There seem to be a fair few grim toilet stories, so here's mine:
My in-laws own a few classic cars and steam engines, so a fair few of our weekends in the summer are spent camping out in fields for steam rallies, country shows and the like. These things normally involve a beer tent, stocked to the brim with quality local beers & ciders, burger vans, and some sort of fun fair with the usual vomit-inducing rides and such. Taking place in the middle of the countryside, this becomes a beacon for all the local youngsters to go out and have some fun with something other than a tractor or unfortunate livestock.

Over the years, I've learnt not to venture near the portaloos nearest to this part of the site. Thankfully, this is usually easy as the organisers are normally good enough to locate the exhibitors camp site the opposite side of the field, with our own bogs hidden away behind the engine line up. One of the first years I started going, however, this was not the case. We were camped right next to the fairground. I woke up one the Saturday morning, having partaken of a bit too much of the good old gutrot cider myself the night before, and had to run to the nearest loos shortly after sunrise, before the cleaning fairies had made their visit. There were four of them - one was occupied. The first one I tried was coated in burger-van-vomit. I could see half-digested onions and streaks of melted cheese. Right, so, swiftly on to the next one. This one was smeared in an inhuman amount of rancid, dog-food consistency shit, with the lovely finishing touch of the perpetrator's shitty boxers neatly hung over the pump handle for the flush.

Third time lucky, then - well, god knows how, but that one was plastered pretty much floor to ceiling with used sanitary towels, with a fringe of used tampons tied around the edge of the ceiling. I can't begin to imagine the level of co-ordination required to arrange that one. However, I was never going to make it to the next nearest set of loos, and this seemed like the best option. I had to spend a good half an hour in that tribute to menstruation, only to find that when I was done, all the bog roll was gone. Thank fuck I still had a piece of only-slightly oily rag in my overall pocket from the previous day, as the only other option open to me was too grim to bear.
( useful_idiot, Mon 6 Feb 2012, 15:32, 2 replies)

*boke
:-(
(Monkeystrumpet monkey. Monkey, MONKEY!!!, Mon 6 Feb 2012, 16:14, closed)

Grim
indeed. I'd be seeing red!
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 6 Feb 2012, 23:55, closed)