rSlash - r/TIFU I Built a Poo Catapult

Episode Date: December 28, 2025

0:00 Intro 0:05 Poo 2:57 Spanish 7:10 Wrong cat 9:54 Pavlovian 11:45 Spider 14:32 Shirt Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

At Fandual Casino, you get even more ways to play. Dive into new and exciting games and all of your favorite casino classics, like slots, table games, and arcade games. Get more on Fandual Casino. Download the app today. Please play responsibly 19 plus and physically located in Ontario. If you have questions or concerned about your gambling or the gambling of someone close to you, please contact Connects Ontario at 1866-531-2,600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. This holiday season, your support can help CAMH transform mental health care.

From now until December 31st, every donation will be tripled for three times the impact. That means your generous gift goes even further to help create a future where Canadians can get the help they need, when they need it, no matter who or where they are. Together, we can forge a better path for mental health. Make three times the impact with a donation today at camh.ca. slash holiday. Welcome to our slash today I effed up where OP creates a dog doodoo catapult. Today I effed up when I was 11 by accidentally carpet bombing my neighbor's backyard party with dog do. My grandfather loved his three big Labradors. I think he loved them more than his family. But the old guy fed them the cheapest garbage dog food on earth. The kind that made their turds turn

white when they dried. The result of this food was nuclear-level dog parts and turds the size of small loaves of bread. When I was 11, he made it my chore to clean up the poop and mow the lawn. I figured I could save time by just mowing over the piles of dog do. Turns out, when you mow over big, fresh dog turts, they turn it. They turn into a moist, brown mist. The first time they saw me do this, my grandparents put a stop to it. So, I invented a solution, the do-do catapult, which was literally my grandmother's spatula from her kitchen drawer. On shore day, I'd wait for my grandparents to leave the house.

Then I'd get to work. I'd go outside, fling the dog's giant turds over the fence and onto the neighbor's roof. Perfect aim. Sorry. Perfect aim. Pure roof every time. They were jerks anyway, so I didn't feel bad. One day, after I'd skipped my chores for several weeks,

my grandfather got mad and made me get to work. There were several weeks of poop from three big dogs. It was gross. I was in a huge hurry. My grandparents had left, and my friends were waiting out on the street for me. I didn't check if the neighbors were home, nor did I check my aim. I just started... Rapid fire launching turds over the fence.

After a bunch of launches, I froze. People were yelling, screaming, and cussing. Our neighbors were outside having a backyard party. A whole bunch of people were barbecuing. I had just carpet bombed the entire thing with dog dew. When my grandparents got home, the neighbors marched straight over looking for blood. They were livid. My grandfather spoke with them for a long time, me standing behind him.

After he calmed them down by agreeing that he would ground me for the rest of my life, the old man glanced back at me, gave me the tiniest smile, and winked. I didn't get in much trouble, mostly just a stern talking to from my grandmother. She said to never, ever use her spatula again for do-do duty. Even my grandmother couldn't hold back laughing each time she said poop during her stern talk with me. They were the greatest grandparents in the world. Down to the comments, rude awakening calls it the scatapult. Yeah, true, he was a real party pooper.

Today I effed up by being the only one who laughed at something said in Spanish and outing myself on knowing Spanish. I work in a warehouse that's filled with mainly Hispanics. My warehouse manager, Tom, two other people, Jeff and Bill, and myself are the only non-Hispanic people. Everyone there mainly speaks Spanish to one another unless they have to speak to Jeff, Bill, or myself. Tom is fluent in Spanish and speaks to them in Spanish usually, but speaks to us in English.

When I got hired, my warehouse manager brought us around and introduced me to a few people. With my background in warehouse management, I got hired as a team lead. As a non-Hispanic person and younger than almost everyone, I stuck out a lot. I didn't mind and knew they would get to like me, especially once I told them I was married into a Hispanic family and had aunts and uncles who were also Hispanic. I was also excited to speak to them in Spanish, as it's my second second. language and I always enjoy being able to speak it. Well, during my tour of the place, I got introduced to Jeff, Bill, and other people I'd be managing. But before I got around to everyone,

there were side remarks from people saying in Spanish after walking away about how stupid it is that some young white boy is going to help manage a large group of Hispanics. Jeff and Bill, who were on the tour with Tom and myself, explained how they'd be bullied at times for not speaking Spanish. And the others would constantly talk to them first in Spanish and then say, sorry, and switch to English. Tom hired me specifically because of my past work with him, and because he knew I understood Spanish. But also understands the majority of the people who work there are fluent in Spanish as their first language, and wouldn't respect someone who doesn't understand it, which is why they bullied Jeff and Bill at times. I understood the situation

and didn't mind. It would make me mad too if someone got hired to run a team that mainly spoke Spanish and he didn't speak any Spanish. However, they didn't even give me a chance to let them know that I can speak it before judging me. After the tour, Tom and I sat down in his office to go over the job and we spoke about the Spanish speaking part and them automatically thinking I don't know it. He said that it's a typical warehouse where they'll haze the new guy to make sure he's a good fit, but they're all decent dudes who work hard. So we jokingly agreed that we would joke with them back by not telling them I can speak Spanish, but that I only knew certain words to get by in the warehouse. Well, cut to about nine months on the job. I've been doing a good job by this time

leading my team. They respect and follow my lead for the most part. However, they speak their minds in Spanish about me to my face. At first, I found it very disrespectful, but after a while I used it as a tool to help me manage them. Well, one day, while a group of us were in the break room, someone was telling a joke in Spanish. I was busy eating my lunch by myself as usual, not really paying attention to what was being said. The person who was telling the joke is the usual class clown, but at times his humor can be a little immature for the other guys, but I found most of it funny. Well, during this particular joke, no one got the punchline, but I did. But not only did I get it, but I laughed really hard, and no one else was laughing but the guy who told the joke. The entire room

looked at me, puzzled. I had nothing in front of me. No book, no phone, nothing. There's nothing I'd be laughing at other than what he said. A few of them started to crowd me, and one started to talk to me in Spanish asking me if I understood them. I pretended to be clueless till they got closer and closer till they had me cornered in. He, again, very close and tough like, asked me again if I understood them, and that if I lied and they found out later that I lied, they'd kick my butt. I'm much smaller than this guy, and the person who was threatening me was a felon. Not that all felons are dangerous or bad people, as a lot of the people working there were ex-cons. But I knew him enough to understand that he was serious. So, I spoke to him back in Spanish. The room got crazy, and a lot of

them started to realize they'd been talking trash to their superior's face for the past nine months. After a long talk with them, they calmed down, and actually thought that it was hilarious. And I now have a lot more respect for them, and I now talk to them in Spanish. Today I effed up by accidentally stealing a cat, paying $400 in vet bills for it and realizing it wasn't mine when I got home. So this happened about six hours ago, and I'm currently staring at two identical black cats in my living room, trying to figure out how to explain this to my neighbors without sounding like lunatic. For context, I have a black cat named Luna. She's a void cat. No white patches, just pure darkness and yellow eyes. She's strictly an indoor cad because she has zero survival

instinct and is afraid of wind. Tonight, around 7 p.m., I was taking the trash out, and I guess the door didn't latch all the way. When I came back inside 20 minutes later to feed her, I couldn't find her. I did the usual, pz, pz, pz, and shook the treat back. Nothing. I went into full panic mode. I grabbed a flashlight and ran outside. I spent 15 minutes checking the bushes until I saw, a pair of yellow eyes reflecting from under my neighbor's porch. I crawled under there, grabbed the cat, who was surprisingly docile, but shivering, and dragged her out. I noticed immediately that she was limping and had a weird gash on her ear. I assumed she got into a fight with a raccoon or something. I didn't even go back inside. I put her straight into the car

and sped to the 24-hour emergency vet. I was crying the whole way, telling her I was so sorry I let her out. The vet took her back, cleaned the wound, gave her some antibiotics and pain meds, and did a quick checkup. The bill came out of $430. I slapped my credit card down, glad that my baby was safe. We got home about an hour ago. I carried the carrier into the living room, set it down, and opened the door to let her out gently. As the injured cat stepped out, my cat, the real Luna, walked out from behind the sofa, yawned, and hissed at the intruder. I froze. I looked at the cat that I just spent $400 on. It's a male.

I don't own a male cat. I have accidentally kidnapped a stray, or worse, a neighbor's outdoor cat, paid for his medical care and brought him into my house. So now I have my cat, who's pissed off, and this imposter cat who's high on painkillers and currently sleeping on my expensive rug. I have to go knock on doors tomorrow and ask if anyone is missing a black cat, and also explain why he's now shaved on one leg and smells like antiseptic. In a short edit, O.P. says,

And yes, I'm keeping him if nobody claims him because I've literally already paid for his health care. He's currently sleeping in the bathroom so Luna doesn't murder him. Opie's house is basically the Spider-Man pointing meme, but with two cats who hate each other. Today I effed up by having a Pavlovian sexual response to jelly beans. When me and my wife got married last year, our relative of hers gave us a jar full of jelly beans, eloquently labeled as sex beans, that we had to take one out of whenever we did the devil's tango, with the end goal of having an empty within a year.

Don't ask why this relative gave us something like that, but just know that they're the exact kind of person that you think would give a gift like that. Anyways, we decided to play along with the joke for a while and would take them out when stuff went down. I slowly began to get excited every time my wife would open, open the jar and pull one out to signal her intentions. It even got to the point where I saw those giant containers of them at Costco, and it would give me the same response.

Shameful, I know, I'm down bad for the beans. Fast forward to today. Apparently, she had some friends come over to the house before she got off work. It was pretty typical for them to come over before she's home, and I usually just say hi and continue working on my computer in a different room. today, when I walked into the living room, I saw one of her friends grabbing a handful of the jelly beans and throwing them into her mouth like a cartoon character. You can probably guess what started happening to me in that situation. I was so freaking embarrassed, I had to go shut the door on

myself to tell my wife what happened. I told her on the phone while she was on her way home, and she just started cackling in her car, which didn't help me much. I felt bad for getting aroused by someone other than her, but it was just my body's response to seeing the beans come from the jar. My wife was more amused than insulted, it seems like, and now she won't let me forget about it. Oh well, down in the comments, Kerbab says, Easter's going to be hard for you. Today I effed up by swallowing a brown recluse, being sent to the emergency room, and almost dying. So, to make a long story short, I keep water by my bed in a glass in case I get thirsty at night. A brown recluse, which is a spider, if you didn't know, a highly venomous

one, had fallen in right around the time that I woke up and needed a drink. I swallowed the thing and, of course, immediately realized I had swallowed something and my only assumption was a spider. And I knew that we had a few brown recluses in the house, so I automatically assume that's what it was. I ended up being right in the worst way. Now, I know from past anxiety Googling that swallowing a dead spider is nothing to worry about. The venom is protein-based and breaks down in the digestive tract. I had assumed that I'd swallowed a dead one and just decided to try to go back to sleep after a mini panic attack and more frantic Googling. I woke up maybe two hours later with horrible pain in my stomach, muscle aches and hard spasms, heat flashes, sweating and drooling

profusely. I stumbled to find my partner, because we sleep in separate rooms, and was rushed to the emergency room. So what happened? Well, the original assumption was that it bit me on my esophagus, but after a lot of tests, it turns out I had a stomach ulcer that I didn't know about. That's another long story. And the spider had very much been alive, and the venom had found its way into my bloodstream through the open wound in my stomach. After a ton of antibiotics and other things, and a week-long hospital stay, I'm now mostly back to normal, and I'm feeling, mostly okay. I still feel achy and have a lot of paranoia about my drinks now. I won't be drinking water in the middle of the night anymore, that's for sure. I just wanted to tell this story just in case

anyone else has water by their bed at night and to just go to the emergency room if you think you swallowed something. Just please be careful. My little brother, who, you know, is now an adult, once had a job where he had to do some kind of like groundskeeping maintenance on some like cabin or something. So he would sleep in the cabin and the cabin was infested with snakes. Not the venomous kill you kind, just harmless. I think they were rat snakes or something. But they were huge. They'd be like four or five feet long and they were just swarming the house. Well, he told me that sometimes at night the snakes would slither around in like the scaffolding, I guess, at the top of the house and the roof. And they would fall onto him while he was sleeping in the middle of

the night. So tonight, when you guys are trying to go to sleep, don't just imagine venomous spiders falling onto you. You can now also imagine snakes falling onto you. Today I effed up by telling my wife how hot she looked in a shirt. We were going out for my mother-in-law's birthday this evening and my wife came out and asked if the shirt she was wearing looked okay on her. It wasn't anything special, but she looked damn good in it. Really good. And I told her so. It fit great and it was just the perfect amount of tight in the right places. I joked about looking forward to getting it off of her later, making the lame dad joke about how the only way the shirt would look better

is if it was on our bedroom floor. She laughed and said that I was going to regret saying that. Turns out, my mom gave it to her. It wasn't new. My mom had the shirt for a while, but hadn't worn it in years. When we visited her over Thanksgiving weekend, my mom and my wife went through her closet to see what she might want before donating the rest to a shelter.

My wife started to tease me, asking if I thought it looked that hot when my mother wore it. Then our kids started piling on, going extra with it after being icked out by my earlier comments. A few minutes later, my phone started blowing up. My wife took no time to share this with my mom and my sisters. Now, I'm getting flak from every side, and I supplied the ammunition. I have no doubt whatsoever that my wife will make sure to wear the shirt the next time we get together with my family. Ew, O.P. wants to kiss his mom. Gross, O.P. That was our slash today I F'd up. And if you like this content, be sure to follow my podcast because I put out new

Reddit podcast episodes every single day.