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This is a question Filth!

Enzyme says: Tell us your tales of grot, grime, dirt, detritus and mess

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 13:04)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

A lady friend of mine
in her younger days, when she was still living with parents and had money to spend, would spend most of it on alcoholic refreshment and being a larger lady would drink a lot followed by a kebab/Indian/Chinese.

One night, after a shedfull, she got home feeling slightly unwell and headed for the bathroom. Instead of doing the logical thing and barfing down the bog, she sat on the bog and yarked up into the washbasin. She left it there and went to bed.

Next morning after her Dad gave her a bollocking, he took a bit of hosepipe and, after diluting it with some water, siphoned the cold, congealing mess into the toilet bowl...
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 21:14, Reply)
A while back I was out camping with some friends. I don't know if I drank too much or just ate too much, but I had to stagger out my tent to be sick.

Unfortunately, in the morning I discovered I didn't get too far when I was woken up by a bunch of crows fighting over the chunky bits.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 21:12, Reply)
At West Midlands Safari Park
They used to have (possibly still do have?) a ride which consisted of a large swinging pendulum with a disc on the bottom. The disc had seats around its rim all facing towards the middle and the disc would spin around as the pendulum see-sawed up and down.

The fanciful movement and sensations that this created were evidently too much for the gentleman sitting next to my girlfriend and he did great globs of Pedigree Chum-style sick over half the participants. Thankfully it was rotating so that the lumpy horsemeat splattered away from my girlfriend and I.

Highlight was probably the disgusted chav girls in their cheap bling trying to shake the sick off their clothes and hands as we got off.


This story's not much better so I'll put it here too. In the 1980's you still used to get animals in the circus, and as a young tyke I went along to one such circus. The ring was caged and had a number of tigers wandering about bored, waiting for the show to start.

Perhaps in solidarity with the chimps of Mary Chipperfield, or perhaps simply because tigers don't need to give a fuck, one of the stripey beasts proceeded to cock its tail and fire a steaming great cannon of piss all over the woman sat two seats down from my mum. It had quite a boisterous odour if memory serves, and no doubt the poor woman enjoyed the show all the more for sitting there covered in giant cat's piss for two hours.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 18:18, 2 replies)
Much like office loos, I suppose
but what is it with some people being utterly unable to use a toilet? I go to a fairly generic university with a huge number of students. You'd think studying for a degree would give you the nouse to not fill a blocked toilet with bog roll (thereby blocked it further) or the ability to place used 'female sanitary' bits in the bin provided, instead of throwing them lazily ontop (if you're lucky).

On a side note, the amount of times I've seen ever-so-manicured young women spend five full minutes preening by the mirror, but neglect to wash their hands after using the loo. Priorities much? Yuck.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 18:16, 4 replies)
On the same tip
Which was by the Mersey, I was down at the riverbank near dusk. On the other side of the river was an old closed landfill.
I looked across the river and thought "that's odd, the river doesn't normally look like a black carpet" before realising that it was the dinner time for all the rats that lived on all the old tip.

I ran.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 17:11, Reply)
Having spent my life working on tips, i've seen quite a few filthy things.
In the good old days when liquid waste could simply be tipped into a hole in the ground, I saw a tanker driver without safety boots, high viz jacket, which everyone had to wear or be kicked off site. I went over to ask why not.

He explained that the last bolt that secured the door on the back of the tanker had stuck so he had hit it with a metal bar. This freed it. The door swung open and covered him head to toe in chicken shit.

I was convinced, by the time he told me this I realised that he smelled worse than anyone I have encountered since.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 17:02, 1 reply)
just plain sick
Not proud of this, but it's probably the worst thing I've ever done:

I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this movie theater, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa — and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then, this was horrible, all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other.

I never felt so bad in my entire life.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 16:46, 2 replies)
Grot is my daily life
so for something to stand out, it must be truly foul.

This tale stretches back a number of years and several self-reinventions. I once had a great deal to do with the RSPCA and the local inspector would call on my services to help in animal cruelty cases.

With this one particular case, they had set up a police-assisted entry to a property in a South East commuter town. The Police were on hand to effect entry, I was there to certify cruelty and the RSPCA were there to coordinate the whole lot.

One of my nurses was desperate to come along and be very nosey. I was quite happy to take along an extra pair of hands, so I agreed and along she came.

In the end the owner of the flat gave in quite easily and opened the door without it having to be forced.

The fears of the RSPCA were well founded. The flat contained no less than 7 dogs. None of these dog had ever left the flat in the time they had been there and their ages ranged from a few months to a few years. It was even fairly obvious that the original dogs had bred. The resulting progeny were also creating new puppies or possibly breeding with the original parents. ("were all each others progeny" - see below). Presumably some of the puppies had been sold and others kept (we never found out that much).

The dogs themselves were in a very poor state and my job was to gain evidence to prosecute the owner under the 1911 protection of animals act. This was not difficult as the evidence was quite literally all around. There was a "coving" of dogshit throughout the entire two bedroom flat mixed in with hair and other items. The smell was somewhat overpowering and the nurse who had been super-nosey ended up going outside to vomit (this will be one of the few lols in this, so if you are cringing now, I wouldnt read on).

We set about collecting the dogs on leads and taking them to the transport van to take them back to the surgery for full examination. To do this we needed to go through all the rooms in the flat and make sure we had collected all the animals in there.

The place was truly squalid, with complete dog turds on the floor in most rooms, some quite fresh, but others mouldy and awaiting their transition to the "coving", some with doggy pawprints in them and others smeared on the few furnishings.

There were few furnishings in the flat but these were as disgusting as the floors and there was very little evidence of any food for all these dogs, apart from a mouldy pile in an ice cream tub. The worst room of the lot was the bathroom. I think it stood out because it is a room which should be clean (soap, water etc).

As I was taking photos and notes, I lost track of the police in all this and hadn't really paid much attention to the fact that the owner was being arrested.

The police officer who had been looking after us, explained that the owner was also being prosecuted for running prostitution from the flat! It had been a "client" who had seen how the dogs were being kept and reported them to the RSPCA.

In the end the dogs all got rehomed to new owners, and the original owner was banned from keeping animals for life. The nurse was much less nosey after that visit and avoided helping on future visits.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 16:07, 5 replies)
Pontefract Morrisons, 2012....
Witnessed a member of the fruit & veg team cutting whole cellophane wrapped cucumbers in half to provide said sized portions....

When finished, he proceeded to place the knife on top of the display unit amongst the pubes, fluff and bird crap normally found on top of supermarket display units.

I've been in twice since, and although it changes position, it's still there....
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 11:54, Reply)
The Bog at Radio 1
Years ago, I used to tech-op wireless programmes for the BBC. Mid-eighties, it was. All around Broadcasting House I'd play with knobs.

BBC lavatories were generally quite clean. But of all the porcelain in all of the Corporation, including the chinaware used by the Director-General, Attenborough, Wogan, and all the politicians who appeared on "Today", there was only one lavatory which had disposable paper seats to cover the plastic seat itself: the bog outside the two studios in Egton House that were the heart of BBC Radio 1. No other shitter in the whole of the BBC had such luxury as the Radio 1 poo-box possessed.

Length: once round the bowl
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 10:42, 1 reply)
I once stayed at the
Subi Hotel for a week or so before it became "upmarket".
I came across something similar to this -
Written literally in shit. On the cubicle wall.

Well that was interesting.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 9:41, Reply)
Used an office lav once
and on the toilet roll holder someone had left a little plastic cup of their own shit balancing on it.

I only noticed it while I myself was mid-shit and had to finish while trying not to puke through my hands.

Who in the fuck shits in a cup (apart from 2 girls) next to a toilet? Unless of course whoever did it was confused and drank his tea from the porcelain portal instead.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 8:58, 5 replies)
My 2 year old daughter once ate some little hairclips.
Hospital X-rayed her and were satisfied that they were not causing problems, and would probably pass naturally.

For the next two days I had to comb through each shitty nappy with a fork looking to make sure they had left her guts safely.

I washed them, and have kept them in a safe place. I'm going to have them made into cuff-links and wear them on a suitably embarrassing (for her) occasion.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 8:02, 12 replies)
*Further to my reply to ChickenChaser's post.
I used to work as a carer in group homes for mongs (sorry. "People With a Disability). In 1 home I worked with a young gent I shall call Jools. Jools used to regularly get impacted bowels (that's when you don't poo for ages and all the poo gets stuck in your lower intestine - it can be fairly serious). It wasn't his diet as he ate well & loved his water and vegies, Jools just seemed to very rarely shit. So as you imagine a crap was a big thing for Jools. For those in the know - he wasn't in a wheelchair (where this can be a common malady) but had CP and just seemed to choose not to crap very often - never had hemorrhoids or anything & yes we did have toileting/liquids charts for him.
We used to help him onto the loo, usually leave him with some music going and every now and then we'd check on him - if he was done he'd point his elbow at us and give us his usual "buh, buh, buh, buh." at which point we'd help him off, clean him up, flush, wash hands and send him on his way.

One day Jools comes into the office with his pants round his ankles doing a most triumphant "Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh-Buh!", having taken himself to the toilet (this was a good thing as most of the other residents wore nappies *sorry, "pads"* and we wanted to foster some independence in Jools as he was more than capable of taking himself to the loo). He takes me to the dunny & shows me a crap the size of an AFL footy. I shit you not. *Sorry*. This thing's circumference was bigger than the bottom of the dunny (which I estimate to be about 700mmx600mm). Again, I shit you not!

After cleaning Jools up and watching him elbow-gesticulate proudly and "Buh, buh" at his poo I then had to suss out how to shift this behemoth. Buckets of water and chemicals would be a waste of time and simply fill an already over-full bowl. Manual manipulation would have to be resorted to.
Eventually I 'carved' it up using a bamboo pole from the garden (bearing in mind, it was impacted and very dense - think: cutting up a lamb roast with a butter knife) and numerous buckets of water. Jools was very proud, I was impressed and he got an extra serve of vegies that night!

The herbs in that corner of the garden where the bamboo post was returned to grew extraordinarily well that year.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 5:40, 2 replies)
January 2nd 2010.
I woke up in the hammock on the porch after a very heavy New Year's Eve that had continued all through New year's day and into the morning of the 2nd.

The girlfriend was sleeping inside in the bed. I shouted, 'Why am I covered in mud?' She replied,'It was raining when we walked home.' I said,'Why has it got french fries in it?'

That is all.
(, Sat 4 Feb 2012, 0:12, Reply)
The Wrong Juice
Copious satellites ago, I was sitting in my local pub with my mate Flobbo when we hatched a plan.

You see, we'd been having trouble with Roderick, an increasingly unpleasant, juddery old puffin. The moment he started drawing his pension he became a proper menace. Constant schemes and childish pranks. His latest attempt to piss us all off was some kind of raffle scam. Fortunately we'd all heard about some silly little scrote in the next town trying to get away with the same thing, and gave him no quarter.

Flobbo and I were getting proper sick of him, so we devised a series of pranks that would toy with his mind and hopefully cause him to question his ways.

It started simply enough. He was a creature of habit and had days when he drank only cider and days when he drank only beer. We would wait until he had ordered and taken his first sip, and then swap one for the other when he wasn't looking. His outraged spluttering and subsequent rows with Andy, the landlord, were a joy to watch.

But soon enough it began to seem as though we were going too far. Disappearing hats, doctored diaries, phone hacking, suspiciously twisted napkins; the poor old boy's mind was unravelling and it became increasingly apparent that we were to blame. So we planned one final, blowout prank and vowed that after its execution never again would we trouble the old plank's brain box. But it was not to be.

We were in the pub late one night putting the finishing touches on our dastardly deed when we heard a high-pitched feminine scream, as though from a woman. We looked out of the window and saw two figures: one departing rapidly, the other in a grey trenchcoat - initally spread wide to the world, but quickly wrapped around a male body. Which turned around. It was Roderick. Some demon was in his eyes. We'd gone too far already. Taxed his fragile state of mind and then dropped him right in the loony bin. He caught sight of us, squealed with delight, and ran into the pub.

He darted over to us and jumped right on our table, throwing his overcoat off and treating us all to a full view of his full bodily extremes. With a screech of utter glee, he crouched down and dipped his rancid bell-end in my pint. Right in there.

In my pint. Jesus. It was horrible. The man clearly had a lot of diseases. Not only a fucking pick n' mix of VD, but obviously quite a few virulent skin buggeries as well.

"Hahahaha!" he yelled. "Cocky beer! COCKY BEER!" He began to caper, all the while landing gentle punches on an innocent bystander.

At this point Flobbo emerged from the toilet, having spent the last half hour trying to pass something the size of a pig through his bum-end.

"Seven Christs, I am parched!" exclaimed he. "Nothing better than a pint!"

And with that, he grabbed my Penis Pint, and, ignorantly, downed just over half of it in one go. We all stared. No-one knew what to say. But Roderick did.

"Hahahah! HAhahahaHAHAHHAHAH! Drunk it you did! Get a good diseased drink of my frothy knob soup!"

Flobbo looked down at the glass. It was CLOUDY. He went green. He belched. He looked at me.

And then he vomited on my face.


Well that set everyone off, and soon the vomit train had stopped off at every station in the pub. The place was caked, and somehow, in all the vomitous confusion, Roderick had run off. It was at this point that Andy, the landlord, came back up and saw what had happened. He ran right for the door and barred us in until we'd cleaned it all up. Then we had a darts tournament.

Later on I did a really big poo and it was right smelly oh it was horrible.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 23:42, 6 replies)
The Good Stink-maritan.
So I drop the missus and sprog off at the shops. I'm driving her car & have to run some errands so "Seeya in 3/4's" is arranged. I notice an old biddy with a trolley waiting at the cab rank. She looks sad and frustrated.

45 min. later I pull up and the 2 beloved banes of my life hop in happily laden with shopping bags. I roll forward a few yards to the taxi rank, pull up and pop the boot. The old dear is still waiting there looking forlorn. "Waiting for a cab?" I ask, "Yes, it hasn't come". I'm soon to find out why.
"Far to go?", no she shakes her head. "Hop in I'll give you a lift". I load her shopping in the boot and she climbs into the passenger seat.

And then the smell assaults us. It smells like ancient shit & piss. Not fresh wee and poo (because that would be far more desirable to this smell) but wee & poo that's been festering for quite a few weeks. I should say at this point that she doesn't look especially rough and her shopping looked like yer normal grocery-type stuff. Instantly all the windows are down (thank fuck for auto-windows eh?) and with the missus in the back seat stifling giggles whilst holding her breath we are both hoping the young bairn doesn't pipe up with "What the fuck is that awful stench?" or some-such. It smells like a rat has crawled up this ladies clacker and died ala James Herbert only this rat was pustulent and had dysentery.

We drove a couple of blocks (thank Christ!) as she directs me and then I help her with her shopping and I asked her if she needed a hand getting it inside, "No", she says "My husband is at the doctors getting something done about his nose. He'll be back soon." I hope to god they're not reversing a loss of smell 'cause otherwise he's in for a surprise.
The smell had seeped into the passenger seat and I tried everything from repeated wash/vacs, nilodor, essential oils. Everything. People would hop in and the first thing would be "WTF is that bloody horrible smell?" It did eventually subside but pity the car yard that we sold it to.

Interestingly the only smell that reminds me of it is diosima which is known universally amongst our family & friends as "Old Lady Piss Bush".
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 23:27, 1 reply)
lets just say that jack ass has a lot to answer for
5 friends camping at a festival extreamly hot summer and full to over flowing porta loos thank satan and his cohorts that it wasnt me inside when we decided to copy that jackass moment
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 22:08, 11 replies)
Somerfields, late 90's..
And on entering the produce store I saw the line manager and one of the checkout guys methodically working through a case of nectarines, popping each one into their mouths before letting them fall back into the box.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 21:41, 4 replies)
When I was 20 I went camping with my sister in the south of France, sisterly bonding we told our parents. Honestly, it was more so we could drink away all our hard earned cash.

The campsite was well equipped, the scenery was breath taking and for the first week all was well. We drank wine, bbq'd anything that would fit on the grill and often fell asleep under the stars (it was very good wine).

Yep, the holiday was off to a terrific start. Until one afternoon, when I made the treck to the toilet block. There were at least 15 cubicles that I could have chosen and pretty much all were free, so I can only deduce that it was the fickle finger of fate that poked me into that fated cubicle.

The bogmonster was climbing out of that bowl with a wink and a smile - I glimpsed it for only moment but that thing is etched on my brain forever. The head must have been more than 2 inches clear of the water and I couldn't see the tail. Truely this was a very impressive shit, monumental by most standards.

When I got back to the tent I quickly told my sister of the discovery and, considering she is very much a girly girl, showed a distict lack of horror. In fact, she was going redder and redder and avoiding all eye contact with me.

Yeah, my 18 year old sister had laid a cable of simply epic proportions. Part of me was disgusted, part of me was very proud. But a large part of me was in fits of laughter on the floor as she desperatly told me how, no matter how much she flushed, the damn thing wouldn't go away, and seemed to get higher up the bowl!

Length - couldn't see the end of it...
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 19:48, 3 replies)
There have been several mentions of fag butts in beer.
I don't do this sort of thing any more.

In my teens I once accidentally dropped a huge lump of fag ash into my half drunk pint and just swigged it back.
It tasted a bit gritty but really not that bad to me.
A mate then told me he'd buy me another pint if I'd drink it with fag ash in it.
I did.
We repeated the experiment, gradually increasing the amount of ash and each was knocked back with impunity.
And so began a trend that was to last for a month or so, whereby I would be supplied with free booze if it had some ash in it.

Apart from my farts taking on a newly satanic sulphurous stench I suffered no ill effect. I drank enough to feel like crap most mornings anyway.

A week or so in, they decided to up the ante and add crisps, bit of pickled egg, etc to the mix. All down the hatch, no problem.

Finally, as I announced that I was giving this nonsense up for ever, the barman (who was a mate too) told me to go and take a seat and he would bring my drink over.

What arrived was a masterpiece, a pint of foamy topped ale with the white greasy corpses of freshly cooked chips drifting in it, some cockles from a jar, bits of fruit, fag butts artistically arranged on cocktail sticks floating on a mini Tracy Island of apple, a tiny red umbrella and, for old time's sake, a thin layer of cigarette ash on the bottom with a plastic fishtank accessory thrown in for good measure.

Yeah, of course I drank it. I spat out the plastic bit though, I'm not an animal.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 18:14, Reply)
Proper filth
A few years ago when, like all young men of early twenties, I would spend my weekends getting wankered then try to cop off with like minded females.
A regular tryst was with a lady of indeterminate age who as luck would have it had her own flat. She and I would retire to her flat after chucking out time and get down to some dirty sweaty shagging.
After a few weeks of this, once trust had been established that neither one of us was a repressed serial killer, things started to get adventurous and she let slip that she would never do anal but she loved a finger up there during doggy style.
To my young ears this news was immense and again, after a few weeks things proceed from my finger to one of them small lady finger vibrators.
So there we were, two sweaty, pissed up twenty somethings hammering away like there was no tomorrow when all of a sudden I lost my grip on the lady finger and up it slipped all the way into her poop chute.
I started panicking, imagining a quick trip to Medway A&E, however she was cool as cucumber, pushed me off rolled over onto her back and shat out the vibrator.
And I really do mean shat out as the lady finger was lubricated on exit.
As for the rest of the night, she washed her herself and we carried on shagging.
Wasn't until I sobered up two days later that the reality of the situation struck home.
And i laughed like a jackal on crack, still brings a smile to my face now.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 17:59, 4 replies)
Years ago...
... I used to work in a shop which had a room in the back warehouse were we used to throw all the damages and out of date stock into. Then once a month I had to rummage in amongst it all and wipe away all the maggots, flies and mouse droppings and try to salvage items to sell at a reduced price.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 17:35, 5 replies)
Oh Christ
Vagabond's tale below has reminded me of something that happened to me when I had first started seeing my girlfriend.

I was staying at her place when I woke in the night feeling thirsty, and I spotted a glass of orange juice (or possibly scrumpy) on the side. So I had a quick sip and discovered that it tasted a bit unusual.

As she was perpetually wrecked (as was I), it turns out that she would sometimes not be arsed to make the journey to the toilet and would use a pint glass for her lady-piss.

I was surprised to find that the piss did not taste as vile as I would have imagined. Although having said that, I certainly didn't intentionally drink it on two separate occasions.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 16:58, 2 replies)
When on holiday in Goa years ago, we visited a beachfront bar, on asking where the toilet was, and being directed to a tin shack out back with a curtain on, I was confronted with a small concrete plint, on which was a standard, Armatidge Shanks style bog.

Closer inspection revealed that it did't go anywhere, it was just a lav, on a concrete pad, presumably some poor matey had to empty the thing when it was too "full"
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 16:46, 3 replies)
In the last student house we lived in
the landlord had gone for the "classy wood floor look" by simply removing the carpet.

One of the boards in the living room wasn;t screwed to the joists, so cleaning up became as simple as lifting the board and sweeping/ scraping all the cans, bottles, food wrappers and fag butts into the cavity underneath.

Once a month we'd get a long stick and shove all the shite slighty further back to make a bit of space.

Day before we left we sprayed some glade down there and screwed the board down.

For this Mr Hops, I apologise.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 16:42, 1 reply)
Work Turds
I used to work in a factory, mens men doing manly things. The toilets were dirty but functional. They were for skiving, or taking a dump. Skiving was usually met with a handful of swarfega coming over the top and down on to yourself and samsung d600....

I now work in a very respectable office for a global shipping company. Very highly paid professionals at my end of the office but the toilets are sometimes beyond grotesque. I can only assume people are used to their thai brides wiping their arses and flushing. Bowls literally to the brim with paper and shit, left for hours. Hand washing is often skipped after a piss, and then people are out greeting guests!

The factory bogs were much cleaner.... seems many stories in here reflect this
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 16:37, 1 reply)
We Cleaned pennies!
Long time b3ta fans may remember this from a few years ago, where me and a few friends put the then internet-popular Cilit Bang against some random imitation we found in the 99p store, by cleaning pennies

The people that made the imitation Cilit bang actually got in touch with us. They decided that, after looking at the pictures, our kitchen looked disgusting, so they sent us a bunch of cleaning supplies.

Cunts. I think.
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 16:20, 9 replies)
nye 2002
Brief -
Happy new year at ministry of sound at the millennium dome.
Urinals blocked in the toilets - but as there are about 6000 people there and they are all drunk/high, they keep on using them until there is (no exaggeration) piss 3 inches deep right through the toilets.. And people kept on using them! The smell was RANK.. So I went behind a lamp post outside the dome.. Didn't fancy shoes filled with piss.. But my mates all reeked of piss. The cab journey home made my eyes water.
My mates dont live nearby and the next day they had to put on the same shoes and drive 200 miles.
Ahem. GIP!
(, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 15:39, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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