Nastiest shitter you've ever seen?

From: KatmanDu

Warning: It's a long one (she whispered softly)

A little introduction to the neighborhood is in order:

At the beginning of this summer, seeking cheap rent and a landlord who doesn't mind two 60+ pound mildly incontinent canines soiling his cheap carpet, I moved into a recently renovated house mere blocks from downtown. The landlord was snapping up as many decrepit old firetraps as he could, renovating them hastily, and renting them out at exorbitant rates to frat-boy college students turned stoners. The only problem with this scheme was that the houses he was buying were in the middle of Zone 8, one of the nastier maggot-infested, 80-pound hooker crawling, crack-head ridden sections of town; and Muffy the gapeing cunt bowhead would zip off in horror at spotting the likes of Larry the Lump (further explanation of this individual at a later date), leaving the landlord stuck with an unrentable, but perfectly servicable, house. Enter my roommates and I... employees of the police department, owners of large, nasty dogs, prone to violent projectile vomiting at passers-by. For an incredibly discounted rent and no mention whatsoever of a pet deposit (boy, will he regret that!), we get the house so long as we promise to do our best to scare off the local vermin.

On the left side of the house is an abandoned building. We've yet to pry open the doors and look around, but judging from the smell that wafts our way from time to time, such an exploration could be fruitful. On the right side is a crack house... the occupants of which can usually be found shlurping as many 22-oz malt liquors as they can procure or standing on the street corner shouting "I gotcha! I gotcha!" at everything that drives by; making the occassional sale. Across the street is a whorehouse; whose occupants seem to spend their time throwing bottles at the crack house, or wandering out on the corner trying to hawk their scrawny disease infested twats. The rest of the area is just as juicy; there's even a pool hall up the street called (named in a no doubt since unrepeated burst of inspiration) "Tight Pockets". The inhabitants of the area will no doubt provide me with many tasteless anecdotes in the future.

Anywho... The whorehouse got bought out by my landlord last month! Woe is me, I cried; where will I go for a $10 piece of triple-bagger ass on the weekends? I'll have to walk up the street... The landlord served 'em with their eviction papers and away they went. I wandered over the next day to check the house out. First bit of effluvia I noticed was a very full trashcan next to the back door. It's a Georgia summer; about 110 degrees with the heat index, and the odor from this yard had been competing with the stench from the abandoned house and the piles of dogshit in the front yard. My sensitive nose followed the stink trail to the can and I gingerly peered inside... Yum, a sort of brownish-yellow unidentifiable lump crawling with maggots. I wondered briefly if it was one solid can full of brown-yellow pudding, or differentiated in layers, but quailed at the thought of digging through the goop... I know, I know, what sort of chickenshit yellow-bellied asswipe am I turn down such an opportunity, but I was tending a particularly large and sensative whitehead on my forearm, and I didn't want to risk rupturing it before it got really turgid...

The front door was wide open, so I let myself in. I have to hand it to the hookers, they know how to trash a house. Every square inch of floor, except for little walkways down the hall, was covered three feet deep in trash. Old pampers, clothes, bedsheets, soiled mattresses, broken electronics, ruptured bags of household trash, beer bottles... roaches ranging from centimeter size to the whopping 3 inch palmetto bugs were scurrying over the mounds, hundreds of them.. occassionally a wharf rat would poke his snout out of the clutter and then scurry off.

The further back in the house I went, the stronger a familiar odor became... at first I ignored it, figuring it was the detritus at my feet. But it grew stronger and stronger, until I faced an unopened door just off the kitchen (whose entire floor had caved in). Seconds before I pushed upen the door with a trembling hand, I realized what the stench was; and then the door was open and it hit me like a fetid wave full in the face. Waterlogged grogans and old liquishit. You know, the stench you can only get when the toilet quits and the piss and turds stay in the water for a couple of days, or some sick fuck shits in the toilet tank and it decomposes in there. This was the stink, and it was almost a physical, palpable presence in the room.

The toilet was amazing. The bowl was completely, absolutely brimming with tarry black liquishit. It has run down the sides and pooled around the toilet in a four foot shitslick, punctuated here and there by a slimy turd torpedo. My eyes were tearing from the incredible stench and the sheer magnificence of what I was seeing. Never in my years of bar bathroom beershit-filled thunderjugs have I seen such a specimen of diarrhetic excellence. Was this the product of one person, one sitting? How could his bowels hold so much watery feces? Or, more likely, had the occupants had a group squat the night before they were ejected? If so, was it possible that ALL of them suffered from the squirts? (side note: does smoking crack give you the serious runs? Hmm... make a note to grab some crackheads off the corner and squeeze 'em 'til they shit; measure results... something to do over the weekend.)

Alas, the odor proved too much for me (I was also tired of shaking my feet every few minutes to keep the roaches out of my pants legs) and I retreated to the (relatively) fresh air, the image of a monumental lake of liquishit indelibly burned into my brain. It was cleaned out the following day by a no doubt so-desperate-for-cash-they'd-touch-anything crew of cleaners. But it will remain in my mind as the head by which all others will be judged...

(Originally posted on 27 Sep 1995)