Is it chocolate?
Seeing as every other story is about poo, I thought I’d add mine (story, not poo).

Many years ago when I was a student, my girlfriend and I went out on the lash. On the way out of her student house I commented on the enormous dog turd on the pavement outside. “Fuck me”, I said, “that’s a big poo”.

Some time later, we staggered back, leathered. Got in the house. She readied herself for bed and I went for a cigarette in the back garden. I walked back through the house in the dark to the girlfriend’s bedroom and plonked myself on her bed, drunkenly pulling my shoes and clothes off. In doing so I felt something soft and squidgy on my hands and toes. I sniffed my fingers but as I was pissed and a smoker, couldn’t smell anything. So I squished it some more and had another sniff. Nothing.

The girlfriend who was on the other side of room, heard me say “is it chocolate?”, and just as I brought my fingers to my mouth to taste it, turned the light on to see me smeared in dog shit and just about to lick my fingers.

Not wanting to waste an opportunity she smeared the shit on her flaps and signalled for me to join her. She later told me she’d given the dog laxatives. Etc

Funnily enough the last bit didn’t actually happen but it seems to be de rigueur this week. More mundanely, I had to strip the bed, shower and clean the shit off the carpet all throughout the house.

Length – about the size of a Great Dane’s colon.
(Tighthead, Thu 30 Jun 2011, 13:07, 1 reply)

Im going to click this
purely because it highlighted a normal bedroom disaster, rather than a made up one.

I agree this would have been horrible/disasterous
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 30 Jun 2011, 13:17, closed)