Im at work
and very very bored, with just 4 more hours to kill until I can go home.

Still, I reckon I earned about £2.90 while posting a letter to the sewage man earlier.
(Halfy By light alone, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 12:00, Reply)

The worst shits I had
Are the ones I've got now. Where you've had far too little sleep, far too much caffeine, and you're fucking tired. Your guts feel like they're constantly churning, and every time you go to fart, you have a 'spang' look on your face and have to run to the loo. And it's runny every time. Though it's a massive relief every time.

You get sick of it after 12 hours constantly!
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 11:06, Reply)

Types of Shit
1. The auto-flusher.
A stool which feels like a leviathon, but exits the sphincter with such velocity that it hits the water and traverses the U-Bend before you have time to peer in and admire your handiwork.

2. The Stroke
So called because you strain and grunt, and gurn as though you're having one, feel as though you're passing a motion of biblical proportions, only to have a small nugget of dark matter pop out and plop, unsatisfyingly into the depths below.

3. Blowing Mud
Not to be confused with the post-curry motion, this is generally the epilogue to a night of uncomfortable and very odious wind, which leaves the bedroom smelling as though a diarrhitic episode has already passed betwixt the sheets. Blowing mud normally involves a protracted run to the toilet, followed by an involuntary shit tsunami which liberally coats the bowl with a sticky layer of faeces and proves hard to shift even after several flushes.

4. The Eye of the needle.
The result of an ill thought out choice in the curry house the previous night, and fuelled by several imbibed pints of fermented vegetable products, this precision shitting normally leaves the anus puckered, red and sore. So called because of the perpetrators ability to shit through the eye of a needle without splashing the sides.

5. The Gillian McKeith
The foulest and most repugnant of all bowel motions, eponymously named because it bears resemblance to the visage of TV's favourite, faecally-fixated would-be doctor.

6. The Trans-Atlantic Cable
A stool which, once the pace car drops lazily into the bowl, continues to come out in an unbroken session, similar to the laying of subsea communications cable. Often the perpetrator feels as though their insides are physically unravelling, and panic attacks ensue.

7. The Clown
A cruel joke played on the passer. He/she will spend hours in a meeting with an urgent pressure on their ringpiece, followed by a hurried run to the nearest facilities, only to discover that the monstrous motion their body has promised them is merely a large build up of wind, which rasps out of the sphincter like a 650 norton starting up, much to the amusement of other patrons in the facilities.
(Vic Flange, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 10:35, 5 replies)

Whenever I have a really stinky shit
I feel kinda proud and savour the moment.

In fact, I've been awake for 53 hours now, living off unsuitable substances, and have made a smell so awful I have had to open every window in the house.

My arse rocks.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Sat 29 Mar 2008, 10:07, 1 reply)

Never....
drink a cocktail like I did on Thursday Night, went and left it on the bar so I went out for a ciggy. My boss decided to put half a bottle of Tobasco sauce in it.

I have been off work for 2 days with the most explosive shits ever...

That'll teach em...
(TIMBIonline available for any passing drunk sailor, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 9:19, Reply)

it would seem...
,,,that as a child, ridethefader's mind worked in the same way as my brother's --- but did he use his newfound powers for good like TMNT, or for evil as my brother so obviously did?
will we ever know?
(sar "though she be but little she is fierce", Sat 29 Mar 2008, 8:55, Reply)

soylent green is poopy!
Lo these many years ago, it is round about the end of the seventies, early eighties, and we are Small. My brother Mike and I are each minding our own business - most likely playing 'guys' (which any self-respecting kid knows is what 'action figures' are really called) or searching tv channels in the hope of finding a rerun of a rerun of a rerun (etc) of 'star trek' we haven't seen before - to this day the episode with evil spock (aka goatee-ed spock) eludes me. and yes, mine has been a tortured existence because of this, thanks for asking.
-- After a while it becomes apparent to us both that our elder brother Tim was no where to be found. 'Strange', think we, but not strange enough actually to look for him, which is fine in the end, because he found us.

"Hey you two, I have something to show you."

These are words to make any younger sibling tremble. A previous uttering of those same words found him, in a display of agility I'm sure was breathtaking to behold, holding us each down in such a way that I was forced to kiss Mike's buttcheeks, and Mike was forced to let me.
-- With that assault fresh in our minds, we were suitably frightened at what might befall us, yet incapable of resisting the lure of his siren call. Soon where he had been became all too obvious, as I'm sure dear reader, you've guessed.
-- Into the tiny powder room (fancy!) we went, and with a flourish that would've made the finest conjurer envious, he raised the lid of the toilet to show us his latest creation.
-- It was a sight to be reckoned with: form, figure, length, girth - it had all of these. It was an awe-inspiring poop. And it was green. -- not the green you'd expect from a fetid rotting colon, no. It was the green that makes the Irish pine for the home country. The green of childhood memory, of perfect spring days, of family and home. It was not merely green, but GREEN.
-- It seems dear Tim, as a good boy scout, had conceived of a fiendish plan and spent many days in carrying it out: he had been ingesting massive quantities of green food coloring: with every meal, with every snack; he even drank it straight.
-- I reminded him of this this past St. Patrick's Day, and though he's a big shot on the New York stage, he admitted he's had few prouder moments than what he created then, and the effect it had on us, his first audience.
(sar "though she be but little she is fierce", Sat 29 Mar 2008, 8:48, 1 reply)

When I was a kid
I had this kid's cookbook thing. In this cookbook it had a recipe for something called "Rainbow Milk", which sounded absolutely intriguing. It was basically a glass of milk with a bit of vanilla essence and some food colouring in it.

In my 8-year-old mind, I had visions of milk which was actually made of rainbows and tasted like candy. So I made some. I used a few squirts of blue food colouring initially, and it turned bright blue. Then I used the pink, and that made it a dark purple colour. I was confused as to why the colours seemed to merge, forming a new colour, rather than staying separated like the colours of the rainbow. Undeterred, I added the green food colouring. Now the concoction was a vile brown colour. I was still confused, and tried adding more of the food colouring, but this just made it worse. This was not the Rainbow Milk that I had envisaged by a long shot. But I drank it anyway.

Subsequently, my excreta was the colour of cartoon toxic waste. It was a bright fluorescent green. I wondered if this explained why the water in the sewers in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles was bright green.
(ridethefader, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 8:10, Reply)

Shit Stop
Back when we were kids, my cousin and I were out tobogganing fairly late at night. On the way back to his house, he felt the need to shit badly... he couldn't last another few blocks, so he bolted down a nearby alley. He found an old tyre against a fence and decided it would make a nice seat. Meanwhile, I'm standing on the street waiting when I hear a shout and some mumbling, so I went to see if he was ok. It turns out that he had a one-piece long underwear on and used the ass-flap. Unfortunately, gravity took hold and the flap hung down in the poo's trajectory, causing half the poo to go down his legs. To make matters worse, he had the squirts. In a fit of panic, he used his mitts to wipe, and tossed the shit-mitts into a nearby backyard. When he got home he disappeared quickly into the bathroom to stealthily clean up and hide the poo-stained clothes from his mum. I think he was about 11 or 12 at the time.

Length? Not sure, as it was all liquid.
( Hosehead, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 6:53, Reply)

Not really poo.......
But sure does look like it!!!!

I thought it would doo (hehe pun) some good to the qotw ta have some pics.
(Leoninus "Never lick a fresh turd on a hot day.", Sat 29 Mar 2008, 6:19, 2 replies)

Poo Prose
Here, let me regale you
With a tale now not long past
Of a dump I took that cracked the bowl
And nearly tore my arse

My stomach felt all backed up
And my bowels were feeling mean
Till I dropped the biggest borry
That the world had ever seen

The splash it made on impact
Would have drowned a thousand mice
It left my buttocks sodden and
it felt as cold as ice

The stench that followed after
Left me struggling to breathe
A mushroom cloud of deadly stink
That made my balls recede

Then with a snap, the porcelain
that made this stinking seat
Split right in two, a mighty splash
Foul water soaked my feet!

The moral of this story folks?
`Be careful on the can'
Stay away from spicy foods
And eat a lot more bran

---

I wrote this many years ago, it's probably out there online somewhere still.
(Tomble Underground, overground, Tombling free., Sat 29 Mar 2008, 5:54, Reply)

FYI
Why are turds tapered?

So your arse doesn't snap shut. That would sting.



Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 5:43, 2 replies)

On an island far, far away
I’m sure that many people reading this are thinking, no way, it’ll never happen to me... I was one of you once. Have faith, good things come to all men (and ladies of course). One time is all you need.

My time happened to be on the Isles of Scilly, the island of Tresco to be precise. We’d been told to wait for our boat that would ferry us to St Mary’s on a rocky promontory called Carn Near. The small quay was full of blue-rinses and other coffin-dodgers who had come to marvel at the beauty of Valhalla (the supposed resting place of various Vikings on Tresco).

The boat picking us up was late and I had consumed a magnificent lunch of “freshly-caught” shellfish at a bargain price from the hospitable islanders.

“Freshly-caught??”. Hold on, weren’t these rascals here yesterday?? Hmmm, I thought as the first errant toot slipped between my cheeks not half an hour after my gluttonous meal.

I shuffled to the side a little in an attempt to release pressure… “No Deal” said my inner Edmonds… Jesus H Christ on a bike; this piscine poison was making itself known.

Oh Fuck, that’s not good… there was no release of pressure, all I could feel was an urgent straining of explosive poo with absolutely nowhere to go.

Most people will not know Carn Near, but essentially it is a concrete finger pointing into the ocean and I was right on the end of the fucker, cut off from dry land by the crowds of OAPs swarming to try and spot the delayed boat.

Two choices then:

1) Try and gallantly fight my way back through the hordes of angry pensioners, already riled at the tardiness of their motor-launch.

2) Shit down my legs and try to enjoy the momentary warmth of my own faeces and suffer the miserable feeling of dirtiness that would inevitably follow.

I was overcome by a cold sweat. The sweat of those who have been touched by bad fish and require urgent attention.. 1) above was not an option, and I was going to try and avoid 2) at all costs – it was a 40 minute ride back to the main island, a long time to be sitting I your own filth.

Still to this day I do not know what overcame me. With the bellow of a man possessed with an urgent need to shed his load, I wrenched down my jeans and undergarments, pale arse and genitatlia exposed to the horrified onlookers. Fortunately, there was one young lad near the front of the queue who recognised my predicament and held my hands as I hung my arse over the side of the quay and let fly.

I recall a couple of pensioners fainting as the fish came to the surface to nibble on my shit.

Heh, that’ll teach them.


Pop.


Hi by the way, I'm Steve x
(H K Phooey, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 5:34, 5 replies)

Who Says Smoking Bad For You?
I was going bowling with my flat mates in Bristol a couple of years ago.

We had to walk there and it was like 4 miles (Lazy students with no money for cars, taxis or buses of course)

Anyway I'd had a pretty big pizza before coming and at around mile 2 I was really feeling the need for a shit.

By the time we got there I was absolutely bursting for it. So I told the guys to go setup while I ran to the loo.

Jumped on a bowl, let rip and felt the sweet release....

...Er until I found there was no toilet paper, and this wasn't a pleasant, easy to clean poo by any stretch.

I did however have some very handy Rizzler papers (Green, nice and thick) so....well the rest's easy to guess.

LESSON: Smoking Saves!
(MrTM, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 2:05, Reply)

My brother
Works in a hotel, I cannot name it, as I shouldn't know this.

Anywhoo, yesterday, my brothers' fiancee was called up to the sauna. She took down the bucket that was there and told him to look. Someone had shat inside the sauna bucket.

My brother donned 3 pairs of gloves and put it down the dsabled toilet, then disposed of thre plastic inlay and he insists that there was still some shit keft in the bucket.

True story.
(O(+> died of autoerotic asphyxiation on, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 1:19, Reply)

poo and toast
there used to be a restaurant in glasgow called toast, simple concept really. they sold a variety of not-bad-at-all dishes, the gimmick being - i realise you've probably twigged - everyting came with toast of one sort or another. yes even your pudding - think toasted fruitbread with chocolate spread and a dusting of icing sugar. mrs spimf and i went in there one lunchtime and after my burger (toasted bun - easy one there) i felt the urge to go to the loo.

the restaurant comprised one large room with the loos in one corner, i have it in mind they were both single occupancy jobs - 2 of, therefor unisex but i may be wrong on that one - mists of time and all that.

now we have all had the charming experience of going in and some thoughtful fucker has left one sitting there peering back up at you. often marinading in what looks suspiciously like brown winsor soup. normally you make a snap decision - flush or leave.

IT WAS EASILY THE BIGGEST TURD I HAVE EVER, OR WILL EVER SEE THAT IS PRESUMED HUMAN.

the norm is for b3tards is to embelish or find amusing similes. on this occasion i wont bother.

shape: like an enormous black slug

girth: can of coke. no honestly

length: the leading tip was out of the water and the other heading down the u bend.

horrific and mesmerising.

i turned around and walked back to my seat where i had a clear view of the loo. i even mentioned to mrs spimf who doesn't like that sort of talk at all - she claims to have never farted, and in 20 years neither of us has been in the bathroom while the other crapped. she's not uptight - she even likes it up the ass - we just dont do lavatorial humour. but after my description of this unholy behemoth she went to see for herself.

for the next half hour i was like a little glaswegian david attenburgh. some came out looking shell shocked, others disgusted, some laughing. its amazing the effect a gargantuan shit has. you start to wonder - was this normal for this person. were they into fisting and had stretched their ringpeice to chipperfield proportions? was it the wholemeal toast? what?

one thing i did note. no one seemed to stay long enough to flush the fucker.

it might still be there. waiting. watching. growing.

*cue 'tales of the unexpected' theme*
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 1:15, 2 replies)

*sigh*
I had a testicular torsion in September. I felt awful (didn't know it at the time, thought I was ill). Went for a bath, but I felt really weak. As the water was running I sat down on my mum's cushioned seat. I thought releasing a fart would do me some good, I could feel one brewing. I farted. 30 seconds later I wonder why my bum is itchy, and put my finger down to check.

"How odd!" I thought, "my finger is wet." and (I must have been delirious because of the pain I was feeling) thought nothing of it until I went to pick my nose. "Good GOD!" I shouted and lept up, making me double over in pain as my twisted nut decided to communicate its concern at my sudden appliance of gravity. Imagine someone gripping one of your balls and attempting to pull out your kidney with it. I lay in the foetal position for 30 seconds, slowly got up and looked at the white pillow on the chair. Oh dear.
It almost looked like someone had spilled coffee on it. But I knew the truth. I could only ashamedly call for my mother and explain.

I then went to hospital and they only cut a little piece off. Hooray! I was lucky, I waited four days and that usually means at least one bollock is a writeoff. Guys, if your balls hurt and swell up, don't put going to the hospital off!

length? Unimportant when your balls are the size of coconuts. Would make for great teabagging.
( morrybyte made a subtle namechange at, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 0:38, Reply)

"I'm just going for a massive shite", said David
And off he went.

David was a colleague, saving up his wages so he could go travelling in Oz. Nice lad, used to give me a lift to work in the morning. But he would always announce to the section whenever he was off to vacate his bowels.

Off he trotted to the staff bogs, and on we got with our various tasks. All except Deb, who was busy filing her nails and talking to her mum on the phone.

Ten minutes later, our erstwhile hero David returned. Walking, we noticed, somewhat awkwardly. It was only when he got up close that we noticed his trousers were soaking wet.

"You were gone a while", one of the section stated, matter-of-factly.

"Yeah", David spluttered, a trace of indignination in his voice. "I was sitting there, having a shite, when the throne suddenly shifted to the left, then forward, and the next thing I know I'm up to my ankles in water. Trouble was, as my trousers were around my ankles already, they're utterly soaked with pissy-shitty water"...

Clocking our slightly benused faces, he added, "The fucking toilet bowl spilt away from the U-bend, before I'd finished, and way before I could flush. The cleaners are going to go fucking mental".

Oh dear.

David turned to me, and said the only thing he could say in that situation, really.

"Davros, you'll be getting the bus home tonight. I'm off".
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sat 29 Mar 2008, 0:22, Reply)

The Japoozi
So I go to the gym and they have a jacuzzi there, very nice and relaxing so you may think. It tended to be out of order sporadically, which was annoying but not a big problem until...
I go in one day and the jacuzzi is out AGAIN! This other guy standing there sees I am vexed by this and says quite cooly

"Yeah someone keeps shitting in the bastard, so they keep having to shut it down to clean it"

I had been using it for about 6 months

Thus why it is called the japoozi
(Jimmy Large Is huffing Jenkem on, Sat 29 Mar 2008, 0:11, Reply)

2girls1cup
And in reply to arthmelow's post below, anyone see the follow up to 2girls1cup entitled 4girlsfingerpainting and think "silly string" upon seeing the first poo (that went somewhere that poo really shouldn't go)?
(animal252 last activated his kitten hammer on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 23:59, 1 reply)

Not just shit
There are many reasons why I don't use public transport. Main reason is because it's dirty, smelly, unreliable and lets face it, the car is much better and efficient. But there are other reasons. Such as this...

Had to travel down to london for the weekend. Usually would drive but was going to a gig on the sunday night and so would be drunk - thought the train would be the sensible option. Got on the train and settled down for the fun journey.

Began quietly - despite setting off from Huntingdon (will be lovely when they finish it). Passed through all the stations without incident until we reached Stevenage at about 9pm.

Hell. Fire.

Normally I would drive - and driving down the A1 past Stevenage is usually great fun, dodging all the "souped up" Corsas and the like (honestly, its like they drive through Halfords with a magnet on the car. Downlighters on a fiesta? Fucksakes). However, I was in a train and got to experience the joys of the locals first hand. A few scratters and sundry chavs got on, then "she" got on. Must have been about 16. Slightly overweight. Was poured into an ill-advised white dress that managed to be too low cut and too short, displaying a lack of bra and a very small thong when she sat down. Absolutely wasted, and yet was still swigging from a bottle of blue WKD. Being helped by her mates, she wobbled over to a seat near and facing me. I tried to ignore the group and concentrate on what was playing on my ipod, but couldn't help but notice when she passed out and proceeded to achieve the "triple crown".

That is she pissed herself. Then shat herself (copiously), the smell of which woke her up and made her throw up.

As I say, I hate public transport.
(animal252 last activated his kitten hammer on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 23:56, Reply)

Does anyone else
When seeing that first poo in 2girls1cup think "oo, mr whippy?"
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 23:49, Reply)

Leeds Festival 2007
Thursday night, watching the bands on the unsigned stage, one guitarist advises the crowds 'if you need a shit...just go', or thereabouts.
Friday morning, I wake up bright and early (and not yet sunburnt- my sunburn is still visible to this day) and my bowels are making the same command. I have a cup of tea and a fag and a few biscuits before I can't ignore it any more, grab my pack of Tesco Value baby wipes and trot off to the holes in the ground at the end of the campsite.
These are thoroughly unpleasant affairs, green metal cubicles with a seat over the troughs, but it was only Friday morning, they weren't too bad yet. I wipe the seat with a couple of wipes, tuck my pack under my arm, park my arse and get started.
I knew I should have hovered. There was splashback. I'm not the most squeamish person in the world but the thought of someone else's poowater gently stroking my bumhole puts the shivers up me. In my rush to get the pack of wipes open to clean myself, I dropped it down the open hole.
Brilliant. I hadn't even brought any bog roll into the cubicle, and now I had a shitty and poowatered arse. I had to pull my tights up, leave the cubicle, waddle over to get some bog roll, and go back to wipe my arse.
I didn't poo for the rest of the weekend.
(and now for someone completely different, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 23:41, Reply)

A lovely, lovely day last spring
The sun was shining, the sky was relatively clear and the birds were chirping. It was the kind of day you would wake up to, simply slipping out of your slumber rather than being wrenched by the alarm, only to look out of the window and feel your features soften. The sky that beautiful light blue it always seems to go in the early morning at the end of spring and the beginning of summer.

"Today is going to be a good day," I thought.

Not only for the fantastic weather, either. It was a Monday, and my college timetable last year meant I had just 2 hours of lessons spread between 9am and 1:25pm that day. I would spend the day with my girlfriend when not in lessons, then when my last lesson was done, I would totter off to the bus station, grab the bus at 1:45 and be home by 2:30. Then, the rest of the day would be mine.

About halfway through my last lesson, though, I started to feel a little odd. "No worries," I thought, "it'll soon pass."

By the end of the lesson, it hadn't passed, so I walked somewhat uncomfortably to the bus station. From college to the bus station is a ten minute walk, and that felt a bit horrible. When I got to the bus station it had progressed to a dull ache and every minute late the bus was, the more irritated I got and the more desperate to be home.

I sat through the 45 minute bus journey in excruciatingly increasing levels of discomfort, wishing it to speed up faster than the maximum 20mph all buses are capable of on a good day.

When I got off, I legged it home.

No one was in the house thankfully, and I threw my bags to the floor as I got in. Clearly, something was waiting just up my arse, and it felt to me like a fart. But the stomach pains had told me not to let it out - like women's intuition, but for lads. 'Danger!' it cried.

So when my bags were off, I shot into the downstairs lav, lifted the seat, slid down my trousers and boxers and sat down.

The fart started coming out.

"Aaaahhhhhhh ..." I began.

Then the shit came with it.

"ARGH!" my soft coo of pleasure became, as a volcano of smelly, semi-solid shit erupted from my arsehole with almost enough force to smash the porcelain of the toilet out from under me.

When I got up, the entire bowl was covered in this pulped remains of what might've been, had I eaten more fibre, a beautiful shit; slightly curved and smooth, able to slide out with simply the slightest of force, leaving nothing on the arse requiring wiping.

What I found most impressive was how some of it appeared to have blasted almost exactly horizontally from my arsehole and landed on the porcelain in a little blob underneath the wooden seat.

-edit-
The icing on the cake to this story was, I was so disgusted I took a photo. I then showed it to my friend in Computing, disgusting him and then deleting it while he told everyone in the class about it.

"I didn't take a picture of my shit, look on my phone if you don't believe me," I told them.

He looked a right twat.
(ratthingbazzterd, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 22:51, Reply)

Cocoa butter
Some years ago I caught cellulitis. This is a nasty infection that can take a limb off or kill you with septicaemia. The cure was antibiotics, lots of antibiotics. To say I had the runs would be less than the truth.

For 2 weeks I couldn't go more than 20 feet from a toilet. OF course, my ringpiece was just about eroded away, and in fact the soreness didn't subside for nearly 2 YEARS.

That's when I discovered Anusol, and the fact that it contains more cocoa butter than Cadbury's Dairy Milk.

Length? The spray alone went 3 feet.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 22:50, Reply)

what's my name?
guess what i was suffering from when i joined up...

anyway, when my youngest was about six weeks old he was a little constipated. after half an hour of straining and going beetroot, i changed his nappy to find it empty. on closer inspection i found he had a lump of poo stuck halfway out of his bumhole. with a little manipulation i helped him get unstuck. have you seen a sausage machine in operation? well, that's what it resembled...only i had to catch a greenish-brown sausage in the nappy, and coiled it up like the world's grossest walnut whip. stretched out it must have been nearly a foot long.
he then let out a huge sigh and fell asleep.
(polished turd 404 pixels wide, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 22:40, 2 replies)

I did a poo once

(ratthingbazzterd, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 22:11, 2 replies)

My mate Brian
once did a shit so big that he had to cut it in 2 with a bread knife so it would flush.

i don't know why he chose to tell anyone this because, despite it happening probably 7 years ago, maybe more, we still tell everyone that he meets about it.


More recently he took a shit that was so girthsome that he felt his sphincter close up like a door in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Another friend had to go have a look at it. Apparently it was as wide as a can of coke. And really long
(electrogirl no one thinks about the implications of a clown su, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:55, Reply)

Gravy
Many years ago, recovering from a recent bout of childhood illness, I was sat in front of the tv enjoying a lovely shepherd's pie. Until I farted and realised the warmth was hanging around little too long and was a little too wet to have been gas. On waddling to the toilet I was presented with a substance reminiscent of the mince and gravy I had been consuming minutes before nestled in my pants. Surprisingly this didn't put me off returning to my meal after I'd cleaned myself up.
(sailorspoon started wiping his own arse from, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:50, Reply)