it starts in the small of your back, just offset from the center. that's when the little bastard breaks out of your actual kidney. so, it feels like a tiny kidney punch.
then the tip of your dick feels like it's made out of lead, and you try (unsuccessfully) to pee. it's weird. your body says it has to pee, has to pee, has to pee, but nothing comes out.
so then that little kidney punch starts travelling from the small of your back, around your hips, across and down to your dick. this is the part where it gets bad. if you're lucky, you can pee it out. if not, they have to ultrasound it, and break it up into little rocks, and then you can pee those out. if it's really bad, they go in and cut them out. there's one kind of stone that completely fills your kidney
but yeah, imagine a spikey little steel Sputnick pushing it's way through your hollow spaghetti ureter, and eventually, out your dickhole. omg. that actually feels good. don't tell anyone tho. it's like how it feels good to stop hitting yourself in the head with a hammer.
If you worked on this writing a little, it would be like Quint's Indianapolis story from Jaws......
Originally Posted by GHP
It's the millennium. It's OK to hate the niggers again
Worst job I ever had was working as a manager at Ryan's Steakhouse. It was a Wednesday night which means that macaroni and beef was on the hot bar, indeed the only night of the week that it is served. Wednesday night is also kid's night at Ryan's, complete with Dizzy the Clown wandering from table to table entertaining the little bastards. 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.
So I'm banging this retarded chick who's working the deep-fryer (well, they said she's retarded, but them titties weren't retarded) when I get called to the men's room. Some hillbilly shit up the place something fierce. I bring him a half-dozen wet towels and a few dry ones. I brought a mop and bucket and assured him that we would clean up anything that needed to be cleaned. Without giving me specific details, the hillbilly explained to me that what was going on in that stall that night was far in excess of what he would expect anyone to deal with, what with most of the folks working at Ryan's making minimum wage or just slightly above. At that moment, it dawned on me exactly the gravity of the situation. I went so far above the call of duty that night. I even had to hook up a hose and hose that fat hillbilly fuck down like Shamu at Sea World.
When my wife first got her iphone, the next morning before work I took it and snapped a shot of my crank and then associated it with my number. Later that day I called her at work (among other things she lobbies at the State Capitol). Of course my member popped up on the screen. She got the call at the capitol, but I don't think anyone saw it.
I worked at a pizza place in college. I don't know if anyone has ever sacked a beer -- it's where when someone goes to the bathroom or steps away from the table, you drop your nuts in their beer without their knowledge. At the restaurant, we talked about sacking pies of customers that pissed us off. One night a friend who is a server came back to the kitchen and asked if I would sack a pie for this table that came in late and was giving him a hard time. So I poured the pizza sauce in a container and took it back to the bathroom. I dipped my balls in the sauce, then cleaned the sauce off my sack. Checked the sauce for pubes, then applied it to the pizza. We cooked the pizza at 500 degrees so it was sanitized to some effect, but still gave them their just deserts.
Later when the server was doing his side work, I heard him singing to the tune of December 1963 (Oh What a Night), "Come in late, we'll sack your pie."