A filthy pearoast
'I'm not waiting in that...'

Some years ago, I was standing in the queue for the toilets during the Edinburgh Festival. It was nearly sunset and the line to get in to the Portakabin-style temporary toilets in George Square Gardens was quite long, but it was moving fast. A bloke from the back of the queue shouted, 'I'm not waiting in that', and he strode purposefully off towards the back of the Portakabin - no doubt with the intention of relieving himself there. Unfortunately, in the dimming light and in his slightly inebriated state, he didn't see the tautly-pulled, shin-height guy-rope and he went straight down. He didn't even have time to put his hands out to break his fall - it was vertical to horizontal in the blink of an eye.

Now, it was immediately obvious that many other festival-goers had decided to relieve themselves at the back of the Portakabin earlier that night, although most had probably seen the guy-rope in the better light. What had formed over the course of the evening truly was a bog - a toxic mixture of earth, cigarette butts and gallons of lagery pish. And he was covered in it, head to toe in a foul, black slime. He got up and just stood there with his hands by his sides.
( ThisCaledonianClown has left it far too late, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 14:31, 1 reply)

... and then you took him home and fucked him.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 3 Feb 2012, 15:09, closed)