Piggy Banks for Pelee

Tonight, I dropped my sweetie Sam off at his house. As he stepped out of my car I looked over to notice that as usual, his pants had fallen down exposing a large portion of his hairy ass. Only tonight, I noticed something a little different, I peered a bit closer to see.

There it was, shimmering in the moon light, change.

That’s right, Sam had the contents of his pocket, one penny, a dime and a few quarters, sweat-stuck to his bulbous butt cheeks. I started giggling in amusement at the sight of his booty bling.

A bit annoyed he turned around and shouted, “I know!”

“Ha ha ha ha! You know what?” I asked.

Sam just sighed.

“Honey, you have coins stuck to your rear!”

“What?” he asked while turning around. I could hear them drop off and “clink” onto the asphalt.

“Awwww, you are like a piggy bank!” I stated.

“Is that what you are gonna call me now?” he asked.

I thought for a moment, “Why yes, yes I am! My little piggy bank!”

Pooping money is not Sam’s ass’ only magical asset (pun intended). It was actually a few weeks back that it happened.

It was a Friday night, our usual date night. Sam took me out for a romantic all-you-can-eat pasta feast at the ol’ mighty and ever trashy Le Olive Garden. We splurged on all the food we could cram into our guts and then, even got some more to go. It wasn’t a long drive home, but it was late and we were both exhausted after a long work day. Once we arrived to the house, Sam carried the food in while I prepared for a long, hot shower. 

I turned the water on and once it was warm and steamy I stepped inside and pulled the curtain closed. Just as the soothing current hit my skin I heard the knock.

“Hey, Honey, how long are you planning on being in there?” Sam asked.

“Maybe ten minutes, why? Do you need to use the bathroom? I can hurry,” I offered.

“Ya, please do, I don’t know if I can hold it,” he warned.

I let out an annoyed grunt. Quickly, I grabbed some cleanser and began washing my face, Sam knocked again.

“I have to go, NOW!” he shouted.

I began weighing my options, I certainly didn’t want to step out after just getting my body wet, it was cold in the house and I wanted to put on my pajamas and hop into bed without having to re-shower. Of course, being present while Sam released a number two didn’t have much appeal either.

Before I could come up with any conclusion it was too late. Sam swung open the door and made a mad dash to the toilet.

The second his ass heat the seat I could hear the explosion. It was a sound I can only describe, to be like what I would imagine, those living near Mount St. Helens heard when that volcano finally erupted.

First there was a horrific, splattered spit, followed by a loud nuclear thunder.

As quickly as the sound was produced so was the smell. It wafted into the shower and must have been amplified by the steam.

The explosion continued, as his anus erupted again and again.

I placed the rag I was cleaning my face with under my nose in an attempt to buffer the horrendous fumes to no avail. My eyes started watering and I was gagging, trying my damnedest to survive the surprise fecal attack.

The sounds began bellowing through the room once more, Sam’s anus was still not fully drained.

I opened a bottle of shampoo and stuck my nose inside but it didn’t help either, instead I was breathing shitty apples.

I wanted to pull open the curtains and make a run for it but I was too afraid the stench would be even worse on the other side.

Instead, like the coward I am,  I remained still in the shower, with the shampoo bottle stuck to my face, shaking and crying in defeat.


Sam didn’t think it was that big of a deal.

Though, now that I have shared this story with the world, he will probably dump me.








  1. I have never had this happen in all my years of dating! For once I’m not the unlucky one. lmao! So you guys got the bogo for 14.99 deal I keep seeing, huh? I’ve shrunk my stomach down to the size of my puny fist and last time I couldn’t finish more than a quarter of my pasta when I went to the OG. Success!? Anyway, I think you writing about this is certainly no worse than him putting you through that! But ya gotta go ya gotta go I guess. I know who’s getting two bathrooms when they get their next apartment!


  2. Is this the only way you know how to get attention: crass, low-class toilet humor? You joke about sex and bodily functions like a preteen boy in middle school.

    ‘cute picture of your face though, although I don’t think the cleavage was necessary (as usual).


  3. Ya, twas a bowl bustin’ double flusher, Tijuana here it comes. No doubt it’s the great equalizer humbling to all either side of the curtain. Even the kid hitting homers learns there’s one coming back right at ya. Than why stay or go back with poppy ddrawers, surely not for change of a dollar. There must be something more about Sweetie Sam you long to tell us and booty bling going ain’t it. Must have been green apple shampoo.


    1. Looks like we have a “poet” on our hands…

      Does that really work? Lurking blogs, posting floral embellishments with some sort of pretense?

      Speaking about change for a dollar, how about making sense?

      ^See what I did there?

      As for all of this, it’s a bit one sided…
      And while her side has been shared, mine HAS NOT been provided.
      See, tonight while our fair haired heroine and I sat watching shows on my couch, she fell fast asleep and a monster snuck out. A wretched evil thing, it’s silent approach, attacked my poor nostrils making me choke.

      To clarify, as my dear Asterisk fell asleep…

      She did so with this cosmic portal of doom facing my general space. So this monster’s attack was aimed at my face. And just as I thought the struggle’d been won… I was proven wrong. In creeped another one. It was then that I shook our dear lady awake. I covered her up with a blanket ’cause I’d had all I could take. So the moral of the story, I guess, is this IS a two way street. I may have won a previous war but tonight?


      Sam I Am


  4. How many dumps would a boyfriend take if a boyfriend could take dumps? Seriously, after reading the book, I know there’s no way you were that grossed out. Probably you were laughing instead!


      1. They are poetry in motion. Each consonant and vowel dancing from the bowel evoking such emotion. I did think it queer, that when prose was spent, you were so moved by movement, that you let out a single tear…


  5. Asterisk* honey I was wrong
    ain’t nothin’ left for ya to tell
    Sammy tooted da swansong
    from the da bowels of hell.
    Pack up ‘n git before to long.


    1. Yet another attempt by Jack to match wits, but as the story shows, my tank has been emptied while you’re still full of shit…


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