Smelly wee bastard
As a young Venture scout away camping for a week, I discovered the stinkiest little shit I've ever had the misfortune to know. His very presence caused such an unholy assault on the beak that you instinctively wanted to beat him with a shitty stick. Not only that, but he was a bit of a bloater, so he regularly sweated like a blind lesbo in a fish shop.

After five days of avoiding having to wash, or even change his clothes, young Stuart was starting to get more than a bit ripe. To make it worse he spent all day on his own playing soldiers near the pit we dug for rubbish and bodily waste. Using discarded mushy cornflakes, among other things, he'd set them out in formation and have them attack each other while he provided the sound effects.

So when we went swimming in the river, it was decided by all that Stuart WOULD use the opportunity in the water to wash, change, and above all stop playing with rubbish.

On the way to the river in the van, someone commented on the stink of shite, which was jokingly believed to be Stuart, but no more was thought of it. But Christ, we had no idea how close to the mark we were.

He was ordered to get cleaned up the moment we arrived at the river, and after he heaved his Speedos over his bulky sweating frame, he held up the scants he'd just taken off, having worn them all week. Thinking none of the people around him would notice, he held the previously white Y-fronts up to the light.

What we saw made us all heave. They were utterly caked to the point of overflowing with dried fudge. It appeared to have hardened to the point it began pouring out the sides. He'd shat himself on the first day of the trip and left it there for five days. He hadn't even tried to scoop any of it out. He'd simply left it all there to fester for days and refused to do anything about it. The front of his soiled grundies was also stained - completely yellow!

He was commanded to get down stream and clean out his shitty crack with a bar of soap. A request to borrow my facecloth was politely denied.

Upon returning to camp, the offending scants were burned in the name of hygiene - an act which prompted his distressed wail: "No! You can't do that. They're my dad's!"
So it begs the question: Did his dad shit the pants then give them to his son? possibly, but I think not. BEsides, if they really were his dad's, I doubt he'd want them back.
The next day, a routine trip to the waste pit brought us the shocking sight of a small clear plastic bag the size of a calculator, with another pair of pants taking up half the space, and a turd taking up the rest.

The guy was unstoppable!

Length? About 8 inches, with a portion of sweetcorn near the tip.
(Barry Subchimp, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 13:41, Reply)