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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)
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My brother in law told me this tale from his backpacking in India days.
The story begins with a bout of dysentery, as every filth and India related tale should.

The pair of 'em had it and had it bad. As student doctors they were well aware of how to treat themselves and contrary to popular legend, it's not always "all that bad" though can become very serious depending on the pathogen in question. So, they were into day 3 and the symptoms were subsiding but the odd "urge" still came to visit every hour or so.

Standing on the platform of a very congested railway station, bro in law's mate indicates that he needs to open the floodgates and reduce the pressure so to speak. He wanders away and returns a few minutes later looking pained and miserable. Apparently the toilet was out of order and he wasn't ready to crap in the street, so he decided to try and hold on until they were on the train.
Duly, the train arrives; close to its appointed time.
The two guys have seats reserved in whatever passes for 1st class, and having located them and relieved themselves of their packs, they sit and wait for the train to get moving so the unfortunate fellow can find the toilet and unload some gravy.

Eventually the train set off and the rumbling of the wheels was echoed by the trouble fermenting in this poor chap's guts. Armed with his 5 sheets of paper he rushes off to locate the carriage's shitter.

This is when things start to go a little off course.
For a start, the crapper has a sort of 3/4 door that you can see under and over which fazes him a tad; however it is the horror of what awaits inside that has him reeling back in terror.
The "toilet" for want of a better word, is a hole in the floor, or rather a hole in a pool of runny shit, piss and bits of newspaper and rags.
"Ah well", thinks he, "when you gotta go..."
Thinking himself rather clever he very carefully removed his shorts so that they can't dangle in the slurry, placed them safely on his head and squatted over the hole with that sense of relief that cannot be matched by any experience in life; sweet release.

As he began to liberally spray his foetid effluent in wave after wave of high pressure jets; the train, having gathered a bit of speed, entered a tunnel.

The resulting backdraught sent a mixture of his and everyone else's shite all the way up his back and into his hair.
He had 5 sheets of paper to clean himself up with, nowhere to wash and nowhere to go except back to his premier class seat in the packed carriage looking and smelling like a man who'd fallen into a sewer.

Apparently the whole carriage was awash with his delicate aroma within a few minutes and he had to endure the disgusted stares and twitching noses of fellow passengers for several hours as they trundled slowly through the countryside.

But he did have clean shorts.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 16:21, 2 replies)
He shouldn't have been such a big Jessie then.

Have a click.

Reminds me a bit of this from Viz.

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 16:24, closed)
Hah, what a gem! Good old Viz

(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 17:21, closed)
That is foul,
and I'm adding it to the big list of reasons I never travel to foreign countries.
(, Thu 2 Feb 2012, 16:40, closed)

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