My left foot…

I must have posted about this before…but I’m afraid I can’t be bothered to properly check. Either way, it applies for this week, so here goes…

~~~~~~~~~And lo, there were lines…and indeed they were wavey ~~~~~~~~~~~

I was in my late teens and had secured my first ‘proper’ job – working for a newspaper (that btw has subsequently provided me with more anecdotes from 2 years working there than the following 20 years of gainful employment has managed – but hey ho).

This newspaper was one of those ‘free delivery’ jobs, rammed up to the gusset with Adverts for general wankalots – it was one of those rags that irritates you as it pops through the door – for the brief second before you wang it directly in the bin without even looking at it. Not at all a waste of everybody's time.

I worked many different jobs there, but at this point in time, I was part of the distribution office – and part of my job was to be a ‘house-checker’; meaning I was to be suited and booted, and occasionally go to areas that had rumours of potentially dodgy delivery boys / girls. I would knock on the doors of random unsuspecting locals, and ask if they had received a paper, or if the delivery scrote had merely squandered their whopping 1p-per-paper wages before saving the public time and lobbing the lot in a nearby skip.

Of course, this job was sweet for a lazy lump of baboon-snaffle such as myself. My usual routine would be to arrive at work, have a nap, stroll out, get picked up by a mate, then go to the pub. Once there, I would get quite cunt-tastically piss-tarded, then grab a cab back several hours later and declare to my bosses: ‘Yeshhh….they alllssshh got their papersshshh’ before slouching in a corner and waiting for a lift home. Indeed. I.am.a.top.professional.

I must explain that on the previous evening I had dined quite hugely on a weapons grade chilli-con-carne. One of those that tended to redefine the ‘spicy-o-meter’, and should really have been served out of a luminous oil drum, before being consumed with the aid of a haz-mat suit…in a bunker somewhere…off the coast of the south pacific.

However, on the day in question I did not have any pub plans available, so I had heroically decided to buck the trend and actually do my fucking job for a change. I checked out one of the pool cars and before long I was pootling down a road, readily prepared to annoy some locals. But as I drove…like a bowel-powered thunderbolt, the previous night’s chilli extravaganza starting repeating on me. Quite violently. In fact, at one juncture I thought I might actually break not just wind, but the veritable laws of physics by parping myself into another dimension. As I wound the window down and dangled my head outside like a panting dog, I became aware that each whiffy own goal was nudging the inevitable horror another inch down my intestines towards a fateful ‘turtle-head-touching-cloth’ scenario…only my gut cramps were suggesting with dread that this wasn’t so much going to be a turtle - but more like a T-Rex. My pitiful log-launcher was exacerbating itself so rapidly that it became increasingly apparent an impending implosion was a case of mere seconds…I didn’t even have minutes. I had to do something to get rid.

Unfortunately, at that time I was not particularly knowledgeable of my locality, and I drove around ever-more frantically looking for a possible place to evacuate my rotting guts; as each bump in the road made the agony slide a little bit further down my rippling poo-pipe.

I ended up descending down a hill and was even ‘eyeing up’ the glove box as a potential porta-loo before I spotted something that seemed like the only available option in my increasing desperation. Like a gift from the bog-gods themselves – it was a small patch of what seemed like quite dense wooded park land, in-between two sections of an estate on my left hand side.

It would have to do. Logic had long since departed…this was a state of emergency. The wonderful patch of foresty shrubland I saw before me may have been an exquisite site of greenbelt to brighten up urban drudgery, but as far as I was concerned, It might as well have had ‘SHIT HERE!’ written in 90ft neon letters - like a particularly rambunctious fairground ride…that results in you having to tuck your bum-grapes back in afterwards.

Sweating profusely with the sheer physicality of trying to ‘hold it in’, I parked the car and bolted into the trees, desperately looking for some kind of cover. With my hand tucked between the crack of my arse I remember considering that soldiers properly earn their coin, because amongst this entire thickly forested area, I couldn’t find anywhere that I was absolutely confident of full camouflage …I mean if I attempt a crouch’n’crap behind a tree, knowing my luck some poor dog walker will stroll by and cop an eyeful of my head sticking out of one side, and a quite disgraceful arse peeling out a mega dump at the other side…and nobody deserves that – not even in Coventry.

I was royally screwed, but then I saw bush…sweet, glorious bush.

This isn’t going to get sexy, I’m afraid. not that type of bush…but an actual, large, bushy, bush type of bush. It was enough for cover. I was safe!

Heading from the direction facing the road, I dived behind its thorny goodness and my scuddies were already down by my ankles within a microsecond. As I squatted and momentarily looked down, I even noticed a load of generously proportioned leaves lying conveniently on the ground beside me. Result! I would even have some bum-wad to wipe my soon-to-be-disfigured dungfunnel on…

‘This was going to be one of those secrets that would never be shared’, I thought to myself as I adopted a stance that would make Bear Grylls drink his own piss in admiration. My knees locked into position and I was really careful to ensure that at no point would my poo-chute contents touch any part of my clothing - I bet even the dambusters didn’t put as much thought into their bomb depositories as I did. I even grabbed a convenient tree branch for added stability and leverage should it be required…I was confident - The perfect crime!

What happened next I would not like to overstate. Now, women are amazing, wonderful creatures who perform nothing short of a miracle. I could not for a moment comprehend what the pain and anguish of childbirth is actually like…but I consider that what happened next possibly came as close as a man can get.

My quivering anus began to split as this thing slowly started to emerge from my rusty bullet hole like an extra from a Japanese monster movie. I was groaning heavily…coaching myself to push…then pausing to leave some breather rings on the succinctly staggering torpedo that was emerging slowly but ever-so surely from my disgraced dirtbox. As the minutes went on and cramp set in I continued to squat – and eventually I resorted to using my free hand to ‘part a cheek’ in a vain attempt to assist the process.

Time ticked away enough for me to curse to my own existence, especially when considering that due to the spicy element of my previous dinings, this should have been one of those splattering, sandblasting jetwash jobs that can actually splinter porcelain...but no…for my sins this mahoosive unit decided to be like the Costa Concordia, a girthsome, badly maintained vessel, slowly departing and steaming away before running aground and pathetically flopping to one side.

As each second passed I could almost sense the value of house prices start to drop in the area, before becoming more concerned that the sheer magnitude of what I was ejecting could potentially knock the earth off its axis. I was then dragged back to reality by a brief, glorious moment when initial contact was made with the ground…and the world and I were became an organic one, joined together by a bum-bursting behemoth so foully magnificent that if I had been positioned differently, it might have resulted in me hitting my head on one of the higher branches of the tree I was perched under.

Inevitably…I started to feel the initial spasms of the ‘crimp’…my gaping guy-gash was starting to finish the job, and provided I didn’t have to hang around for any ‘poo-placenta’…or even some sort of umbilical cord to cut…I could soon make good my getaway.

Finally, this lengthy leviathan snapped off with a ‘thud’ as it collided with the unsuspecting stinging nettles perched precariously below. As I gazed upon its pale brown* splendour I honestly didn’t know whether to start the painful wiping process, run away, or place a flag in what I had just deposited so I could claim it for her majesty as a new country. I decided to start wiping, and proceeded to thank the lord for the invention of autumn as I wiped my hoop frantically with the surrounding foliage.

Exhausted, I was coming to the conclusion that my Al fresco adventure was soon going to be over and I had gotten away with it, The relief ebbed from my forehead as I wiped away the tears of strain…but this moment however, was the first opportunity I had afforded myself to properly check the validity of my chosen hiding place, and as I glanced around I rapidly came to the conclusion that In my haste to find a suitable dumpage destination, I had somewhat neglected to check on the nature of exactly how well covered the side of my new toilet was to the general public.

I looked up, and became quickly aware that the bush I was using for my own personal chod bin was, although disguised quite well from the area I was heading from, was in fact raised on a slight hillock, which had lifted me above ground just a few feet…Just sufficiently enough in fact that I could easily peer over the fence a few yards away and see a garden…and more importantly the kitchen window of the house right in front of me. This allowed me to thusly witness the frankly flabbergasted face of the poor old woman who was merrily doing the washing up, before her chores were interrupted by catching me full in the act of gurning with glory…with my dunghampers round my ankles, and curling out a ‘Thora Hird’ so profound that Norris McWhirter himself might have be tempted out of retirement to deem it the world’s very best (or worst, depending on how you look at it I suppose)

My eyes widened as I watched the poor old bird, who was recoiled in shock, but was managing to bellow a number of obscenities in my direction that were frankly not befitting of a lady her age. As she pointed, screamed, and banged on the window I noticed that she was also holding a phone. I therefore became convinced that she had called the dibbles, and that it was merely a matter of time before they would arrest me and I would have to explain myself in court – whilst my monumental mound of effluence would be used in evidence (no doubt it would be Exhibit ‘P’).

Having no sense of preparation, and having only one thing on my mind at the time, this presented a new element to the proceedings, and my body reacted before my feeble brain could compute what was going on.

The phrase ‘Knee-jerk reaction’ quite spiffingly applies here. Partially reacting to the cramp, my right knee actually ‘jerked’ – and straightened up instinctively…yet with my grots still round my ankles the other leg sort of stayed where it was. This merely made an already water-tight case for indecent exposure even worse for the aghast, fuming old prune as my cock dangled haplessly – waving in front of her as I wobbled about desperately trying to regain my balance…

In the panic-fuelled rush of what was transpiring, my body resorted to basic instincts, and as my left foot was so tangled up in my undercrackers I had only two alternatives – either fall over, or stamp my trailing leg down to prevent my self from toppling…

Oh very dear…

With a painful inevitability I plonked my foot squarely and securely on the very tip of the tapered end of the beleaguered brown trout that I had abandoned just moments before…. It smeared itself all over my shoe before opening up a new stink so foul it made the previous aroma seem like a bottle of Chanel number 5 poured over a bag of pot-pourri**. This of course, caused my foot to slip forward with momentum, so my increasingly fruitless attempt at holding some element of dignity disappeared as I managed to completely lose my balance and fell over with a moderately impressive attempt at a double-somersault. However, I would like to consider my self fortunate at this point that at the point when one leg shot forward, the other one buckled underneath me, so it was only down one side of my body that I got catastrophically caked in my own cack-tasticness. I also avoided the stinging nettles...It could have been so much worse.

I heaved up my newly shit-stained suit trousers and started to waddle away in a Chaplin-esque fashion. After getting to the car I tried to manoeuvre myself whilst sitting down so that minimum stainage would occur to the interior. I failed quite abysmally. To my lifelong relief though, I was just able to compose myself, start the engine and move away from the curb in time to watch the police car approach.

I stared straight ahead innocently as the panda car pulled up by the woodland, and before I nipped around the corner to freedom, I was just able to watch the poor, unsuspecting young copper step bravely out of the car and into a scenario that probably still traumatises him to this very day.

I think I should carry a bucket around with me in future. And at the very least, a bottle of toilet duck.

*Question 1: REALLY pale brown …what’s that all about? Why are they lighter in colour when done outside?
**Question 2: Why does shit smell more after it’s been ‘disturbed’?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 30 Jan 2012, 12:47, 26 replies)

I've not even finished it yet
But felt the need to comment. Utter, utter genius.
( shadyron, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 13:09, closed)

*click*
now I'm sniggering like a nutter in the office.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 13:15, closed)

Well done Sir.
*Applauds*
( The Mock Turtle ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 13:32, closed)

Ahhhhhhhh....
I've missed these.

I even took to writing my own poo stories, which attracted very flattering comparisons.
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 13:38, closed)

I have just read some of the ones on your profile...

When I say 'just'...it was actually quite a while ago, but I've been chortling too much to send this reply.

Your stuff is great...I would feel privileged to be considered in the same league
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 30 Jan 2012, 14:40, closed)

Oh stop it
We're not supposed to be playing lovey-dovey mutual appreciation society on QOTW.

Those cunts from /talk might be watching. You know how difficult it is for them to say anything that might imply they admire each other.
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 21:29, closed)

So your story is you had a shit in the bushes
Only joking, a well told tale there. I seriously doubt you would get into trouble for shitting in the woods if it was an absolute emergency though!
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 13:47, closed)

Pretty much...

You're very right, but I did contemplate for a while that on top of the whole poopage situation, briefly dangling my junk* in front of said old lady might be considered some sort of offence worthy of arrest, thus qualifying for QotW.

*It offends me...and I have to look at it every day :(
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 30 Jan 2012, 14:43, closed)

as well written...
...as the turd was well crafted by the sounds of things...

much chuckling.
(NoNoNoNoNoNoNoNoNo, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 14:08, closed)

oh god
you tell a fantastic story

i just hope im sat next to you, pissing myself and laughing like a loon
in some old farts home when im close to eventually rolling my 7

*click*
(Cov Boy, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 14:32, closed)

It's a date...

and congratulations for being a Cov boy that got out of Cov.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 30 Jan 2012, 15:19, closed)

Brilliant
click
( DumbMonkey The penis mightier than the sword, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 14:38, closed)

You're all very kind for your comments...

I have just returned from the pub where I indulged in a drinkie or three with brother-flake, to whom I told about what I had posted (he’s a B3tard too, but he sticks to lurking). He then reminded me of our wonderful friend Craig who used to go on fishing trips with my bro.

Craig would...‘hold it in’…sometimes for days before a trip...just because he sooo savoured the sensation of pinching out a large loaf outdoors. Apparently he used to discuss it in depth as they sat on the river bank…’Why is it a lighter colour?’ was a favoured topic.

R.I.P. Craig – I miss you.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 30 Jan 2012, 14:58, closed)

On the 'lighter colour' argument
I have a theory. You know that optical illusion where a colour appears different depending on what background you place it against?

This is the one.

Well, if you pinch a loaf outdoors, the earth/dirt/grass is going to be darker than your lovely white porcelain, right? So by comparison, your bumlog is going to look lighter, no?

Of course, you should carry out experiments with a turd in a box and some pantone charts to be absolutely sure.
(SimianKid internet faffer, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 17:43, closed)

clicks to you sir for the op. great stuff.
As for the al fresco, I should enjoy curling one out in front of some lovely seascapes while fishing. My mates seem to but I have a shy sphincter and often hold it for 2 or 3 days until i'm on my own throne.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 18:02, closed)

Pooflake, your bowels are a national treasure.
A plaque should be erected in their honour once you pop off (preferably in some eye-watering shit related incident).
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 30 Jan 2012, 15:05, closed)

Thank you sir, It’s a daily struggle…

If such a thing exists I would love to get on the arse transplant waiting list - because mine is properly gipped.

This story happened when I was young and naïve – nowadays I just rock back and forth in my chair and wait for the hair trigger in my tea-towel-holder to go off with minimal embarrassment.

...which isn’t often.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 30 Jan 2012, 15:14, closed)

A magnificent steaming pile, nice one! Have a click.

( Infidel , shit and wrong, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 15:42, closed)

needs more cerebral palsy

(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 16:10, closed)

An epic work of complete shitting genius!
This place is better now you are back.

*click*
(The Magic Number is neither magic nor a number, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 16:24, closed)

POIDH
... on second thoughts I'll take your word for this one.

*click*
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 18:03, closed)

As someone who had their bathroom floor retlied today, had no toilet in the house for 8 hours
and has just this minute layed a dinner-egg with the density of diamond, I wholeheartly support this message.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Mon 30 Jan 2012, 19:30, closed)

my mate was getting his bathroom done.
he bumps into the tilers loading up their van on a Friday night, they say cheerio and he gets in the house, he goes up the stairs to find his jobby engine sat very much unplumbed on the landing.

an argument may have ensued.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Tue 31 Jan 2012, 12:59, closed)

*reply click for 'jobby engine*
and click to op - that is some funny shit.
(King Nightmare, Tue 31 Jan 2012, 13:30, closed)

I like this.
(badgermonkey007, Tue 31 Jan 2012, 19:43, closed)

Fucking epic!
I now have to explain to my boss why I went through the full spectrum of facial expressions at my desk just then, anticipation, amusement, horror and finally sympathy.

This ranks up there with Chart Cat.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Thu 2 Feb 2012, 12:20, closed)