Flea - the Red Hot Chili Peppers' Bassist - Almost Shit His Pants Last Week

More rock star glamour: walked to Target to get nail clippers and nose hair trimmer. Employees were right on me asking for selfies and telling me they love me. Two minutes later I get hit with a major urge to take a shit. They tell me bathroom is downstairs, I go there but ten people in line, I’m about to soil my trousers. I go to employees and plead, please can I use employees bathroom they say no employees only. I run across the street to some cafe and ask to use bathroom (on the way there a guy waiting outside tells me I’m an asshole for not stopping to take a selfie with him) the cafe lady threatens to call security on me for politely asking for bathroom. I made it by the skin of my teeth to a restaurant a few blocks away.  Back to hotel to practice trumpet.

First, let's set the stage here with a bowel-inducing bass solo from one of the gnarliest bassists ever, Flea:

I figure it's perfect background music for this. Poor Flea! Just a god awful situation to be in, but seeing as Flea is very famous, it actually brought me some joy. I love RHCP but I'll never not take the opportunity to laugh at a celebrity when they're humanized a little bit. Pants shitting is one of those times. Flea seems like the man, but pants shitting is always funny when it's not you performing said pants shitting. 

And EVERYONE has a story where they almost shit their pants, or worse...

...shit their pants. 

Here's mine. It was the middle of summer, the year was 2015 and it was a perfect Saturday. Beautiful weather, fresh cut grass, birds chirping. The type of day they write songs about (I'm in the middle of a Thrones rewatch for some reason). Anyways, my day starts off normally; I woke up, took a shit, and hit the couch to consume about 12 straight hours of TV, completely taking advantage of said beautiful weather.

That's when I get a text from a buddy. He was the 10th caller on whatever radio station and won 2 tickets to see Kenny Chesney that night at Soldier Field. I took him up on his offer, because why wouldn't I? I don't give a shit about Kenny Chesney but it was an excuse to get drunk and stare at chicks way-too-out-of-my-league in their daisy dukes and neon orange Peyton Manning Tennessee jerseys.

Anyways, we get to the parking lot, get handed a bunch of free booze from the radio station we won the tickets from, and head into the stadium. 

Our seats were in the nosebleeds. That was unacceptable to me. We someway, somehow snuck down to field level and even though I think Chesney kinda blows, we had a great time. I even ran into Pat Fitzgerald and drunkenly sang the Northwestern fight song with him. He actually remembers this moment as I brought it up to him last fall. 

Everything was great, and a perfect day was capped off by a perfect 2am pizza from Sarpino's. 

We consumed the Sarpino's VERY quickly and then I passed out on his couch. The next morning, I decided to take a Divvy bike home. I did this because I was broke at the time and had the annual membership, so it was take a bike home for free or pay the $12 Uber. Plus, it was nice out. Let's break a sweat for once, huh?

I hop on the Divvy and commence my 15 min journey. That's when I realized I needed to take a shit. All good, I'll be on my own, personal porcelain throne in two shakes of a lamb's tail. 

The Sarpino's made me have to take the worst shit of my life. It was around 9am, so broad daylight, and it was so bad I started checking out alleys to dump the Divvy bike in so I could potentially shit behind a dumpster. I weighed this option like fucking crazy, as it was either take a 2am Sarpino's pizza-induced shit behind a dumpster, or find the closest rack to my then apartment and walk the rest of the way home. 

That walk was about a 1/4 mile and it was next to a park that on a typical mid-summer day was filled with children. Because I didn't want to end up on any sort of list, I decided to dock the bike and pray to god I made it home.

So that's what I did, and I duck walked the entire 5 min walk. My ass cheeks were clenched so goddamn tight you couldn't have pulled a greased tee from them with a pair of pliers, but I gutted it out. 

Or so I thought I did. As soon as I got to the entrance gate of my shitty Ukrainian Village 3 flat, my body gave out on me. I couldn't move; I legit stood in front of my apartment frozen like a statue, mid-stride, like one of the Beatles in the Abbey Road album cover: 

I knew that should I take another step, that my worst fear would come true. I'd shit my pants. The pain was almost insurmountable, but I knew that if I tooted, said pain would go away and I'd be able to walk upstairs to relieve myself. 

It didn't, so I took the only option that was available to me. I took a step.

Needless to say, the inevitable occurred. It wasn't enough to completely pour down my leg and through my trousers though, thank God. But it was enough to where I needed to immediately dispose of the evidence. Once I was finished shitting, that is. Straight to a Jewel grocery bag and into the dumpster out back ya go, ya dirty undies! 

I then showered up, laughed at myself, ordered some more fried food, and hit the couch for the day. It was perfect. 

TL/DR: Don't worry Flea. We've all shit our pants before.