login / register
Had to look up what a THOT is. Yeah...
Welcome to Ubersite!

Ass up and Hog Wild

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2007-02-17 04:50:52 EST
Rating: 1.96 on 30 ratings (30 reviews) (Review this item) (V)

I like to make faces. So much so that I make them in the shower, in the car, in buses, in trains; when I see babies on the street I stick my tongue out at them, regardless of their comprehension or their parents’ approval. If I’m in a line in the supermarket, I’ll put on my “Why-do-people-like-Dane-Cook” face and stare around wildly, as if I had suddenly become lost, bewildered, and in need of my meds. People usually tolerate this behavior to a certain extent, and I thank them for it. My life is very dull, so every little diversion helps.

But there are faces one shouldn’t make to others. Disturbing faces. I will get to those directly.

Last night Candy was staying over. Her parents hadn’t kicked her out yet, for they seem to be on better meds than I, pills that preserve an unrelenting belief in their taker that their indolent daughter will become rich and successful. This, I dare say, is impossible. A horrible delusion—worse than a pyramid scheme. Worse than putting all your future hopes in Jarndyce and Jarndyce. Worse than thinking you can be witty by making allusions to Dickens. But they don’t see it as a fruitless, her parents. They remain steadfast and continue to fund her wasted life. In fact, they funded the opened beer Candy brought into my house, the tickets to the concert she had seen earlier, the pot she had smoked afterwards—with a guy named “Dave,” and the Dunkin Donuts coffee she would buy me in the morning for letting her sleep it off at my comely apartment.

She arrived at about midnight. I had barely drifted off when I heard the knock at the door, a single knock. Followed by silence, another knock, then a scraping sound—most likely her forehead passing back and forth over the door as she tried to steady herself.. When I opened it, she stumbled in, the beer bottle hanging loosely between two indifferent fingers, her coat draped around her rubbery neck like a scarf. Seeing the predicament, I quickly grabbed the beer, then Candy, having to heft her dead weight from off the floor—where she had collapsed—and whisked them both to the kitchen. There I emptied the beer in the sink and propped my friend in her favorite chair.

Wavering, she told me about her night. I laughed at her recollections—all unintelligible, except for “pot” and “Dave.” When she finished I asked her how she had gotten to my house. “Dave,” she said again, somewhat annoyed at my inane question. I thought about checking her over to make sure Dave had been honorable; but she looked none the worse for the night, except for her condition and her hair, fluffed out like a troll doll.

I put her to bed on my couch, left her a bucket to throw up in, and kissed her forehead, feeling a certain maternal magnanimity. It was a good deed. Good deeds always make me feel cheery. I went to bed. .

That afternoon, I had had lunch at a Mexican restaurant to interview a prospective number-cruncher for a new spot in my department. It was an evil restaurant. All the food was interesting-looking, and the meal I ordered (I won’t mention it here) was the most interesting, having a good amount of rice and beans and jalapenos and something yellow I could not name. Hours later, after Candy had settled in, I woke up feeling the beginnings of a cramp. I was sure it was the yellow acting on me. I cursed the yellow. Then I cursed the milquetoast number-cruncher who had sat with me and ordered a wimpy “ensalada”—the chicken shit. I finished with invectives against my digestive system, which had warned me years before that Mexican food was my curse.

Hunched over, I crept to the bathroom. The pain worsened with each step and I let out a stifled cry as I lurched in I couldn’t sit down quick enough. It shot out immediately, like fire, burning the exit and leaving me half up off the seat, as if the fiery heat originated in the bowl. A furtive look between my legs confirmed my initial suspicions about the culprit. It was an insidious yellow thing. And mostly solid, like I had crapped out a corn cob. The revulsion was instantaneous, and it coincided with another cramp, which nearly threw me back on to the seat.

This is where the other faces come in. I call them the hidden faces, the ones we make when a series of accidents coincide to destroy our appearance. Like when we stub our toe, or find ourselves, mouths agape, staring at the computer screen. So here, in this horribly contorted position, I became aware with my lips pulled back, and my forehead and eyebrows drawn together, and my eyes almost shut that I was taking the biggest, most painful shit of my life and making perhaps the most bizarre face I had ever imagined. I held the look, knowing that I needed to see what lay in the mirror, no matter how hideous. I wiped in haste. Then, feeling done for the moment with my digestive responsibilities, I lifted myself off the seat and waddled carefully to the side. My pajamas were around my ankles and I was feeling around to make sure I didn’t fall.

At this same time, as luck would have it, Candy was up and on her way into the bathroom, head down. Disaster struck. I had forgotten to close the door, and, both unaware of the other or our proximity, we impacted just inside the threshold. She looked at me, startled; and I looked at her, still hunched over, still naked from the waist down, still making that awful face.

She screamed. Screamed loud. Screamed again, then jumped back and banged against the far wall, shaking my rickety diploma and the caricature I had made of my dog on roller skates. I screamed too (from the commotion) and fell backwards, ass and legs in air, my ankles and pajama bottoms coming down on the door handle and getting caught there, like a pig on a spit. Here I remained for a few seconds, forgetting my awkward position and wondering what kind of face I was making. I don’t know what face Candy was making, but she was still shrieking as she watched me, a dim ghost, trying to wiggle her ass off the cold tile and her tethered feet off the handle. Looking to the side, I saw her scamper away on her hands and knees, calling my name. She probably would have left the house if she was in any condition to turn the locks on my front door.

In time I freed myself and calmed her. I told her she had had a very bad dream. That there was no naked ghost haunting my house and that if there were, she would be a lot more graceful. Then I gave her a beer and told her to forget about it.

She’s still suspicious though, and the humiliation is such that I might have to eliminate her should she decide to explore her dream with others. I’ll have to be on guard for a while.


Review This Item




Submitted by beer-turtle at 2007-09-07 14:13:15 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Ally...I like your style.

Submitted by steph at 2007-09-05 13:13:01 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by Brdn_Nkd at 2007-09-05 12:45:11 EDT (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2007-02-19 19:22:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2

i love you Ally

Submitted by SgtHartman at 2007-08-22 09:02:13 EDT (#)
Rating: 2


Submitted by Cakes at 2007-02-26 21:19:19 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by pen_name at 2007-02-23 05:14:26 EST (#)
Rating: 1

Submitted by CaptainThorns at 2007-02-21 11:59:57 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by JonnyX at 2007-02-19 19:22:38 EST (#)
Rating: 2

i love you Ally

Submitted by Average_Dan at 2007-02-18 09:49:00 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Bloody well brilliant!

" I'll put on my "Why-do-people-like-Dane-Cook" face "

This made me nod in agreement with a "I-can-certainly-see-that" expression on my face, sort of like when you realize that you're talking to someone and although you hear them, you have no idea what the last 4-5 sentences they said were because you were thinking about what you were going to do this weekend, so you make that face and nod your head up-and-down until you can finally make sense of whatever this person was talking to you about in the first place. With no real answer in mind when they say, "You know what I mean?", you instead opt for the obligatory, "Yeah" and slightly change your expression to that of the "Whatever-you-said-must-be-right-because-I'm-not-tryng-to-have-a-recap-and-possibly-zone-out-again" face and MOVE ON WITH YOUR LIFE!! IT'S OVER. SO FINALLY OVER.

Submitted by Stagger_Lee at 2007-02-18 03:04:35 EST (#)
Rating: 2

yarrr, good enough to not break your streak.

Submitted by firefly at 2007-02-17 21:09:09 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by Falafel at 2007-02-17 19:54:38 EST (#)
Rating: 2

"I call them the hidden faces, the ones we make when a series of accidents coincide to destroy our appearance. Like when we stub our toe, or find ourselves, mouths agape, staring at the computer screen."

That last part made me giggle.. sometimes if im doing something that only requires one arm, like flipping something with a spatula, I'll find my other arm in a curiously awkward position, often suspended midair in a pose that could only be natural to Alanis Morrisette.

Submitted by messmind at 2007-02-17 16:01:35 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Enter a comment here

Submitted by hot_pocket at 2007-02-17 15:20:35 EST (#)
Rating: 2

i was wondering why this had a solid 2
and then i read it and liked it

Submitted by DirtyHarry at 2007-02-17 15:19:18 EST (#)
Rating: 2

naked ghost

Submitted by coley at 2007-02-17 14:49:28 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by AllyJeans at 2007-02-17 13:55:11 EST (#)
Rating: 0

Submitted by Sacrilicious (user info) at 2007-02-17 13:40:25 (#)
Ranking: 2

I will keep an eye out for insidious yellow so as to avoid painful brown.


I'm putting that on my refrigerator.

Submitted by Sacrilicious at 2007-02-17 13:40:25 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I will keep an eye out for insidious yellow so as to avoid painful brown.

Submitted by thorpe at 2007-02-17 11:40:05 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by Unabonger at 2007-02-17 11:24:01 EST (#)
Rating: 2

always a pleasure reading your stuff.

Submitted by lungfish at 2007-02-17 11:12:28 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Submitted by EatMeCompletely at 2007-02-17 10:02:40 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Shitty story. Seriously.

Submitted by Anansie at 2007-02-17 09:04:57 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I think you are the only girl on this site who is consistently funny.

Are you a man?

Submitted by The_taste_of_Monkeys at 2007-02-17 08:14:39 EST (#)
Rating: 2


Submitted by thecaes at 2007-02-17 07:36:12 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Ally is da bomb

Great post, once again.

Submitted by rad1101 at 2007-02-17 06:37:48 EST (#)
Rating: 2

oh for the record, when a relationship gets to the point where a woman acknowledges that she defecates, or makes any reference to bodily waste, I cannot love her anymore.

Submitted by rad1101 at 2007-02-17 06:33:42 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I read the review just below mine before I started read this and I read the first line like this:

I like to make feces. So much so that I make them in the shower, in the car, in buses, in trains; when I see babies on the street...

hilarity ensued

Submitted by particle_man58 at 2007-02-17 06:00:25 EST (#)
Rating: 2

I like it when girls aren't embarassed by talkin about takin a shit.

Submitted by darko at 2007-02-17 05:05:11 EST (#)
Rating: 2

Needed either more cum or more Care Bears. Still a good story though.

Submitted by Ducky at 2007-02-17 04:56:40 EST (#)
Rating: 2

You are fantastic.

Homer: Dig him up!!! Dig up that corpse! If you really love
Jebediah Springfield, you'll haul his bones out of the ground
to prove my daughter wrong! Dig up his grave! Pull out his

Quimby: Can't we have one meeting that doesn't end with us digging up
a corpse?

Lisa the Iconoclast