Drugs mess up your pants.
I'd been out and got trashed. Done many pills, and a bit of the other. Felt rough as fuck as a consequence the next day.

Went to the pub (a Rat and Parrot) as it was nearest. Usually I would avoid those sort of places, but I needed booze to cure the pain...

I had a couple of ciders then that familiar need to have a crap began to assert itself. No problems, I thought, I'll go to the toilet in a sec. The stomach cramps arrived suddenly and severely. I doubled over, and sprinted to the toilets, relieving myself in a hideously messy way...

Then I noticed there was no toilet paper.

I began to curse and babble under my breath, bemoaning my hangover and bringing down curses on the negligent cleaners. Panicking, and saying a brief prayer for my trousers and dignity, I hobbled to the other trap. Also paperless.

This left me a dilemma. A significant problem in fact. I could either have a messy bottom (unacceptable) or improvise...

Suffice to say, I ended up sockless, and commando.

I left the pub rapidly, but as I was exiting the door, I heard a scream of horror coming from the gents. The cleaner had belatedly found their way to the toilet...

I've not been back there.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Wed 22 Sep 2010, 14:47, 1 reply)

cistern addict
that's why baby jesus invented the cistern. next time it happens stuff your soiled undercrackers in the cistern, throw in a little persil bio and hey presto, upon your return simply retrieve the now sparkling pants. If you don't have any persil try some crushed polos.
( spingers, Wed 22 Sep 2010, 18:28, closed)