A jug of Piss & Vomit
I was on a stag do in Newcastle.

On the Saturday we ended in a pub/bar called the Vaults as it was showing football & ropey strippers at the same time.

At half time the DJ started playing a game which consisted of the following:

1 pint of fizzy water
1 pint of fresh orange squash
1 pint of milk
1 pint of coke

The idea of the game was to get the Stag to down the 1st pint then do 30 seconds of star jumps then the 2nd pint more star jumps & so on.

By the end of the 4th pint & star jumps said Stag pukes in a jug.

We watched one bloke do it & then went back to chatting between the ourselves waiting for the footy to come back on.

Then a group of 5 Para’s ask the DJ if one of there group could do it as it was his 25th birthday.

The DJ agreed so the game started but halfway through one of them disappeared off to the toilet with an empty pint glass which came back full of piss.

It was placed after the pint of coke.

The Para who was partaking in the game got to the pint of piss & knocked it back like it was Champagne.

He then puked the contents of his stomach into the large jug which all 5 of them filled their pint glasses with & chugged it back.

That’s when we decided to leave.
(sleepmonkey, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 10:02, 4 replies)

I totally shat in my own mouth once, and then wanked into my own sick.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 10:01, 4 replies)

I worked in an abbatoir, and for a few too many years, at McDonalds so I have had quite a few experiences of filth
I have on several occasions had my arm down a drain full of congealed blood trying to clear a blockage (normally a hoof or some othe random body part that found it's way down there)

On one occasion, whilst gutting a cow, I accidentally punctured the stomach, which proceeded to pour it's not quite as unpleasant as you would think smelling contents all over me. I managed to dodge the majority hitting my top half, but my legs were covered and my boots were full.


McDonalds toilets are quite possibly the most hideously abused facilities on the planet. Drunk people vomiting, missing the toilet (both accidentally and deliberately), women sticking used sanitary towels on the doors, walls, and even the mirrors, and on one occasion, I caught a rather grim couple having sex in the disabled toilet during a saturday lunchtime....

Behind the counter, the occasional month old burger that has found it's way into the most obscure of places has nothing on the ultimate unpleasantness in the place... the grease trap. In order to prevent grease entering the sewer system, restaurants are required to have grease traps to filter the vast majority out of the water, and these occasionally need emptying. The contents smell like nothing you could possibly imagine, rancid grease mixed with rotting lettuce etc is beyond foul, and this job has to be done after the close, as the entire place reeks of it. I was the only person brave/stupid enough to do this, and on more occasions than I care to remember went home covered in the stuff, and needed 3 hour showers and multiple wash cycles to remove it from me and my clothes.
( MrSanity has maybe kicked the WoW habit forever, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 9:41, 8 replies)

Had
a report in work from one of the cleaners that someone had shat in the tampon bin in the ladies toilets. We've also had tool boxes broken into, and pissed in.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 9:27, Reply)

Lets have a game of Breastitty Breast, with your host Les QOTWson
The other day, while I was breasts my breasts with my supermodel breasts, I couldn't help to notice breasts breasts breasts breasts. Naturally, I breasts immediately. Well, you can't ignore an offer like that! I then proceeded to breasts like I'd never breasts before. Needless to say, breasts breasts breasts breasts breasts breasts breasts.

Breasts!

cheers
( broadsword now that's fresh, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 9:09, 22 replies)

What is it with work toilets????
The humble work toilet has to be one of the most abused items ever devised by man.
In a company of supposedly intelligent people, ours are disgusting.
We have approx 150 people on our floor, 95% are blokes.
One well-travelled colleague advised that he had seen cleaner toilets in Turkey.

We have suggested to HR that the question "Do you know how to crap in a toilet properly?" be added to the employment application form or at least be asked in the interview.

Why? For these reasons:
- footprints on the seat
- toilet paper everywhere except in the bowl
- pee everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE
- shit, snot, and other unidentified things smeared on the walls
- sinks blocked up with all sorts of unmentionables
- gobbing on the floor.

We have had several Phantom Shitters.
Solid or liquid shit engulfing the cubicle, in one case it seeped under the partition wall and into the Ladies.
They had their own one for a while - She used to smear shit over the cubicle walls, then lock the door and climb out under it.

After one such nasty discovery I emailed the floor at length, waxing long about the evil I would commit upon the person if I was ever fortunate to discover who they were. 10 other people added their own personalised threats. Finally our manager added "I wholeheartedly endorse the views expressed above."

Even with the demise of the last PS some years ago, the toilets are in such a deplorable state that I use the ones on the ground or first floors instead.
So do a lot of the other old hands.
As I spotted one lad getting into the lift after he had just patronised the ground floor toilets, I waited until the doors began to close and then said "Gerard's been in the toilet doing POOS!"
Kinda awkward trip that was for him.....
(Sebulba continues to fight evil with evil....., Fri 3 Feb 2012, 8:10, 3 replies)

His name was Albert...
At work I joined a new team and moved to their office - "comfortable" for four of us, but not particularly big.

After a few weeks there, I started noticing a slightly ripe smell. I knew, however, that one of the chaps on the team had small children, so I put it down to imperfect laundry after a baby-sick-down-back incident, or similar.

It did seem to happen a lot, though.

By chance one day I cleared up some of the crap surrounding my desk, and on a high shelf I found an old coffee cup that had been colonised by mould, which was now making its escape and venturing boldly over the rim and down the side. A quick sniff, followed by a revulsion repulsion so violent it looked like overdone comedy, and I mentally absolved the father-of-young and went to make chemical warfare on my discovery.
(mmm savoury snacks, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 8:07, Reply)

Pee roast
My ex was a filth bag
I still shudder thinking about this.

I am, as most males fairly interested in licking the hairy clam.

So one night my then girlfriend gets home and we start down the path of hanky panky. Now at this stage i've forgotten that ive noticed the shower head hasnt been moved from where I so carfully put it three days in a row and head down south for some mouth love.
Cue me screwing my nose up and asking if she has washed lately? Shock horror, no she hasnt, but hops out of bed and grabs a mediwipe.

Im not sure which tasted worse, the three day old manky pussy or the lemon flavoured chemical minge I had a go at.

Needless to say we broke up not long after that.

Good riddance to bad rubbish!
( jakedamusss I understand, and dont care., Fri 3 Feb 2012, 5:43, 25 replies)

Face to head, so to speak.
smearballs reminded me. When I was in nursing school, we had an advanced anatomy lab when you could check out various limbs, faces, hands, pelves, etc to dissect.These were kept in a big wheeled bin labelled "Legs" "Right hands" "Heads" etc. I was crossing the lab as Destiny was pulling out the last one. Since heads are big, hard and spherical the bin they are neatly stacked in is quite big.

I slipped on a little unnamed piece of body and overbalanced. Right into the heads bin, face first. The lip of the bin was waist high; I was caught hanging over it and couldn't get away from the dessicated, formaldehyded grins 2 inches away. I was screaming in disgust, Destiny was screaming, everyone turned around and said "eww" and it took 3 of my classmates to haul my big fat ass out of "Heads".


Brrrrrrr
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 2:05, Reply)

Duvet stuffing.
Many years ago a chum of mine had recently moved into his first flat.

He's a lovely, warm spirited guy. Very talented in anything creative,
when his guitars were in transit between his old place and this new flat, he was given a keyboard. He equated the keys with the frets on a guitar and was playing classic rock numbers tonally perfect within three days, having never touched a keyboard before in his life. We're talking borderline savant qualities, but matters of a practical nature have always troubled him.

When I say practical, I mean from the very basics upwards. Soon after moving in he would phone me asking if boiling water is a fire hazard, where to buy bin bags, bill paying procedures etc. He was far from useless, just very poorly informed.

As you can probably imagine, his diet wasn't great during this period. There was a Burger King, kebab shop, Indian takeaway and a generic southern fried chicken place 'round the corner from his new home, so they provided 100% of his nutritional intake.

All was well for about a fortnight, but then his stomach essentailly decreed its own dirty protest. He woke up on a Saturday morning and started shitting. heavily. By Sunday he had run out of toilet paper.

In the absence of traditional bum-paper, and in a mild state of arse-peril, he'd cut open his duvet and started using the stuffing. Any port in a liquid storm. It turns out that duvet stuffing, at least ones of this tog rating, don't actually flush away.

The problem was, when me and two other mates went over there to visit him the following weekend, we found out that rather than address the problem at the early stage, my chum had created a festering excrement/duvet wadding layer cake. After a week of poorly digested, processed-meat-heavy, watery mud-biscuits had been laid, one on top of the other, his toilet was now blocked and VERY full. To the actual brim. With Heinz consitency shit.

The smell was approaching chemical weapon potency. Very, very unpleasant.

We decided that a night in the pub might be a good idea.

One problem. Just before we left and without warning, my own stomach started somersaulting violently. I had eaten something that had obviously given me the right belly-grump and I went from normal to brown defcon 5 within 30 seconds. It was coming out irrelevant of my say in the matter. The toilet was honestly too full. My chum's toxic quicksand was actually flush (excuse he pun) to the the lip of the chod-bin. I had to go, but I had to find a different recepticle for my emmisions.

So, dear reader, that is how I found myself in the hallway of a friends flat, releasing a tsunami of angry bovril into a washing up bowl.

When I finished, I looked down to see there was a teacup and a fork still in there. Meh. I wiped with some duvet stuffing. It's really good for the job.

Apologies for length and grimness, but it was coming out either way.
( sir_spicious2000 Crap I've watched: www.filmplop.blogspot.com/, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 1:42, 3 replies)

Heard this off a mate. I really hope this is true.
He was telling me about a guy he knows, who met a girl in a club, who offered to give him a nosh in the lavvie.

And then he pissed in her mouth.
( Bourbon Fox Bourbon is a moron, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 0:44, 18 replies)

It takes a lot to put me off my food...
However, it can be done.

I used to work at a lab where part of the job involved injecting mice with radiactive goop, putting them to sleep, before chopping them up into lots of tiny pieces and then trying to find which bits the radiation had gone into. There was some vague intent to develop new reagents for those unfortunate to need a tumour scanned.

Anyway, because all of our waste (lots and lots of little pots of mouse-giblets) was rather excitingly radioactive, it had to be stored for a couple of weeks in an enormous lead-lined freezer before we could throw it away. The main freezer was (usually) brilliant, you could walk right inside, and it had a massive metal door that looked like it belonged in Bowzer Castle.

Predictably, however, this freezer decided to fail. In June. When the weather was warm. And the air conditioning also broken. This left about 3 thousand little pots of mouse innards sitting at a balmy room temperature. For over a week. Because of their radioactive nature, we couldn't throw them out, and although we had one little freezer still working, it wasn't enough for all of the samples. That was, unless we could make the big bags of waste smaller. It was at this point my boss realised that if we tipped the bits of mouse out of their little pots, and stored the pots separately, the pots could go out as merely 'contaminated', and we would have enough room to store all of the actual 'radioactive waste'.

So, there I am. My first job out of uni, and I am standing in a small room, for 4 hours, unscrewing little pots of week-old, briefly frozen, and then thawed mouse-parts, and tipping the part-liquefied, dribbly genatinous mess into one bag, whilst throwing the pots into another. For. Four. Hours. This was a level of horror I simply wasn't prepared for. Visually, you can just sort of de-focus, but then there was the smell. The smell almost felt solid after a while; a real, visceral, physical presence, forcing itself wetly up into my nostrils and straight into my brain. Most bad smells you can get used to, after a while, but there's something about rotting meat. Even through a properly fitted paper face-mask, this smell just stayed there, terribly, defiantly, arrogantly horrible. For. FOUR. HOURS.

After re-zoning roughly 2 thousand pots in the morning session (powering through my break to try and get it over and done with) I still had about half as much again to attempt. I went to the canteen, bought some food, and stared at it for 10 minutes. Now, I LIKE my food. I hesitate to call it love, but this is largely commitment-phobia. It takes an utterly monumental feat to get me to turn down good food. And yet, the whole lot was scraped into the bit, and I trudged back to the lab building.

As well as being a gourmand, I am also a colossal goodie-goodie, and I usually have a pathetic, sniveling level of deference to authority. This is why I found it so surprising when my boss asked me how well I had done in the morning, and whether I was going to complete the job in the afternoon, I found myself answering "Um... actually... no. Sorry..."

Her reply? "To be honest, I didn't think you'd manage even that many, it sounds like a horrible job."

Going home that evening, you know that bloke who sits on the train, with a thousand-yard-stare, smelling faintly of death? That was me, that day.
(Serotonicity was a naughty boy on..., Fri 3 Feb 2012, 0:41, 2 replies)

Sonic James Dooms post below
Has unfortunately reminded me of this incident which I had managed to forget until now :(

A semi wild camping weekend a few years ago, 20+ of us and 2 open chemical toilets in a wooden shack.
They were supposed to be emptied every night but strangely no-one actually turned up to do it.
Mid week they had begun to whiff a bit so I tended to just go off and find a spot in the woods instead.
Caught short late one night towards the end of the week I decided to risk using the loo rather than stumble around in the dark.
Entering the dark shack I decided not to switch on my torch so I wouldnt see the horror, dropped my trousers, held my nose and proceeded to hover over the bowl.
As I lowered down something cold and wet made contact with my nether regions.
I had a millisecond of puzzlement immediately replaced by cold fear and horrific realisation.
I was boking even before I switched the torch on, stood up and dared to look behind me.
The loo was not only full, it had a mound of crap and toilet paper reaching up a good few inches above the bowl.
And this Golgothan shit demon had just kissed my arse.
I did not have a good night
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 0:38, 6 replies)

The curious case of the nurses cupboard
A bit of a pearoast.
A flat became vacant in the house i was living in and a friend gave it the once over and decided to take it.
On the day she moved in I was helping her.
The main room had floor to ceiling cupboards either side of the chimney breast.
My friend opened one of the cupboards and then ran to throw up.
Several of the deep shelves inside were crammed full of used tampons all neatly piled up, and by the looks of things a good couple of years worth at least
The image I remember was ones on the lower shelves being quite dry and dessicated while further up were the newest additions, still erm 'moist'
The previous tenant was a nurse and while the rest of the flat was clean and normal, I still cant for the life of me know why she did something like that
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 0:08, 2 replies)

The worst smell in the universe
There’s a lot of stories up here which involve share houses so I’ll add one more.
Living in a sharehouse in Sydneys Kings Cross a few years ago I was home alone with my house mates being up to whatever teenagers do when they live in a red light district.
I’d gone into the kitchen to look for something and noticed a thin brown liquid dribbling down from the top of the cupboards where there was a gap between the top of the cupboards and the ceiling. ‘hmm, wonder what that is’, I thought, reaching up and fumbling around trying to reach the heavyish bag of something up top there. Got a good grasp and pulled only to realize just a second to late that it was liquid, NOOOOO! Sploog! FUUUUCK! *speeeewwww*…I was covered in what I later found out to be a whole bag of potatoes that had been up there so long that they had liquefied into a god awful devils brew of putrid stench and maggots. I puked almost instantly from the smell. My God, I’ll never forget that smell. I know that rotten potatoes dont sound that bad, but it was the worst, and I mean WORST thing I’ve ever smelt.
Shudders.
(technocore, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 0:07, 6 replies)

Writhing Mass
When I was very small, we had to move out of our house for a couple of weeks and live in a strange house on the other side of Hackney. The house was on a main road above some shops, and so as is the case on streets such as these the black bags get left on the curb next to bins and lampposts to be collected in the morning.

It was the height of summer. One morning, we all left the house and started to walk up the street when my mum spotted a bin bag that had been ripped open and recoiled with disgust. The others looked over and then stepped back. Glancing over briefly I quickly knelt down right up near the bag, exclaiming:

"Ooh, I like caterpillars!"

Maggots - a whole, writhing mass of maggots, as maggoty as the eye could see, squirming over one another. I'd never seen maggots before. The concept was the same as caterpillars, but they were somehow...different...wrong, there was something very very wrong about being a couple of centimetres from this roiling bag of fleshiness.

"I...I don't like these ones" I stammered. And then I ran away.
( Hampster Squared has stuff at www.tilla.co.uk, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 23:30, Reply)

How much is the cheesecake per pound?
Many years ago, when I was living in a shared house, a mate's girlfriend came round. She'd just got off shift at the local hospital.

"Anyone got any spliff?"

"Didn't know you smoked Sara?"

"I don't but I need the munchies or I won't be able to keep dinner down".

She'd assisted at a cyst drainage: the patient had not one but 17, spread over his back and ranging from dried pea to satsuma in size. The little ones went OK, with a quick slash to dissect them out intact. The 3 biggest...squirted. Apparently the smell was a cross between rotting flesh, halitosis and vomit. All the theatre staff were hit. The surgeon had to have his faceshield wiped off twice, and the theatre itself was out of action for 4 hours while pathology had it steamcleaned and then swabbed for cultures.

Poor Sara. She got the munchies, but had a flashback halfway down her Chinese and threw up.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 23:23, 2 replies)

Living with 7 other squadies
In the back of an APC for 5 months was the dirtiest, grimiest experience I think I will ever experience. The location was the first gulf war in 1990/91 (or the Wests first attempt to keep fuel prices low) we deployed into the Saudi desert on Xmas eve 90 and lived out the back of an APC until the beginning of May 91 visiting Iraq and finishing up in Kuwait. Living and working so close to each other you have to lower standards such as.

No change/laundry of kit - once dirty it stayed dirty.

Commander and driver at the front- The rest of us lived like sardines in the back, farting smoking, eating. Smells soon accumulated.

Cold showers - no biggy this, but the desert isnt always warm, especially at night.

Section 2i/c determined to wear the same union jack boxer shorts for the whole tour - gopping minging bastard especially at the end when instead of a sacrificial burning, he took them back to the UK!!!

Pissing, shiting and wanking in the desert - not fun, but the sand sure is absorbent.
(Hammy1801 may have scabies!, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 23:15, 4 replies)

My first repost in a while...
Everyone knows the state that festival toilets are in by the end of the weekend and really this one was no different to the rest... except for the fact that upon opening the door I discovered a mound of shit so high it had escaped the chemical bit at the bottom of the toilet, and formed a peak reaching a good foot above the level of the seat.

How the bluddering fuck did someone manage that?!?

Not only this however... Someone had put a Bakewell Tart on the top of the mound.
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 2 Feb 2012, 22:58, 6 replies)

dead body parts
I worked on contract to remove all the old wooden shelves from the morgue at the university of Toronto. All the shelves held dead bodies, containers full of arms and legs, severed heads & all kinds of gruesome bloody human meat. The cadavers & parts were moved into a refrigerated truck and we demolished the shelving and disposed of the wood getting covered in blood and formaldehyde. Fun day. I got in trouble for snooping around and taking a peek at the bodies that were being embalmed.
( smearballs double bag it!, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 22:09, Reply)

Black Hole
My father told a tale of being a volunteer fireman in rural Corrales, New Mexico. One night, their crew responded to a nighttime fire at a farmhouse. They arrived and started laying out their hoses as the bright flames cast flickering dark shadows across the farm yard. Almost immediately, however, the fire chief disappeared. The firemen nevertheless proceeded to put the fire out. Afterwards, they began searching for their chief.

Turned out, one of the first things the fire had consumed at the farmhouse was the outhouse. The chief, running around distracted in the dark, failed to discern the outline of the ashen black hole, and stumbled right into it.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 21:20, 4 replies)

As a young, grotty flat dwelling herbert I once accidentally knocked a grilled sausage into a bucket of dirty water whilst attempting to make 'Toad in the Hole'.
The bucket of water had been sat there since we mopped the kitchen floor the day we moved in.

The bucket and sausage remained there until we moved out a year later. We kidded ourselves that it was some kind of experiment but we were really just being lazy fucks. We observed the following:-

-All the colour will leech out of a cooked sausage when submerged in water.
-Closely followed by the fat. This will form a layer on top of the water.
-A furry mould will develop on this layer of fat. This too, like the sausage and the fat, will be almost pure white in colour. It will all, however, smell ever so slightly of bleach.
-This fat/mould layer, named the 'grimosphere', will be capable of supporting an array of objects including lighters and coins.
-All of these items were swallowed up by the grimosphere. On the rare occassion when an item did penetrate the layer, the entire kitchen would be filled with a foul stench that cast an impenetrable black shadow over the souls of any beings unfortunate enough to cast their nostrils in its general direction.
-The is no level to which a young, twenty-something male will sink in his mission to do as little housekeeping as possible.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 21:17, 8 replies)

The Bucket List
My friends think I'm not living life to its fullest, so they have given me 20 tasks to do before I leave for university in the autumn. Most of them are on the disgusting side, which I hope qualifies this story for this question.

However, for me this is just an exercise in cleverly getting out of things - a skill which will definitely come in handy in the future.

Task 13 is 'Write an essay on slimy discharge.' So far I have done 300 words on my interpretation of their command: river pollution.

Thinking up a way to get out of task 11 ('Go down on a bleeding girl') is proving hard, though.
(MOTOR Master Of The Open Road, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 20:56, 10 replies)

Back in my student days I knew a very grotty chap.
One afternoon his flatmate scrubbed down the lino floor of their shared hovel, and we sat for a few hours watching the floor dry, and the stains somehow reappear.
( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 20:48, Reply)

Mushroom in the wardrobe, cupboards full of toxic mould, Chinese people.
After my term in the Uni halls, I hang back for a few weeks to do some cleaning and earn some money whilst all the students went home, so I got free digs for six weeks and other perks. But that was not enough for me to deal with the horrors I found in one particular block on a hot summers day.

It had previously been occupied by some Chinese students, whom on the whole seemed nice, polite, but shy people and didn't socialise much. No problem with that at all, if anything they were sometimes better to live along-side than many of the spoiled, rich-kids who had just barely left the crutches of Mummy and Daddy. But I digress.

Upon venturing into the block, armed only with bin bags and rubber gloves, we were simply not prepared for the clusterfuck we found.

* Two terms worth of dishes had been discarded everywhere, often with food either rotten or twitching still encrusted to the plates- these were found in pretty much every room (bathrooms included).

* Pretty much every fridge would contain a backlog of discarded meals, simply pushed and buried under imported meat dishes of yesterday (apparently their parents would send them food from China, including meat). The smell was unbearable. Flies emerged. Windows were opened. Bin bags were thrown out of windows, as the trips down the stairwells carrying leaking, 8 month old meat was simply too much for us all.

* Some (not all) beds had been pissed in. Socks had been wanked in. Clothing had been discarded. Poo was found.

* A large grey mushroom was found in one guys wardrobe. We had previously discovered a large pack of dried mushrooms sent over from China in some of the kitchens and had deduced that this particular chap had just left his mushrooms in his wardrobe (as you do) and formed his own eco-system.

* A kitchen cupboard was opened. Four people were nearly sick. A cloud of spores or mould or something escaped. Fuck knows what was in there.

* We also found a Chinese student on one floor of the block. Who was probably in his room wanking , emerging red faced and confused to find us bin-bagging everything in sight. He was not supposed to be there and should have left about four days ago. He had no idea what we were on about.

Good days.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 19:51, 3 replies)

A friend of mine
came into the bar one afternoon just as I was having my first pint. "Hey, you know that hot brunette who works behind the counter at the gas station on 18th and Main? We're getting together tonight!"

"Wait, you mean Jessie?" I asked, with a feeling of dread.

"Yup!" he grinned. "I'm taking her fro drinks at the Taphouse!"

I set down my beer. "Jerm, hasn't anyone told you about her?"

Jerome looked a bit wary. "What do you mean?"

I waved the bartender over. "Hey Doug, you know Jessie at the gas station at 18th and Main?"

Doug chuckled. "The tranny? Yeah, I know her. Him. Whatever."

"Jerm's got a date with her tonight!"

"What!" Doug stared at Jerm. "She's got a dick bigger than mine! You didn't know?"

Jerm put up with our jokes for a few minutes before storming out. But from what I hear, he decided he didn't believe us and kept the date anyway.

They went out for drinks, and after quite a few rounds Jerm decided she was hot enough to take a chance on. She was drunk by that point as well, so they went off for a drive to a quiet spot. As they parked she said, "I have to go to the bathroom. No peeking, okay?" And she went behind some bushes.

Jerm couldn't resist and followed behind her quietly and found her squatting down facing away from him. Sure enough he saw something hanging down between her legs, so he reached out and grabbed it.

She jumped up with a scream. "I didn't know you were behind me!"

Jerm sat looking at his hand. "Yeah, and I didn't know you were taking a shit."
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 2 Feb 2012, 19:35, 10 replies)

Visiting the local metal club during my 2nd year of university.
Now, it's always worth seriously considering your options before deciding to go to the Bierkeller, not least because the standard drink is a strongbow/fosters snakebite with the sweetest blackcurrant juice I have ever come across. And a shot of vodka. Nevertheless, at 19 years old I was at the upper bounds of the acceptable age range and decided to give it a go. This night, more than most, was particularly grim inside: pools of vomit lay unmopped on the floor at regular intervals, many 14 year olds were unconscious from drink, a few appeared to be dancing but upon closer inspection had their hands down each-others' pants.

After a few hours of this the all-pervading foulness had started to become less pressing on my mind, which I put down to the fact that the awful drink and thumbing bass was contributing to a rather wobbly tummy. The time had evidently come to venture to the bogs for the dreaded club-poo.

Declining the opportunity to freshen up for laydeez, I carefully selected my stall. I went for "cracked bowl, no seat" rather than "no seat, unflushed in some time" or "out of order" and pondered the logistics. In my drunken haze I reasoned that the most sanitary option available to me was the squat-and–drop, unfortunately it wasn't to be; I instead performed the squat-and-spray, covering the back wall and cubicle side in semi-liquid effluent. There was simply no way to mop this up in time, within seconds it would be on the floor, so I made the executive decision to raise kecks and high-tail it out of there. Moments later I was out of the toilet, my arse unwiped and my hands unrinsed, making a beeline for the door. I heard a loud shout and realised that my deed had been discovered, perhaps by the bogtroll, or another patron, or my khazi-neighbour; I'll never know which. I haven't returned.
( Ungersven would support SpankyHanky's patreon, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 19:32, 2 replies)

Time for a cheeky pea regarding filth!!
*****wavy lines*****
2 years ago this story took place, and what a torrid time it was too!!

I had backache, and a lump on my right bollock, and nothing eased the pain (the doctors were failing to diagnose me properly but that stories been done) i started with paracetamol, no change, codiene, nothing, Tramadol, nada, zilch zero nothing. Then came the eventual diagnosis....a rather nasty and aggressive dose of cancer....fucksocks!! Well it turned out the backache was caused by the spread of the cancer into my lymph nodes in my abdomen which in turn were pressing on my spine, causing said pain. Anyway, to combat the pain I was introduced to Morphine, both slow release 12hr tablets with oramorph liquid in between as top ups. Now one of the side effects of morphine in the quantities i was taking, apart from being totally spaced out and seeing things, was constipation.....proper didnt shit for 3 weeks constipation....and the more i didnt shit, the more my bowel grew, pressing further on the tumours, in turn pressing harder on my spine, increasing the pain and taking more morphine to combat it...ad infinitum....see a pattern emerging here??

Eventually the doctors listened to me and gave me an examination properly, fecal impaction with 2 possible outcomes.

1. Take a shit and feel better
2. Dont take a shit, burst my bowel, become badly infected and probably die

I decided that dropping the kids off at the pool was probably a good idea but i just couldnt go..at all....i was blocked solid....enter my friend the anal suppository! (inserted by a rather attractive nurse i must add). What followed stripped me of any semblance of dignity i may of been holding onto during the build up to chemo. Suppository inserted with instructions to hold on at least 5 minutes before visiting the hospital bathroom 30 yards down the hall (did i mention i hadnt checked where the toilet was beforehand, or whether it was free?). So i laid in my hospital bed and waited :-

one minute....a little light gurgling in my anal tract
two minutes....this gurgling is intense (nurse returns with small cardoard tray that sits inside the toilet for me to shit into so they can check what i have passed)
Three minutes....toes curling, chocolate starfish in spasm
Four minutes....gotta get to toilet....quick...fucking quick!!
Five minutes....race down hall in blind panic trying to find an empty room for a shit...luck is on my side as the second one is free, i hurl myself in throwing the cardboard thing in the pan ready as my arse dances the foxtrot and my guts spasm, finally i turn to seat myself but not quick enough.....VESUVIUS erupts out of my arse at mach 10 and three weeks worth of food sprays forth as i lower myself. the first blast sprays the toilet cistern, the wall and most of the back of my legs. the second convulsive expulsion makes it into the cardoard tray only to bounce back out and spray me up the back and cover what is left of the toilet room!
I sat there for what felt like 20 minutes endlessly shitting and gone past caring where it was going before ringing the bell and requesting some nurse assistance. The attractive nurse came back! the shame was written on my face (well the bits of my face that werent covered in liquid shit)....her face was covered in shock, shock and awe that one person could cause so much damage and degredation with just one shit!
I was helped into an adjacent cubicle and showered off for half an hour and in the meantime a cleaning crew were called (after "biohazard" tapes were put up stopping entry into the toilet).
The last thing i saw before sleep mercifully took me in its warm embrace was a team of 3 cleaners in chemical suits and face masks entering the toilet...poor fuckers.

Thankfully the cancer was treated well and i am now in remission. and thats my story of the horrors of morphine!!!

Length?? none whatsoever, it was all liquid!
(spinks its only kinky the first time, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 19:05, 10 replies)

Last day on the job
before I moved on to greener pastures. The boys wanted to take me to a pub to mark the occasion, or at least what passed as a pub in this locality. They drove me up to a legendary raunch palace (frat boys from North Dakota used to come over in chartered buses to be able to say they had been there) and sat me down at a ring side table.
The first stripper, egged on by my pals, squatted down in front of me, took my glasses and put the lenses in her g-string. It was one of those timeless old tricks that keeps on working. I got them back, I had to do it no hands. I managed to cleaned off the muff prints but didn't notice the pube wedged in by the nose piece for a few days. After she had given her pudenda a good airing out she left and the next stripper came on stage.
This one didn't even attempt to dance, but merely stretched out her labia minora and tied them in a reef knot.
I told the boys I was feeling a bit queasy and bade them a fond farewell.
I don't know, does that qualify as filth?
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 19:03, 5 replies)

Hardly my own story
But I am fairly sure that a fair chunk of you have come across/been tricked into viewing/actively sought out (delete as appropriate) those lolshock sites. 2 girls 1 cup, 1 man 1 jar, walk the dinosaur; you know, those ones.

They definitely count as filth.
(MrHammerHands last checked the time on, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 18:53, 3 replies)