Cruel fate, cruel timing, cruel world
Only last Friday, I was invited to a mates’s house. When this happens, it's always a neat arrangement. He buys me copious amounts of cider and a Chinese takeaway; I fix all of his and his family’s PC and electrical issues. If there is any time left at the end of the evening, we go out on the piss.

Nice.

Over the last few times, this arrangement has been less and less PC fixing…and more and more just plain going out on the lash. Last Friday was no exception. I turned up at his house at 7:30pm, had hardly cracked open my first can of DBC* when my mate says:

“Bollocks to PC fixing, I’ve arranged a lift into town at 8 o’ clock. We’re getting shit-faced”.

Yay.

Fast forward a few hours. I have drunk enough cider to sink the Arc Royal and we’ve moved onto Vodka and Redbull, (although none of this is going down too well with the medication I’m on). I’ve been bet £40 to kiss what looked like (from the back) to be just a rather tall young lady, when in actual fact it was a 7ft-something transsexual with arms like Popeye and a 5 o’clock shadow like Homer Simpson. NOT a pleasant surprise let me tell you.

Anyhoo, in other words, a normal Friday night in Pooflake land.

But it starts getting very late. My eyes, ears, arms and legs were no longer functioning properly or as a collective and my internal organs were trying to merge together with a swirling motion in the middle of my head. My inner compass felt like it had some cunt with a magnet running in circles around me. I now had ‘2 hopes’ of getting the takeaway in and I was absolutely ravenous.

Desperate times.

We went to one of those ‘Not-even-close-to-edible-or-even-KFC-and-you-know-it-will-be-rank-but-at-least-they-are-still-open-at-3am’ places.

The pictures of chicken pieces they were displaying looked alright…then again, by this time; the Tranny who could play for England at the back of the scrum would probably have looked alright too.

But what to order? My mate fires straight in. “Gimme 2 pieces of chicken ‘n’ chips” he slurs. In my lack of independent thought, I said “Ssssame fah me”.

We receive our cack in greasy boxes and move over to a small seated area. I open the box to be presented with something that looks like it has just been dredged out of Bernard Manning’s rotting corpse. Despite this, I start to munch wearily away

Then….hold on a mo…what’s this? 2 Spicy chicken wings at the bottom of my now rancid, partly dissolved in its own grease, semi masticated ‘meal’. I hadn’t ordered them…I hadn’t been charged for them…

RESULT!

I perk up a bit as I gnaw away on the slim, grim pickings that are these spicy wing-things. We finish up and stagger straight into a taxi. Upon arrival to his pad we crack open a tinny each but it’s not long before I crawl into bed, totally wrecked. I survived the night. Life is good.

The next morning…

Mate’s 17 year old daughter wakes me up and offers me breakfast. Naturally, I am busting for a piss, so groan loudly and stagger off towards the bog. Suddenly, there’s a shout from downstairs: “Don’t forget, you can’t use the bog, we’ve got a bloke in there doing the tiling.”

Mmmmmf

Really Desperate times.

I try to hold on as long as I can…the build up is hurting and taking control of my mind. I can wait no longer and tap gently on the door. It is opened by a smiling bloke I used to work with (FFS!)

Tiling bloke: “Oh hello PF, Haven’t seen you for a while”.
Me: “Look, I’m really sorry but I’ve gotta go for a whizz”
TB: “No probs mate, I’ll just wait outside”

Now in I go, and struggle to get started, knowing that somebody is right outside the door not only listening, but actually trying to spark up a conversation! I try to apply a little pressure to aid the wee impetus…when…PARP!

Oh Jesus! My eyes open widely as the shame hits home. Not only must he have heard me, but either way, any minute now he was going to walk face first straight into my green cloud of botty gas. There was no air freshener, no nothing. Lummee. So all I can do is turn bright red, open the window and waft my arms around like a madman…Bastard spicy wings.

I finish my half-petrified slash and walk out, not even looking Tiling Bloke in the eye. ‘I’m really sorry’ I mutter under my breath. I’m not sure he heard.

But ‘ah well’, I start to think after a while. ‘It’s not like I’ll ever see him again. Fuck him’. I put the incident behind me and go downstairs to lashings of tea and bacon butties.

A few minutes pass by…then it starts…the fart I had done earlier had only served to make way in my poo-cute for the main event that was now knock-knock-knocking on my sphincter’s door…

Burble…..bloop…..groan….blobble.

I couldn’t go back upstairs and squit out what was undoubtedly going to be a huge, smelly ‘Brad Pitt’ with that bloke up there could I?

WHAT THE HELL WAS I GOING TO DO?

We have now arrived at absolutely fucking desperate times.

I clench for as long as I can…it buys me about a minute. It’s starting to seethe as the concentrated faeces compounds within my crap-factory. Every movement seems to produce a ‘pfft’ either internally or externally and makes the inevitable one step nearer. The rat’s nose was not so much touching cloth as sniffing down my trouser leg.

Here’s when my mate decides that it’s computer fixing time.

Racked with gut-trouble and swollen with intestinal gloop that felt like I was carry a 9lb bowling ball of a turd, I make my way over to PC number one and realise this is going to take some time to fix. I’m dripping with sweat, gurning, trumping and bent over double, trying to pretend that I had to look at a particular part of the PC case from a particular angle. But it’s all too much….

Me: “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go…I haven’t got time today to fix this”
Mate’s daughter: “Awwww, but it’ll be the new year before we see you again…Isn’t there anything you can do now? Puuuurrrrleeease??
Me: “NO!”
Mate: “Well what about my PC?”
Me: “Look, I’ll come back soon…I’ll come back next week….tomorrow….2 hours even. I’ll take your PCs home with me…I’LL BUY YOU ALL NEW PC’S FOR FUCKS SAKE….I’VE JUST REALLY REALLY GOT TO GO…NOW!”

My mate looks a bit disgruntled now as I shuffle quickly down the stairs like Charlie Chaplin, trying with all my might to create some kind of vacuum that could schlurp my stack back up my crack and buy me a few more seconds.

I grab my coat and don’t even put it on…I haven’t got that much time. I look dazed and distant and still now cannot remember what was said to me or what I said at this point. All I could think about was dropping this monster butt-cutlet and how the hell I was going to manage it. I was in Leicester and didn’t have a clue where the nearest toilet was.

Leaving my mate to wonder what he’d said or done the previous night to hurt my feelings, I burst out the door with a quick ‘Byeee’, sit down in my car with a bit of a ‘squish’ and speed off up the road.

Next thing I’m at a busy junction. The level of discomfort has become intolerable. This just can’t go on….I have to do something. I turn the wrong way, just because it’s easier than waiting, I am now delirious and the movement of the car is somehow pushing the brown trout slightly back up my tea-towel holder.

Despite the pain and my state bordering maximum human comprehension, I was trying to think rationally of the consequences of actually shitting myself in the car. Who would know? It’s only a couple of feet from my driveway to my front door…surely there’s nothing in my car that can’t be sorted afterwards with a bit of elbow grease and some industrial strength cleaner?? No??

But here’s the problem with that. I lived an HOUR AWAY. I couldn’t drive for that long with a big squishy alligator in my trollies. No.fucking.way.

As the pressure is building up to thermo-nuclear levels, I know I am just seconds away from the unholy when I see a sign for a pub nearby. HOPE! I put my foot to the floor and have a total blind disregard for other road users and pedestrians as I screech my car through the narrow town streets like a scene from Starsky & Hutch.

I pull up round the back of the pub car park with a ticking timebomb constantly nudging my gusset. It’s 11:45am and the back door is open. Thank Christ.

As I get out of the car I consider yet another potentially uber-embarrasing situation. ‘What if I had to go past the bar first? What if I get funny looks and have to stop and buy a drink? This dump will not wait for pleasantries!’

As if to remind me, my arse starts to give….there’s nothing that clenching, or even praying can do now…the bumwaters have broke if you will. It’s gonna BLOW!

I sprint through the back door and the toilets are there on my right…no bar interference...brilliant. There’s gotta be half an inch of gronk hanging out of my clay-hole at this point as I kick the door in. The bog is grubby and dark…There’s no lock on the door….I have long since past caring. I press my leg against the trap door and my pants have hardly left my crevice when….

WAAAAAAASPLAATTTTUUURRGGHHHH! OOOHHHH YEEEEAAAAAHHH!!

The full violence of the blast became evident when remnants of the subsequent splashback actually left the bowl itself (even after pebble-dashing my bum-cheeks).

Minutes ticked by. My bum-hole was left puckering and dry-heaving. I couldn’t get up. I thanked god for the small mercy of there being bog-roll as I slid my quivering carcass off the surely shattered remains of the lavvy.

As I finally managed to bring myself to my feet I then did something that you know you should never do…but you can’t help yourself. I looked back into the pappered bowl to survey the horror and devastation like a visiting dignitary.

From a brown watery cesspit, think of a combination of pig slurry, blood and atomic waste, into which somebody has expertly detonated a hand grenade and you’d get pretty close to what I was looking at.

I shuffled out of the back door and didn’t stop for a drink. In fact I decided that I was never going to visit that pub again…after 5 minutes it already held too many bad memories.

Length? I think this was my biggest yet…

*DBC=Dry Blackthorn Cider
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 21 Nov 2007, 13:21, 17 replies)

Excellent
*clicks*
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 13:34, closed)

*clicks*
Like slowing down while driving past a road accident, ghoulish and horrific but strangely compelling.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 21 Nov 2007, 13:39, closed)

Top class!
Trying hard not to laugh out loud in the office.

Perhaps BBC3 could make a series involving your botty related japes? Better than some of the shit they show.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Wed 21 Nov 2007, 13:40, closed)

*clicks*
laughed all the way through
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Wed 21 Nov 2007, 13:47, closed)

Heh!
What is it with boys and poo. They never grow out of being obsessed with their waste production.
( girlinthehole, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 14:03, closed)

You won't like this BGB...
...and it is a bit sad to admit...but as I was squatting down on that particualr hell...with the world falling out of my arse...

I actually did start thinking about the relevance to the QOTW & how I was going to write the experience down to post.

I am a bad, bad man
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 21 Nov 2007, 14:06, closed)

*clicks* and *plops*
I now have gut bubbles as I couldn't leave the story for my post lunch comstitutionanal.
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 14:07, closed)

Haha
Good God man that was funny.. probably not at the time but your zest for language made it almost poetic. I'm never going to look at a "cutlet" the same way again. Thanks for that mate.
(Lurkaloid awarded wanking black belt on, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 15:24, closed)

Hilarious
That had me snorting and spitting coffee out of my nose...the tears have cleared from my eyes now :)

*clicks*
( snee held his breath since, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 15:32, closed)

That's the longest QOTW answer that I've read in a long time
Well worth it though :D

By the sounds of it, after that event I bet you were scuttling like a crab.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 16:07, closed)

Jeccy
Genuine apologies for length. I didn't feel right the whole of Saturday....I kept suffering 'aftershocks'.

By god it knocked the crap out of me.

*shudders*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Wed 21 Nov 2007, 16:25, closed)

Brilliant
Can't you get a series on BBC3?
Or maybe a radio series - each week will be a new adventure
( WOLF .™, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 17:12, closed)

Brilliant!
Read it all. I lol'd at 'butt cutlet'.
Did it all flush?
( Christian Bale of Hay in a field, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 18:29, closed)

*giggles*
*clicks*

I assume "OOOHHHH YEEEEAAAAAHHH!!" was the involuntary scream of relief/pain that can only accompany such a sphincter-shattering chod release as that.

Thank you, Pooflake, for making me laugh so much that I nearly did a little wee.
( admiral crunch holds the newsreader's nose squarely, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 22:04, closed)

*Click*
Great story, well told!
( Monty Propps, Thu 22 Nov 2007, 9:03, closed)

hahaha
excellent! Thank fuck they had bog roll that's all I can say!
( Firkinfedup last shat on your wife's tits at, Thu 22 Nov 2007, 9:16, closed)

10/10 - *click*
Nice one, possible the best pooh story I've ever read.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Thu 22 Nov 2007, 9:55, closed)