flaky little chef
a couple of months ago i was in a little chef with my fiancee and her parents. we'd just ordered our food and my fiancee says something like "i hope that waitress doesn't touch our food. she had ecsema on her hands or something".

a few minutes later a different waitress comes back with our drinks and my eternally tact deficient future father-in-law asks her "what's wrong with that waitress' hands? i don't want her flaking on my dinner"
(secretsquirrel, Wed 28 Mar 2007, 11:42, Reply)

A true one
I am a sloppy eater. So eager am I to get the lovely grub down my neck, I often splash it all over my face and front. At home, I wear an old shirt as a kind of adult bib and it catches all the whiplash splashes of spaghetti or drips of soup. But occasionally - OK, frequently - I go out wearing clothes that are covered in egg, tomato sauce, melted cheese etc. My theory is that nobody really notices.

Then one day my mate pointed out that the only people who go out in public with food on their face or clothes are children and the mentally handicapped. This was brought home to me when I was on a train and got collared by a drooling Downs Syndrome boy who was telling me about his cat (I think).

I was highly embarrassed to note that my cardigan was more hideously soiled than his and that other passengers were looking at me as if I, too, were impaired. The shame ...
(frankspencer, Wed 28 Mar 2007, 10:47, Reply)

What is it with this place?
I got the bus this morning to go to a 9am seminar and some old lady pushed past me wearing fur (bad enough, wearing a dead animal) but it smelled like it had been dead for a very long time and that it had also pissed itself in death.

And this was a packed bus at rush hour, she didn't get very far.

site: ebay.co.uk "gas mask"
( Maladicta, Wed 28 Mar 2007, 10:44, Reply)

This tale has been doing the rounds at bashes and on /talk for a whle now so it's time to share...
...I call this tale 'The Most Disgusting Thing I ever Saw' or for those in the know, 'THAT story'.

Anyway.
About 8 years back I was a student nurse coming into my final year.
As part of my final year you get to do two 'trauma' placements in areas like ICU, A&E or theatres. Mine involved being sent to theatres.

On the day of this tale I was detailed to work in a partiular theatre on the urology list. the list for the day comprised exclusively circumcisions, mainly in young lads who'd got a phimosis.
Finally the last customer of the morning comes in.
Gentleman in his 60's, rather shy, had needed YEARS of nagging by his wife to get it seen to apparently.

The first stage of the op, once the patient is safely aneasthetised is for the surgeon, or his assistant to 'prepare' the area for sugery.
In the case of a circumcision this involves yanking down the tight collar of the world's smallest polo neck and cleaning underneath.

Well.
Operating theatres are often warm places, which tends to make them PARTICULARLY fragrant after a long session in there.
The foreskin came back to reveal that this chap had quite possibly never washed under it his whole adult life, it must have been inches thick with knob cheese, but, mercifully, there was no smell.
So the surgeon whips out his forceps and gauze and begins cleaning.

Did I mention that it was last case of the morning?

Keen to get out for his urgent appointment with the golf course the surgeon set about prepaing the area vigourously.
The cheese was EVERYWHERE, including into the goggles of his assistant and the scrub nurse, the overhead lights, the patient's ear and as a coup de grace, the aneasthetist's cup of water, which the aformentioned gasman then drank.

Worst thing about the whole affair?

The SMELL.

Like cheap mozzarella.

Gone off.

And then eaten and sicked up by the dog.

Length? slightly less than it was before but nice and clean now.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Wed 28 Mar 2007, 8:30, Reply)

Not me but some people I used to work with...
oh how I will always remember Carol, not only was she fat, slow, and had beard stubble, but she also reeked of old cheese. How the hell she got a job as a waitress still baffels me to this day.

I also remember when I used to work as a Lighting Designer at a local theatre, there was this one stage hand that always would smell like he had never heard of washing(And for some odd reason he attracted all the girls). And to make matters worse the backstage of this place was small(you could hardly fit 3 people back there at a time).

I probibily know some more stinkers but alas I can not remember them at the moment.
(CosmonautBuggle Blinds you with science!, Wed 28 Mar 2007, 1:55, Reply)

back in the good old days...
When I was still at school there was a particular history lesson that sticks out in my memory particularly well.

The sun was high in the sky and we were keen to get the lesson over and outside for dinner, the crap portable classroom with far too many windows we were in didn't help the heat situation much either. As you're probably aware certains smells seem to be 'enhanced' in heat, and very shortly after the lesson had started the unmistakeable scent of shit was in the air. We could all smell it. And everyone knew that someone in that room would never live it down. After enduring the smell for a good 20 minutes it was not getting any better, however at this point one of the usually very quiet kids who always wore a cap raises his hand and asks to use the toilet, suspicions aroused I also noticed the smell was almost completely gone...

It was now obvious to everyone one that this kid had shat himself, in a history lesson, at school. He'd practically signed his own death certificate, the boy who always wore a cap. A few minutes passed and he hadn't returned, even the teacher was beginning to wonder. After 10 minutes she felt it in her duty to investigate and the lack of authority transformed the classroom into a mass of conversation. Potential nicknames were being conceived and no one could wait until dinner to spread the news.

Finally the teacher returned together with the kid and left him outside and she entered and quietly explained he'd had an 'accident' and that anyone didnt keep it to themselves would be punished.

By the next day everyone in the school knew, and took pleasure in coming up with the best insults. A few weeks later he stops attending school at all and we begin to wonder if we actually managed to embarrass him out of the school.

Eventually news came of his whereabouts in a 'special assembly' - he'd died the day before from a cancerous brain tumor. It at this point that we all made the connection between his cap and hairloss due to chemotherapy. It was also at this point in time we realised he'd probably shit himself for this very same reason and it was the fault of our school that the last times he spent at school in his life were a misery.

I still feel an utter cunt about it, so the moral of the story is don't judge a book by its er... smell.

It might have cancer.
(alecto, Wed 28 Mar 2007, 0:06, Reply)

Play on words

Anyone who answers a QOTW with a play on words should be forced to swallow a tablespoon of tramp smeg washed down with the remains of a vaginal douche of a heavily diseased, middle-aged french hooker.
(clusterfuck detesting 'length' jokes since, Wed 28 Mar 2007, 0:05, Reply)

so one time..
i bought these pants and they were particularly long, so i wore them further above my waist than i normally would

and that's the story of my personal high jeans
(Zoidberg Jr - Food, you say?, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 23:32, Reply)

Top tip in the wrong place!
To get mold and lime scale off of a shower curtain, throw it in the washer with bleach, detergent, and a handful of baking soda. While your at it, throw your white towels and dishclothes in there with it you filthy men!
The shower curtain will be as squeaky clean as new, and your towels will no longer reek.
(Windy Shrimp "wuz heah", Tue 27 Mar 2007, 23:15, Reply)

Stinky teachers and service people
Kinda fits here:

In High School, I had a teacher of Chemistry which almost always came with dirt on his face and some goddamn ugly and somewhat rotten clothes.

Also had problems with a technician whom I called to do some electrical repair and smelled really BAD, On a ~30°C day.

As for me, I *need* to clean myself thoroughly. Even after a bath, I sometimes need to drown myself in deodorant.

And after taking a shit, I need to take a shower, otherwise I will clean my hands with lots of water and sometimes even alcohol.
(Dog with Lasers says bite, bite, bite, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 21:02, Reply)

Flatmate
My flatmate comes from Nigeria and he's only just moved here. However I didnt realise that we'd have to educate him in the uses of soap, his BO is so horrible other people in the flat have to go eat in their rooms to avoid the horribly spicy, nostril stinging smell. I can even tell when he walks past my room.

What's worse is that instead of using deoderant he tries to cover up the smell using his aftershave and he uses so much that the aftershave makes my eyes water.

So he must thing we're a flat of cry babies because whenever he's around we're all crying and have running noses due to his pungant aroma.
(kitnel it's probaby infectious, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 20:42, Reply)

My mate Phil
My pal Phil is a regular guy. We went to college together (and both have stringent standards of personal hygiene before anyone asks) and have known each other for longer than I'd care to work out at this time of the evening.

A few years back, post divorce I lodged with Phil for a while.

Phil's a builder and works every hour of the day and until he shacked up with a lady didn't have time for cleaning duties. Seeing as he worked outside in all weathers, he didn't bother with central heating either. Just a warm dog and a log fire in the lounge kept him warm when required. It was the perfect "Men Behaving Badly" lifestyle, beer accompanying two meals a day, mountain bikes parked in the lounge (which would on occaion be ridden in the house, beer abuse permitting) and the barest minimum time given over to domestic chores.

Now it must be said that blokes have a much higher grottiness threshold than lasses, indeed Phil's bathroom bore this theory out.

If you moved the bottles of bleach or the loo brush, you'd see a perfect circle of carpet in it's original colour, exposed to light for the first time in months. Around this circle of carpet was a perfect dust corona. The shower curtain was of indeterminate hue, but it was supposed to be opaque at one time or another. It was caked in the liberal growth of mould and limescale, as were the taps. The bath itself was naturally a fetching turquiose shade, but layers of lime had softened this effect a tad. The walls had a layer of lime where the condensation had evapourated, leaving behind a chalky residue.

No doubt, the shower was used four times a day but just went without being cleaned...

But that was nothing compared to the horror which was the lavatory itself. Once the seat was lifted, the pungent odour of well aged effluent seeped forth and no amount of bleach would shift it. Tide marks on the bowl itself were at the point of being chiselled away.

After a week or so of lodging, I had a mini-breakdown at the sight of the bathroom and set to work with rubber gloves, bleach and dammit even sandpaper. By the time I finished you could just about see your reflection in the porcelein, although Phil stubbornly refused to do anything about the shower curtain. Although despite my frequent frenzied scrubbing, the bathroom got wronger very quickly.

The kitchen was a sight to behold. The tiles were once patterned biege but had turned grey-brown and again, no amount of elbow grease would shift it. I resorted to using oven cleaner to bring back an approximation of the original shade.

The worst thing of all was my Saturday morning coffee, which I accepted from Phil. His explaination that the granules were "left from my last lodger" didn't ring any bells, but I was somewhat shocked when I attempted to make my own coffee to be greeted by grey, matted granules in the bottom of an ancient jar.

Sacriest of all was when I was dropped off home by a prospective young lady who nipped in to use the loo only to emerge looking very sheepish and make her excuses before disappering pronto. Upon a post date visit to the bathroom I was met with the most horrifying stench it has ever been my misfortune to encounter, nearly bleaching my eyebrows with it's fetid ferocity. Turned out that the charming lady in question had deposited her lunch and must surely have been the victim of a very unfortunate bowel complaint.

We didn't last... Everyone knows that a pretty girl's only use of a bathroom is to touch up lipstick or powder her nose, the thought that someone I might be romantically inclined toward is capable of overpowering even Phil's stinky bathroom makes me gag.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 27 Mar 2007, 19:05, Reply)

MY BOYFRIEND
Is quite vile... I don't know why I put up with it to be honest. I suppose I must love him enough to ignore it.

- He pisses ALL OVER the toilet and floor. Its disgusting, I have to wipe down the surrounding area before I can go to toilet.

- He must brush his teeth about once a week, his breath don't smell that bad but when it comes to kissing I direct him to the bathroom.

- His idea of a showering is facing the water, washing his face, hair, chest/stomach, armpits and crotch... he never washes his back/arms legs/ass. Its not as repulsive as it sounds. He don't seem that dirty. APPART from when he tries to piss me off he puts his finger down his arse crack and then puts it under my nose whilst I'm distracted. It's absoloutly vile.

- He leaves dirty skiddy pants around the bedroom.

- When he goes for a dump he hardly ever flushes the chain, even if he does there's MASSIVE skids on the bowl. And he doesn't know how to use the toilet brush.

- If he spills anything he just leaves it, if he uses the kitchen he leaves a shit load of mess and I'm constantly cleaning up after him.

- He leaves his things everywhere and blames me when things go missing, he says I tidy them away. Everything that goes missing is my fault!

- I got jam on the kitchen work surface which is clean, he placed a letter on it whilst reading it and had the cheek to tell me to "clean up after myself"

And no matter how many times I nag him about this he never stops it. He says if I stopped nagging he would tidy up after himself. I tried it for a week and the house was a dump. Then when I mentioned his theory and told him i'd not nagged him for a week he said "there you go again"

LENGTH? its huge, maybe thats another reason I put up with his vileness.
(amy_metc4lf, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 17:29, Reply)

I live in Italy
in a little (has only 12 shoe shops) place called Siena, not far from Pisa.

And at certain times of the evening I will do anything to avoid having to get the bus. The reason? One guy who gets on the same bus as me to go home carries around this godawful fusty smell with him, and it permeates throughout the entire bus, no matter where you sit. I don't know when the last time he washed was, but that's not all. He will latch himself on to any random person at the bus stop (fortunately he's never done it to me as I don't look Italian, but my Greek roommate wasn't so lucky).

To put the icing on the cake, he kind of looks like Freddy Kruger: either he has the world's biggest red birthmark, which spreads across his entire face, or else he got burnt at some point in his life. So, we have a guy who likes to get in your face, who smells beyond funky and who my roommate has dubbed The Elephant Man.

I want to move.
( Maladicta, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 17:24, Reply)

Cheesy wotsits
My good Martin friend and I, having taken a year out of university to write a computer game, were holed up in my gran's (empty) house for ten days. My washing regime lapsed a little, I'll admit - but not so badly as Martin's, who (unbeknownst to me) had singularly failed to wash, or remove his pants and t-shirt for over a week, even to sleep.

Day nine was much the same as any other, both sat at our respective screens - until a strangely-contemplative look flittered over Martin's face, as if he'd had one of those 'eureka' moments - then he reached down, rubbed briefly at his crotch, sniffed his fingers, and declared - with a tone in his voice I can only describe as pride -

"I can smell my pants through my jeans."

I made him shower.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:57, Reply)

Cultural Hygiene
This is not so much about the hygiene of one, but more the hygiene of an entire culture.
I've explained a little about the people I work with here, but basically, with the type of food that these people eat, it can only play havoc with the digestive system. Consequently, in any occaision when I have needed the toilet I try my best to wait until I get home, but sometimes I have to give in. The reason I dont want to use the toilets in the office is because I would be confronted with a Bristol type 7 that has splattered all over the bowl, over the edge, and some onto the floor. These people dont clean up after themselves, and since I joined the company, we are now on the fourth set of new cleaners, because the others have resigned over the condition that the toilets were left in, for them to clean up.
I dont mean this to be a generalisation when I refer to a "culture", but in my job i have to travel and visit other branch offices around the world, and I've seen the state of the toilets there as well. I've spoken to the local staff and they too have complained about the condition that these people leave the toilets in for others. It has to be a cultural thing!

Appologies for length, but it was a long Bristol type 4
( turb0t, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:56, Reply)

Lancaster Station
Not so much a lack of hygiene but a lack of manners, if you ask me.

I used to pop up to Morecambe - lovely place full of people who can't afford clothes - on a regular basis. I'd change trains at Lancaster on the way and then have to wait for the filth-encrusted turd of a carriage to take me to the jewel of the North West coast.

Anyway, it's not on the train itself that I discovered a severe lack of hygiene - though there were times when the sour stench of armpit odour from my Morecambe-bound travelling companions used to make me down a pint of Jeyes Fluid just to take away the pain - but in the toilets.

Wandering in quickly to empty my bladder, my right foot skidded. That's odd, I thought. My left foot planted itself down to try and correct the slide, but found itself unable to find any purchase. Losing my balance, I toppled over face-first into what I can only describe as the stickiest, yellowest, foulest, most enormous lake of 'man-milk' it's ever been my mispleasure to encounter.

Clearly, the poor gentleman concerned had had quite a considerable amount of tension building for some time. And judging by the stink of purulent crab carcasses that clung to my beard for days afterwards, no matter how hard I scrubbed it with Vim, his nether regions weren't a picture-postcard of personal freshness.

A tip for us all: flat shoes, tiled floors and love-liquid can be a recipe for disaster.
(budddwyer This thing will hurt someone, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:53, Reply)

My GCSE science friend
when i moved to the top set in science back in year 10 for my gcse's i had to sit next to this bloke, (part of the seating plan). anyway chewing chewing gum all the time i never underestimated the overwelming power of his B.O, untill i forgot to chew gum during one lesson.

I could taste his sweat it was so bad, his collar was yellow, his breath could melt the fibers on your cloths, and the worst thing was his B.O i gaged along with every other student in a 5 seeting radius. it was a strong pungent smell like onions being fryed for a curry, and it choked you like a bag of cheese doritoes, at some point it would make your eyes water and gag for air. summer was the bad point where he would sweat 100 times more, and with the windows open woffed the smell round the room. poor bloke.

He's still my mate to this day, talk to him round college. He's finally found the use of soap and water. and no longer sweats crap from his armpits.
(calibra Same shit, different day, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:52, Reply)

Alcos
I used to work in an offy / convenience store on Lark Lane in Liverpool, we had a regular stable of smelly tramps that would frequent the store. Sunday mornings were a nightmare as there would be at least 7 of them DTing away in the shop from about 9.30 onwards waiting for the Magic 11 O'Clock when they could buy their poision again ( they would ask every 10 minutes is is 11 yet?). I used to have to discretely fog them with glade in order to stop myself vomiting on them, then when 11 O'Clock came around they would'nt know what they wanted, or how much they had.

The worst two were an old fella called George (I think, but then we called them all George) who would always get a bottle of Mansion House Cream and then make you hold your hand out to recive his money and dribble everywhere so you would end up with a handfull of damp change, once (I remember it happened in slow motion) i saw it comming he was just sorting tou the last of his mouldy money when a long droop of spittle went from his mouth and went on my hand, i only just managed to keep my cool but had to run out the back to disinfect myself right after. The other was another bloke who always had his flies undone, he smelled of shit, week old shit and his money was always covered in flecks of what i hope was tobacco.

Another noteworthy occasion was the time that this old fell came in the shop, not as bad an alco as the others but pretty bad, to use the ATM machine, all was going well until me and the other person in the shop noticed a rank smell emanating from the corner where the ATM machine was, we also noticed a rapidly spreading pool of diarreah (i dont know how to spell that). We politely ushered the man out ( he seemed quielty proud of what he had done) of the shop and had to close fo an hour cleaning the human filth up and liberaly spraying Glade about. What baffled me was the fact that this man was able to remember his card, remember his PIN number, and remember to take his money but he didd'nt have the nouse to realise that he was shitting all over the place.

I feel a bit sorry for them really, but not that sorry
(superkitty is neither super nor a kitty, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:46, Reply)

not a student tale....fer a change
but I was one at the time: I was working in an old folks home and 'Larry' came into breakfast with a shit stripe a good foot wide down his back and matching four inch stripes down the back of both legs...
ses I: Larry, have you had an accident?
nope ses Larry,
did you have problems last night larry?
nope? are you sure?
& Larry ses: are you askin if I've shat meself???

being a wuss I used teh tongs to help him take his clothes off/bedsheets n all in the washer-the hardest bit was pushing him into the shower...not only a soap dodger he was pretty nimble avoiding water too.
(mickturate if i could be arsed i'd be bored, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:39, Reply)

Had to share this..
After a couple of my fruitful posts for this QOTW I got the following message sent to my myspace..

'Well you're a sick bastard and you even tell the world you're someone who likes it up the arse. (Dont remember doing this but oh well)
On b3ta you said that you sleep with your uncle - fuck incest as well....
"He taught me this game (And I feel so sorry for my aunt if he has played this with her) fart underneath the bed silently and then whisper....

What other games does your uncle teach you?'

So a message to Hillary (Or Mrs Bawbags, whatever)
My uncle has taught me plenty of games, some of which I would love to show you, but it's gonna have to be our little secret, if you tell your parents I shall kidnap them (don't worry, thats the same deal my uncle struck with me, all just standard procedure)

And seeing as we're taking B3ta posts as gospel you may also like to note that I have raped a drunk woman in the park, buggered a dog and recommended that Rose West has a visit from the ground force team.

Oh yeah and shared the invalueable tip regarding cooking vegetables, you know when they are done cos the wheelchair floats to the top.

Twunt.

PS you whisper, BURGLARS! QUICK! HIDE UNDERNEATH THE BLANKET!
(The_Greyhound wrote www.luckymcdanger.blog.co.uk on, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:28, Reply)

Mrs. Kite's experiences
I was telling Mrs. Kite some of these HIDEOUS stories and she reminded me of some which happened to her. She worked in nursing for some time, mainly Elderly ( Demenetia ). Here are a choice few.

1) Chap wakes in the night, needs a slash so he pees in a plastic washing bowl (which was in his room). Fine, he then puts it somwhere safe; the top of his wardrobe. So, like some old slapstick comedy, Mrs Kite enters his room, goes to his wardrobe and opens the door to get some clean clothes out...and the bowl of (by now) cold piss falls on her head. How she laughed.

2) Old guy wanders into kitchen (should have been locked) on the morning shift and proceeds to wee in (unplugged) toaster. Now, for some reason it was not binned (I think it needed to be oficially condemned by estates or somesuch) and its just left on the side. Afternoon staff are informed "Dont use the pissy toaster" but they forgot to tell the night shift. Guess which shift decided to have toast that night !

3) Mum in law (worked nights at the same place Mrs Kite did) and one night was chivying the last few patients off to bed. One old guy's over by the TV, fiddling with something. She goes to him, turns him round just as he ejaculates all up her arm. But hey at least he could still do it I guess. Kudos.

There are even more I assure you.
(kitescreech still here, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:27, Reply)

Not me, but a friend of mine.
Unfortunately I left just before this foul tale happened.

Was at a house party a couple of years ago, and the usual amount of binge-drinking ensued. One guy, who was there with his girlfriend, peaked way too early and passed out on a double bed at around 11pm. We left him go, but his wench went up to spend the night in the double bed with him. ''That's a normal occurance'', I hear you cry.

Add into the equation that he shit the bed, and neither of them realised untill morning, and it isn't quite so normal. They'd obviously been tossing and turning in their sleep as not an area of the bed was un-coated.
Apparently they were both completely covered, and stinking like the entire London trampforce combined.

Still not sure that it was a good or a bad thing not being there to see the aftermath.

Apologies for the Asian-like length, but it's a bit nippy in here.
(Harold Bishops Love Child www.haroldbishopslovechild.com, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:25, Reply)

sick bag
Very posh group of young ladies I know went to Greece for the summer - they all ended up living in a small 1 bed roomed flat. After about 24 hours it was a bit of a mess and after a week it was disgusting.

About 2 months later the summer holiday was over and it was time to return to Dublin to do the resits so these lovely ladies decided to pack their bags and head home to their mammies.

Whilst sorting out the giant mess of clothes that had accumulated on the floor in the bedroom one of the girls came accross a plastic bag under a bed. This bag was knoted at the top. Thinking it was a discarded wet bikini or some other manner of normal girly filth she opened it to have a look. It was a SEVEN WEEK OLD BAG OF SICK.

On the first week one of the other girls had been out and drank way, way too much. When she got home and lay on her bed the room started to spin. She grabbed the nearest thing to hand - a plastic bag - and vomit profusely into it. She then tied a knot in the top of it and left it under the bed fully meaning to dispose of it in the morning. Instead the filthy pig left this bag of sick under the bed for nearly 2 months.
(prideofthecoombe has heard it all before, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 16:18, Reply)

The very same smell
caused my wife to be to hang her head out of the window vomiting up the M56 when I took her to the airport one morning.
( mazurka wants two's up on your mum., Tue 27 Mar 2007, 15:55, Reply)

I have done environmental sampling work on landfill sites
The smell can be really quite strong and often picks up on clothes etc.

One particular day I had to sample the liquid out of the bottom of the site. This contains all manner of chemical nasties, but some really turn your stomach (even when you are used to it). It was a hot day but parts of the site were still muddy and by the time I had finished, the site was shut up, so all grimy and sweaty I jump in the van and head home.

I get a call from a friend to say that another friend has been taken to hospital and did I want to visit. I thought this was a good idea as the hospital was on the way home and i could get to visit before dinner time.

I got to the hospital and washed my hands and face, but I had forgoten how bad I smelled. I go and visit my friend and must have been there 1/4 before a nurse came over and asked me to leave. I said that I had only just got there and that there was another half hour of visting. She politely said that the smell had caused one of the other patients to vomit and others were complaining.

I was mortified and left as quick as I could. When my friend came out, she said that the smell had lingered all night and hardly anyone had eaten that night.
( mazurka wants two's up on your mum., Tue 27 Mar 2007, 15:54, Reply)

showering policy
i personally have a policy which states that i cant shower unless i break sweat. i ended up cheating my own system by "banking" showers and using them when i needed them. then i twisted my ankle and was housebound for 2 weeks.

i stopped that policy.
but now the weather is a bit warmer i can just "forget" to put deoderant on and break sweat everyday by just sitting there.
(suboftheday, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 15:53, Reply)

No need
I had a friend who was a student and well, he was a bit strange.

One day he had just cooked himself beans on toast, half way through eating it he decided he needed a shit, so promptly 'trots' of to the bog, with meal and does two jobs at the same time!

Hello 'Sage' if by some chance you're reading this.
(georgevader, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 15:45, Reply)

Oh noes! Its smee!
Usually I'm a clean person, I shower frequently (what the hell if you dont shower one day? FFS if youve not been working out, as long as you wash your pits your fine! Stop obsessing) and I do not smell.

Except today, when I forgot to wash my pits, which I do everyday even if I have showered the night before (Im up at 6:30 most mornings and am generally too gormless to shower in the morning) plus I forgot to put deodorant on due to my sleepy haze.

So I was in the electron microscope suite at uni doing my final year project and all of a sudden I think, hmmm something smells a bit sweat, not gag worthy but sweaty all the same.

After pondering this for a while, I realised the slight sweaty smell was me.

But I'm clean now :D
(purplefairy, Tue 27 Mar 2007, 15:27, Reply)