I'm Lovin' It (NOT!!)
So... A bunch of us divers are on our way to dive a local rock quarry that's about 40' deep.

On the way, one of the gals announces that she hasn't had breakfast, and asked if I wouldn't mind swinging through the McDonald's drive-thru. With a sigh, I pull off and we go through the line.

I decide that I could use a bit of something to eat too, so I get a Sausage McGriddle, which is now known as the "O Fuck Me McShittle."

We proceed to the quarry, and the first dive of the morning is uneventful. Chilly, but interesting, as we dove through the old shaker house and various buildings left over from when the quarry was operational.

We had a bit of lunch... Some sandwiches and other fairly innocuous fare. We went back in for the second dive, and ended up quite a ways from shore.

At depth, I felt an ominous churning in my gut, and then experienced a mighty rush of bubbles. Eh... but not from my tank or regulator. No... T'was from a region more southerly.

I sighed with relief... It seemed it was a false alarm, rather than a turd signaling for clearance. We continued on further from shore.

Suddenly, my guts and ass began churning with a ferocity only marginally surpassed by that of Hurricane Wilma.

Fuck me...

So, realizing that I had a bit of an emergency on my hand, I ascended, inflated my BCD, and began kicking for shore, where there was a porta-potty. I kicked and kicked and kicked, swimming with all my might.

It was like a nightmare, where you run as fast as you can and can't make any progress.

By now, I'm whimpering softly and feeling more than a little desperate. Bit by agonizing bit, I am making progress, but I'm fairly near to giving up all hope.

I finally arrive at shore, haul my gear-laden self out of the water, and run as fast as I can for the staging area, dump my tank and BCD, unzip my wetsuit and shuck it as quickly as I can.

By now, the pressure has built to excrutiating levels, and it's some kind of law that governs bladders and colons: The closer you are to relief, the more immediate the urge becomes.

GLORY BE!! FREE AT LAST!!! I'm down to my Speedos and run/waddle/OMFG to the porta-potty. I get inside, slam the lock on the door, whip my Speedos down, and without even being fully seated, my poor sphincter gives way, getting 90% of high-quality arse-pudding into the actual pit.

Eh... The other 10% decorated the seat in a rather festive shade of brown. I cleaned it up as best I could, and emerged, mopping the cold sweat from my brow and upper lip.

Never again! Never again, will I be tempted to have a McDonald's breakfast, especially if I know that I'm going to be in a place where relief may not be immediately available!
(Jeepgun, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 14:32, 3 replies)

Of course
if you had only given in to temptation, you would have cut through the water like a turd powered speedboat....
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 15:07, closed)

Pre dive
I ALWAYS find I need a crap - even if I've had one before I leave the house / hotel. 'Tis most disconcerting. And a bit of a pisser when you've just done up your drysuit.

I've also had a food-related diving 'incident' involving sea bass and copious amounts of chilli (see fairly recent post). Fortunately I managed to contain myself... Unlike another club member (also see fairly recent post).
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:54, closed)

"signaling for clearance"
remindes me of my dear old mother....she always said farts were a piece of poo signaling for the right-of-way
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Wed 2 Apr 2008, 2:48, closed)