*The following post is written by Chris Hooley, entrepreneur, marketer and blogger extraordinaire. It is a story about poop. It is also a story about spring break (the real kind of spring break, not the Mormon kind where you go to family reunions and eat jell-o salad while playing charades with your second cousins). Knowing the audience of my blog, I felt it appropriate to give you fair warning in case either topic (or the combination of the two) does not appeal to you.

Being the consummate professional I am, there is no way I could tell this story on my Phoenix SEO company site, or on my personal blog.  So when the BIG BAGS asked me to be a guest blogger, I knew exactly what had to be done.  I had to tell the world about my story of pooping underwater.  In front of tons of hot chicks.  At Spring Break.

3 years ago, I somehow convinced my old employer (a student loan company) that my marketing team needed to attend Spring Break at Lake Havasu to see if we could drum up some student activity (if you know what I mean).  So I got set my budget, had my assistant make the proper out of office replies, told my buddies, er, employees, SnoopBloggyBlog and Iambetterthanu it was time to get packing for Spring Break.

We ordered 500 tee shirts to give away, some shwag, a giant poster, and a double decker pontoon boat to put that giant poster on.  You know, for business reasons.

So we roll up to Havasu, and the first thing we noticed is that hot college girls who go to Lake Havasu needed shirts.  You know, because they often didn’t wear shirts.  It might have been a mistake ordering the white ones (though the fellas from University of Wisconsin probably disagree) but I still felt chivalrous nonetheless.  I was saving barely of age young women from the hot Arizona elements. Like being sprayed with malt liquor and schlitz.  This made me feel good, like a Samaritan or something.

When we got the boat, first thing we realized is that this thing was HUGE.  Two stories of :”WHOOOOO” on three tubular cylinders of pure party power.  Next thing I noticed, it had a water slide.  A frakkin water slide.

Something told me I’m going to have a tough time getting work done.  Especially since SOMEBODY snuck a TON of beer into the coolers.  I was like WTF this is against regulation!  So I did not *choke* dink a drop of liquor,  That would have been inappropriate.

Anyways, we get the boat onto the water, with visions of Girls Gone Wild DVD trailers playing through our heads.  And that’s when it happened.  I realized I needed to take a massive dump.  This was not good.

So we got to the cove, and things start happening really fast.  Since we had the double decker pontoon boat, random college kids all started to infiltrate our space.  Dancing, jumping off the second story into the water, pounding beverages, and getting very friendly with each other.  Everybody seemed so happy.  And there’s me in the corner, grunting and groaning like I was being tortured.  Pasties (we named her that for obvious reasons, she only sported a thong and pasties on her airy olahs) thought I needed some cheering up so she showed me her butt. But that just reminded me more of the trouble a brewin’.

After a few hours of this, I finally decided something had to be done.  Plenty of people where jumping in the water to relive themselves, but not one person had to do a #2 from what  I could tell.  Not one except for me.  But I could not sit in this torture any longer, so I decided to head for the jagged mountain about a quarter mile from the boat to do the deed in private.  But I was gonna have to swim for it.

So I pretended I was like them.  Those crazy kids having fun.  I climbed up to the second story of our pontoon party pod, pounded my chest, and jumped in a fashion that screamed “I am not doing this just to take a dump, I’m doing it because it’s Spring Break and I am not really a 30 year old guy trying to capitalize on all you sexy bitches!”.

But once I hit the water, the coldness made me realize I was not going to be able to swim 1/4 of a mile and climb those jagged rocks before the sea turtle tried to make it’s escape.

And that’s when I saw it.  It was there the whole time, my own private party right in the middle of all the action.  The pontoons under the boat made a long, and perfectly safe and secure tunnel for me to have some alone time.  It was like angels singing and calling me under the boat.  So I swam joyfully, and my rectum began to loosen with the anticipation of the glory that was about to occur.  I was about to drop the kids off at in the pool lake!

Now most of the people relieving themselves did so without even pulling down the trunks.  They would just pee right in their swimsuits, and swim away.  Kinda gross, but it was par for course. If anybody was pulling down their trunks, rest assured it was not to urinate.  I quickly realized this would not work in my situation.  So I pulled down my brand new Fox surf trunks, balanced them around my ankles while using my arms in a circular motion to stay afloat, and popped a virtual squat to insure I did not soil the aforementioned surfwear.

I had a brief moment of anxiety about the turtle wanting to float around with me… But when it happened, all those fears just floated away.  It was like a muddy scud missile. No, a big brown torpedo.  It felt like I was being evacuated of all foodstuffs I had consumed since grade 3.  As the party raged over my head, I had a quiet moment of “God really does love me”.  The stinkers were sinkers, my guts felt better than ever, my mood elevated immediately… that is, until I was so rudely interrupted.

One of my new Wisconsin buddies jumped off the boat and somehow caught a glimpse of me between two pontoons, with a look of pure ecstasy on my face.  He decided it looked like fun, and swam over to join me in my private party.

Now, I would say I almost shit my pants, but my shorts were already around my ankles and the pure poop poundage was already flying out of me at an alarming rate.  Even faster now that my nerves kicked in.  So I frantically tried to wave him off with one arm, but I had no legs to keep me afloat.  I was flipping out, bobbing in the water, waiving one arm, and crapping all at at once. He eventually got the hint when I screamed “Don’t swim over here I am shitting right now!” He swam away laughing his ass off at me.

But who cares.  At least I had my privacy back.

Now here is a little known fact about pool pooping.  That feeling you get with a dry dump, you know, when the potty hit’s the flo: it never happens underwater.  What might have been a ghost poo (you wipe but the TP remains clean, wipe after wipe) felt like it never finished.  I sat confused for a few moments wondering if I was really done, and trying to finish the job.  Back to grunting.

Yep, I’m done.

So my final dilemma in all this: how does one wipe their butt underwater?  Quite simple, one doesn’t.  It’s impossible.  But I did devise a method that I like to think is ingenious.  I did this scooching motion with my legs and one arm so that I inched myself forward to clear myself of the poop path, and used my other hand to powerfully waft a jet stream of fresh water repeatedly at my pooper.  It was a cold sensation that left me feeling cleaner than TP to be honest.  It was in fact, glorious.

Fast forward after 30 seconds of grinning and gloatng… Now was the time for the swim of shame.  I climb back on the boat fully expecting to be bombarded by my buddies.  I was waiting to be picked on, pointed out, and laughed at.

But I instead, was shocked.  I got a heroes solute!  Every guy there was patting me on the back and giving me manly half hugs and noogies for my valiant discovery.  This must be what babies feel like when their mommies congratulate them and give them ice cream for not soiling their shorts.  Pure, acceptance, true happiness.  I pooped and everybody approved.  In fact, I am now a Lake Havasu Spring Break Legend,  The man who invented The PONTOON PARTY POOP!