I violently, aggressively, explosively, intensely, passionately, vehemently sharted my jorts in a McDonald’s hamburger shaped seat on March 4th, 1998. It smelled like spiced Gouda aged in a hot metal can with a slight aura of pickled onions and expired diesel fuel. As I looked down my leg, I saw a trickle of what appeared to be an orange, brownish-red nuclear Shart substance, something akin to a chemical weapon. The liquid Shart scent filled the air of the restaurant, causing customers to dry heave, cover their nose; I even recall an employee asking the staff “who took a shit in the deep fryer?”
The health department ended up showing up and doing a thorough corporate investigation of that particular location. Turns out they were breaking all types of health protocols and were promptly shut down, and if you think about it, it was all because of sharting my jorts.
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