I grew up in Northeast Ohio and around there, exists a place called Quaker Steak & Lube. They have the most ungodly spicy hotwings ever created by man. You literally have to sign a disclaimer before you are served them, because they can easily blister your mouth when you eat them. Me, being the hardass that I am, happily sign the waiver and proceed to chomp down 6 of these wings. I get my name up on the wall for having done it, and leave the place in pain, but feeling proud.
The next morning I decide to go for my morning 5 mile run along Mayfield Rd. (some of you in the cleveland area may know where this is). Its a well traveled area, lots of cars most of the day driving along. Residences with front lawns, trees etc.... your typical suburban setting. Well I get the familiar gotta shit real bad stirring in my abdomen about halfway into the run, and its an out and back run, so I'm not that close to home. It didn't seem too bad initially so I just kept running, and thought I'd make it just fine. Well those nuclear hotwings from the night before had a different idea. I swear the next tenth of a mile was out of a science fiction movie. The wings moved through me like a f***ing bullet train through the Chunnel and I knew I wasn't going to make it. I stop to walk, and look for a place to hide and let loose, but the particular area I was in just had houses with big front lawns and no particular landscaping. At this point, the alien in my ass was sprinting for the finish line, and it was so bad, I couldn't even move, lest I shit myself right there on the sidewalk in front of a hundred soccer moms sipping their morning lattes. I shuffle step onto the lawn of a particular house in a feeble attempt to make it to the bushes directly in front of their house, but it was too late. Feeling the overspiced rocket of mud in my ass about to burst forth, I quickly and frantically pull down my running shorts to clear the path. I was about a half second too slow, as I do this the shit blows out of my ass, into my shorts which are now around my ankles, all over my hands, running watch, and forearms, and some onto the front lawn of this house.
So here I am, 9am, people driving by, slowing down, honking with a shocked and disgusted look on their face.....and I'm standing in the middle of someone's front lawn with nothing on me except my shit riddled running shorts.
Thank god I had a t-shirt on that morning because it was my only saving grace. I leave the shorts in the middle of the lawn, take off my t-shirt so that I'm now standing completely butt ass naked in front of probably a hundred commuters as I wipe my liquid shit off my own hands and arms with my t-shirt. Now, I have to get home. So I tie the shit stained t-shirt around myself like a loincloth from hell, and f***ing TAKE OFF. I swear to god I ran the last two miles back home faster than Daniel Komen on cocaine.
I didn't bother to return to the house later to clean up the little present I left in the dead center of their yard, I was WAY too embarrassed. I didn't run that route for about a month afterwards. I don't know if all that qualifies as immature or not, but there really was nothing I could do. Thankfully I live a far far way from there now, and I will never eat those godawful wings at Quaker Steak and Lube again.