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This is a question Personal Hygiene

There comes a point at which your hygiene becomes less your problem and more everyone else's:

My old school nurse never seemed to wash - instead she wrapped herself in crepe bandages from the first aid kits. The smell was beyond pungent. If you got ill at school, it was better to suffer than try and explain symptoms whilst only breathing out.

When she was eventually 'let go',they had to strip the wallpaper in her office to get rid of the lingering odour.

How scuzzy have you got? Or, failing that, how bad have people you know got?

(, Thu 22 Mar 2007, 12:40)
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Bar accomodation
is fantastic, as you have to share a room with whom so ever your boss sees fit, which leads to a whole raft of wrong-un related anecdotes.

This one relates to a certain fellow from yorkshire, who i'll lovingly refer to as yorkie, and my brother, with whom i worked, who i'll refer to as, oh, you'll figure it out!

Yorkie liked drinking very, very much. When he was pissed he looked like he had down's syndrome, despite his possession of a degree in spanish. He also had a friend with a remarkably high personal best in the how-many-weetabix-can-you-eat-in-one-sitting departmant.

Yorkie liked a challenge, so he tried to break it. Even though he ate nought save the 'bix all day, he still failed, but notched up a highly respectable score of about 15. After finishing work that day, he fancied getting drunk. On Guinness.

Bruv was his roommate at this time. At about the wee small hours of the morning he was awoken by the sound of a retarded-looking fat northerner shuffling around it the dark. Not lifting his head he saw Yorkie's bumbling silhouette stagger across the room bogwards. Then there followed what sounded like a buffoon falling to the floor. Followed by some groaning. Then a noise that words cannot describe. Then more groaning. Then someone getting up and leaving the room.

Bruv was curious as to the appalling sound he had heard. He rose from his bed, turned on the light, and discovered what happens when you force about 15 weetabix and 8 pints of guiness through a man's empty digestive tract. The result was a dustbin-lid sized, laid-in cowpat.

Hearing Yorkie stumbling back down the stairs armed with bin liners and other stuff, bruv turned the light off and lay in his bed, motionless, sniggering a little. Across the room a man with bin-liner coated hands shovelled excrement into another bin liner, here vomiting into the rancid mess of his anus, there falling in it again, and so on. Then, the carpet de-shitted, he disappeared upstairs, but did not return.

The next morning Yorkie was back in his bed, awoke, and warned about the damp carpet due to spillage. When laughed at, he confessed all, even that after he had left the room, he had hosed himself off it the shower, then ran a bath. He fell asleep in the bath. Then he shit the bath. He woke up shortly afterwards in a bath full of shit.

And the moral of this tale is that this man now works for the government.
(, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 4:21, Reply)

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