Not my finest hour
Years ago I used to go out on the town quite regularly, the rave night I attended consisted of folk who used to get pilled off of their face but were lovely people. I, on the other hand, enjoyed my beer and used to take great pleasure in getting spasticated off of the Red Stripe they sold out of the paddling pool of ice.

One night I was a bit shattered and escorted my friends girlfriend home as she only lived a half mile from mine and planned to walk the rest of the way. I accepted a cup of much needed tea and went on my exceedingly merry way - Rather than turning left a VERY drunk yours truly turned right.

I wandered about in pissed up confusion for about an hour an a half, as it was a pretty large Northern city everything looked the same and I couldn't get my bearings. Pretty soon nature started to call and I could feel the my bowels signaling that one was primed in the bomb bay and ready to be dropped.

I frantically hurried, I tried to make head or tail of the road names .... to try and make it home to drop off my stinky payload ... But alas I was faced with an unenviable choice: Shit my pants or indulge in some al fresco defecation. Option A was not an option so I darted into an enclosed, high walled front yard, dropped trow and curled off a turd which would make at 2 girls 1 cup weep at what they could have won.

If you lived in Sheffield in 2003 and had some utter bastard shit out a death otter in your front yard then it was probably me. It's not exactly a Hell worthy trespass but it's the thing I'm most ashamed of.
(SpunkyMcSpunkbubble Diddled your nubbin on, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 1:23, 2 replies)

Red Stripe
Smells and tastes like cigarette ash.
( Grokthought wouldn't pay that for Chinese 5-Spice, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 3:22, closed)

I s'pose
but quite hoppy ash.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Tue 16 Dec 2008, 9:35, closed)