroni and beef, two or three Cokes, and a couple of Big, Fat Yeast Rolls were deposited inside my pants with no readily available exit at the bottom down by my feet. In the next several seconds, there were a handful of farts, a couple more poops, and the event ended. Yet I was now sitting there with my pants full of vomit, my back covered in poop that had bounced off the toilet, spattered on three ceramic-tiled walls to a height of about five feet, and still had enough force to come back at me, covering the back of my shirt with droplets of liquid poop. All while thick poop was spread all over my bottom in a ring curiously in the shape of a toilet seat.

And there was no @#$%!@# toilet paper!!!! At this point, what else could I do but laugh. I must have sounded like a complete maniac to the guy who then wandered into the bathroom. He actually asked if I was OK since I was laughing so hard I must have sounded like I was crying hysterically. I calmed down just enough to ask him if he would get the manager, and told him to have the manager bring me some toilet paper. When the manager walked in, he brought the toilet paper with him, but in no way was prepared for had occurred. I simply told him that there was no way I was going to explain what had happened in the stall, but that I needed several wet towels and I needed him to go ask my wife to come help me. I told him where we were sitting and he left. At that point, I think he was probably assuming that I had pee’d just a bit in my pants or something similarly benign.

About two minutes later, my wife came into the bathroom not knowing what was wrong and with a certain amount of worry in her voice. I explained to her (still laughing and having trouble getting out words) that I had a slight accident and needed her help. Knowing that I had experienced some close calls in the past, she probably assumed that I had soiled my shorts on the way to the bathroom or something and just needed to bring the car around so that we could bolt immediately. Up until this point I'm sure she had no idea that she was about to go across the street and purchase me new underwear, new socks, new pants, a new shirt, and (by that time due to considerable leakage around the elastic ankles thingies) new shoes.

She then started to laugh herself since I was still laughing, and she began to ask for an explanation as to what had happened when I promised her that I would tell her later, but that I just needed to handle damage control for the time being. So she left to head out to buy me new clothes.

[juiceweezl]

Shortly later the manager then came back in with a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I asked him to also bring a mop and bucket upon which he assured me that they would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving him specific details, I explained that what was going on in the stall that night was far in excess of what I would expect anyone to deal with. At that moment, I think it dawned on him exactly the gravity of the situation. Then that manager went so far above the call of duty that I will be eternally grateful for his actions. He hooked up a hose. Fortunately, commercial bathrooms are constructed with tile walls and tile floors and have a drain in the middle of the room in order to make clean up easy. Fortunately, I was in a commercial bathroom and the drain was in my stall. He hooked up the hose to the spigot located under the sink as I began cleaning myself up with the wet towels.

Just as I was finishing, my wife got back with the new clothes and passed them into the stall, whereupon I stuffed the previously worn clothing into the plastic bag that came from the store, handing the bag to my wife. I finished cleaning myself off and carefully put on my new clothes, still stuck in the stall since I figured that it would be in bad taste to go out of the stall to get redressed, in the event I happened to be standing there naked and some little kid walked in. At that point, I had only made a mess; I had not yet committed a felony and intended to keep it that way.

When I finished getting dressed, I picked up the hose and cleaned up the entire stall, washing down the remains toward the drain in the center of the room. I put down the hose and walked out of the bathroom. I had intended to go to the manager and thank him for all he had done, but when I walked out, three of the management staff was there to greet me with a standing ovation. I started laughing so hard that I thought I was going to throw up again, but managed to scurry out to the car where my wife was now waiting to pick me up by the front door.

The upshot of all this is that I strongly recommend eating dinner at Golden Corral. They have, by far, the nicest management staff of any restaurant in which I have eaten.
_________________

[SSMAN]

I don't go to buffets or Cracker Barrells

[davbrucas]

Considering the ever growing statistics of Obesity in America, you'd better find a way to cope with this Obesophobia of yours. We're a culture of excess and self-indulgence. Driven by consumerism. Busy parents that will get their kids fast food because it's more convenient that cooking. Hereditary factors involving a good chunk of people. Schools eliminating PE class.

It's a society ill that's a dead end road. Sorry, doc. Learn to embrace the blubber.

LOL...it's more of a source of entertainment on here than an actual phobia/disdain. But thanks for the advice! When we having a beer or 6?

[davbrucas]

Doc's getting bitch-slapped in yet another of his own threads, and by a girl again LOL

Hey doctor, why did you take down your other thread that same thing happened in? Get butthurt by someone?

Yeah, I keep getting beat up by the Amazon. Maybe Jeezus can help me?

[davbrucas]

http://www.georgia-outdoors.com/forum/showthread.php?t=76778

That's hilarious...I wonder if that actually happened?

[The King]

Yeah, I keep getting beat up by the Amazon. Maybe Jeezus can help me?

Or you can delete this thread out of shame or butthurtedness or whatever, again, and pretend it all never happened LOL

[71chevellejohn]

nah I will pass, I have to wash my hair that day

Just shave it... it's not the 70s anymore!

Furrs is good shit

Furr's, Golden Corral, and Luby's(are they still in business?) are all for people that don't have the ability or are too lazy to chew their food.