Council Estate Entertainment
Was the summer of 1983 and a horse was trotting up Battle Road, when it done the finest of shits.
This was no ordinary horse shit.
This was steaming
It had a green crust
Us kids and a whole load more came to watch in much delight as cars/bikes proceeded to drive thru the huge pile of horse poo
(The_artist_formally_known_as_alz0r, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 23:19, Reply)

I ate prawns from the local Chinky last night
and have laid so much cable today BT have offered me a job.

I'm several pounds lighter.
( disasterprone "Pyjamas caused the Holocaust", Mon 31 Mar 2008, 23:02, 1 reply)

The Sniper
About 2 years ago my brother in law was lodging with us while working in the local big smoke. He was/is a twat of the highest degree and a dirty scummer who, if he was living in England would be a pikey/chav mix.
One night, after returning from work he went for his regular tom tit and emerged smiling and smelly from the confessional some 10 minutes later.
I was the next visitor later that evening and, on entering the booth, found a small nugget with a very squeezed off end on the back of the seat. Not the front but the back.
How is it possible to leave a nugget on the back of the seat? Do you get up and then squeeze out the last bit?...or does it drop off as you lift? How?
The dirty shite bomber then denied responsibility and blamed it on the cat.
I made the bastard clean it off anyway. Cat my arse you shite squirting seat stainer.
(godisdove I like cheese, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 22:53, 2 replies)

Small Children
I've noticed a few of these posts involve the joys of small children, and their attempts to master the art of bowel control.


And this one is no exception.

I'm a father of two rugrats, and now thankfully they've grown up to the age where this isn't so much of risk, but I have some memories still burned into my mind from when they were younger.

First child, when she was but a babe in arms, had to go for a routine checkup with a health visitor. The usual thing of weigh them and make sure nothing is hanging off and all the relevant bits seem to work. The missus was tired, so dad gets the job.
Well I don't know if any of you realise the amount of sexist shit that is thrown against fathers by so called members of the caring profession. Its the 21st century, but still we have to put up with patronising crap, that if it was thrown at women, would cause legal action.
Cue so called health professional talking down to me and pushing me out of the way, as she insisted that she remove the daughters nappy prior to weighing.
Now the daughter obviously reacted to the sense of cold air breezing around her botty, and decided that as she wasn't going to have to sit in it, waiting for me to change it, she was going to open the bomb bay doors.

Cue loud brapping noise (Takes after her dad) followed by a rather forceful explosion of toxic waste. All over the patronsing cows apron.

Good to know your kids can take revenge on your behalf.

Second story is my youngest who managed to swallow a 1p piece. We consulted the doctor who basically said, wait for nature to take its course. Which it did, though the expression on his face was priceless. Imagine the bit in total recall where Sharon Stone kicks the governor of California in the family jewels. That was close, but Arnold needs to put more conviction into his acting to match it!

Length? He'll grow into it eventually
(Sir Tainley Barking Ezekiel 23:20, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 21:59, 2 replies)

Fire Island, New York, 1998
And - I shit you not - I did a 14" turd in approx 2 seconds, in the public lavvies by the dock. That was wierd enough, but the last 4 inches of it was as black as coal. God knows what I'd eaten. Twinkies and lots of Root Beer, probably. Strangely, it flushed 1st time.

No sooner had I left the toilets, than I heard a public telephone ring, and answered it. It was a wrong number. This has nothing to do with the story.

But click "i like this" if you agree that twinkies and root beer are awesome.
(nobuttocks last besmirched the internet on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 21:56, 11 replies)

I think that we can agree.....
All humans become equal in birth, death and sitting on the loo.
( girlinthehole, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 21:37, 2 replies)

Jim's Rectal Riddle
Being a healthy young man I have no problems in this particular area. However, like everyone else, I have served my time in the Circle of Hades reserved for those who are loose of rectum. Mine was triggered by a dodgy omelette the night before, by eggs which were at this point several weeks out of date.

At the time, I was working in a call centre, which as you can no doubt imagine means you are effectively glued to your chair. This isn't exactly conducive towards maintaining a clean pair of kecks if you were afflicted in the manner I was.

Over the course of the morning, I was suffering from terrible back pain. I assumed I'd slept funny- oh how wrong I was. Whilst I was dealing with a particularly nasty customer (oddly enough, called Mrs Shitta!) on the phone who was moaning about 20p on her bill, the back pain reached a crescendo. And then, I felt a seepage. Oh God. Dealing very quickly with the remainder of the call, and trying not to catch the eyes of my colleagues, I hightailed it to the bogs to inspect the damage, of which there was not a sauage! Not a single clagnut. Not one. How? I don't know... but then I felt a rumbling.

Oh dear, I thought, as I moved with the speed of a severely constipated ninja looking for a bog. So, down I park, and wait for the feacal fireworks to begin- and oh boy did they begin. When I was done with the bog I swear I heard it whimper. I flushed as best I could, and having no bog brush to clean up the mess with, I reluctantly left the mess for a cleaner to deal with. However my cup of woe was not fully drained. Not by a long shot.

I managed to get myself excused from work for the rest of the day, by going into excruciating detail with my boss of the time. I think she let me go so she wouldn't have to hear any more of my buttocular botherations.

So, off I waddled home, and managed to get to the train station without any problems. However, upon reaching the train station, once again I felt that all too familiar rumblings. It seemed my turd trouble was far from over. Suffice to say another toilet was pebbledashed into submission. As I evacuated myself from the now cursed shitbox, someone else came in to use it. I took a rather perverse pleasure in seeing him come straight out considerably paler than when he went in. To cut a long story short, I ended up erm... decorating two more thunderboxes on the way home. It was as though Satan's firehose had somehow become connected with my backside!

As most stories such as this go, I ended up getting home, and spent the rest of the day surgically attached to the porcelain throne, with naught but a large glass of water, several bog rolls and a good book for company. It was not a good day. But to this day I am still puzzled as to how my underwear got off scot free!
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 31 Mar 2008, 21:24, 4 replies)

Yet another......
A fair few years ago, I met a bloke who became a very good mate. Despite the fact he was my (now bitter nemesis) ex's best friends bloke, and they moved to stay in England years ago, we're still good pals. Now, he's more than capable of producing a good 'Michael Knight', but this tale is about the first time I met his best mate, "W'. I was sat there in my mates room, guzzling booze as we prepared for a night out when the door opens and in walks W. A quick introduction and handshake ensued, then he turns to my mate and, while undoing his belt, asks for a loan of some pants. Before I realised i, it became clear that W was going commando and I had been formally introduced to mini W as well. As it turned out, he had followed through quite violently whilst in the pub and had been discovered quite nonchalantly scrubbing his soiled keks in the toilet sink. When the job turned out to be more than bathroom soap and water could handle, he had put his strides back on and discarded his sodden, shitty pants in a garden on the way over.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 21:23, Reply)

Thank you, Ian Hislop and an Unknown blond girl...
'twas monday morning of Reading Festival of last year. I woke promptly at 7am, with an arsefull of three day old beer, nachos and other junk food trying to escape from my instinctively tightly-clenched nipsy.

I awoke, and feverishly searched around for bog paper - there was none. A vague memory sparked of someone - almost certainly me - suggesting that, as last night was the Last Night, we might as well burn the TP to keep the fire going.

Ok... don't panic. *grumble* *puussshh* ok best panic!! Just go to the toilet!! We'll deal with the wiping later! Priority is to eject!

I waddle, anus clenched, as fast as I can towards the privvies, about 400 meters away. Two or three times I had to stand still for a minute, clench buttocks, jaw and sphincter as hard as I could, and wait for the pressure to subside slightly before I could continue my waddle toiletward.

Thankfully, the gods were smiling upon my predicament. A young girl heading the same way indulged me in conversation. Had this been a different time and place, I would have chatted her up and asked her out. As it was, I offered her £1 for a few pieces of bog paper. She laughed, and said "not everyone here's a cunt, you know" and gave me a free handful of bum tissue with a knowing smile.
No sooner had I got into the (shit-splattered) toilet than my jeans were around my ankles and I was being exorcist-sick from the wrong end into the pit of poo & wee beneath me. I've never felt such relief. Alas, my weak, aching thigh muscles lacked stamina, and the lengthy wiping process was about to begin. It looked as if I would have to sit down on three dozen of other people's poodrops to wipe up. And I hadn't been given THAT much paper.

It was then that I remembered the Private Eye in my back pocket. I tore out pages and laid them around the seat, sat down in relief and started the wiping process. Bless UnknownBlondGirl... to the sheet - she'd given me almost exactly enoough. There was only one thing for it - I'd have to polish off with a page from the Private Eye. And I wiped my shit-greased nipsy on Tony Blairs face. Thanks, Hislop!
(nobuttocks last besmirched the internet on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 21:21, 1 reply)

Shit and Jizz Don't Mix
During a holiday to the Antipodes to visit a girlfriend, we indulged in a lot of anal sex.

Normally it was, with the addition of enough suitable water-based lubricant, a reasonably enjoyable experience, but on one memorable occasion, I rode the barking spider pretty hard for 5-10 minutes, before shooting my load up her chutney chute, and withdrawing my member with a satisfyingly squelchy 'thunk'.

On looking down I regarded my weapon still reasonably erect, caked in a mix of ejaculate and offensive brown goo.

The capper was a small nugget of shit resplendant on top of my bell end just underneath the hogs-eye.

She was still on all fours in front of me, and within seconds of regarding this vista, I quite violently vomited on her back.

A river of toffee coloured rumination ran down her, spiced with obligatory diced carrots.

We never did anal again.
(Vic Flange, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 19:42, 16 replies)

Don't even start me on length
I've always been a bit funny about crapping in other peoples' toilets.

This is mainly due to the fact that I produce some of the longest, widest shits that you will ever see, and anything other than world class plumbing just cannot cope. I frequently get to work first thing in the morning with a very real need to to drop trou and let loose the logs of war, but due to prior experiences of having to beat my turds to a flush-friendly mush for 10-15 minutes before I even dare to attempt to pull the chain, I generally just lock my back end, suffer for the entire day and wait until I'm in the safety of my own home.

Holidays are particularly troublesome, and on one occasion 6 years ago me and the now-wife were staying with her brother over in the States - my first time out there. Lovely time was had by all, but try as I might, I just couldn't bring myself to use their toilet. The strange US system of having a bowl near-full of water was new to me, and I just couldn't do it.

Come the 10th night out of 10 and I was in serious trouble. I'd been peeing like a champion all through the trip, but I'd finally got to the stage where all liquid had left my body, and a huge compacted mass of shite had completely bunged me up. At 2 in the morning I just had to try and go, but nothing was doing and I could feel my heart-rate escalating to seriously problematic levels with every attempted heave. Two hours in, and with no movement whatsoever, I was in absolute agony. Completely sapped of energy, I'd long since stopped sweating due to dehydration and could barely utter a murmur. I was absolutely convinced that these were my final moments, yet was still torn between my embarrassment and my self-preservation instincts. Embarrassment won - I couldn't bring myself to make a noise and get someone's attention, and instead I reached for an eyeliner from the neighbouring sink and started to scrawl an addled farewell letter-cum-will on the roll of toilet paper.

Another hour passed and still nothing but pain. Having seen more time pass without my heart exploding, I attempted one final attempt to save my life, and shoved my fingers right up my arsehole. First of all I was stunned to find my chute expanded to what was easily twice that of goatse circumference, but more surprising still was the fact that the mass of shite was stuck halfway up. I'd had no idea it was even approaching the exit, let alone within fingertip reach. I attempted to tear away at the rock-cake like matter, but even the merest touch sent huge electric shocks straight through my body such was the agony. After a short while of tentatively poking at it, I mustered the bravery to dig in a couple of nails, and remarkably a small chunk came away and dropped into the bowl below. For two hours, I tore away painfully small morsels, occasionally attempting a helpalong heave to see if I'd reduced the size sufficiently to let my body do the rest.

Eventually I'd clawed enough loaf to start attempting a valedictory push, and my heart beat its way through my chest as a barbed-wire like marrow slowly scraped its way through my innards. Finally a small ripple of water sounded as the log entered the bowl, but still more pain was to follow as it snaked away as one piece around the S bend, while still partly in my colon. Seemingly hours later, the tail end splashed down, and I doubled-up in absolute exhaustion, passing out while still seated, with blood absolutely pouring from my throbbing arse.

When I awoke it was now light. It was 5 hours after I'd started, and the hum of deathly shit was everywhere. The toilet seat was carved into my arse-cheeks, and the sight in the bowl was pure horror. Burgundy water with ginger and pale brown rope-like sections bobbing up out of the depths. I kidded myself that a flush was worth a try, and in an instant the toilet was overflowing, with huge dollops of crap swimming towards both windows and doors. A concerned knock at the door was both a lifesaver and the most excruciating moment of my life. I'd survived, but would never live this down.

A further 2 hours of mopping, brushing, dabbing, smashing and bleaching ensued, as two men silently worked to remove all trace of meatloaf soup, and later that morning I hovered above my seat on a US Airways flight for 9 hours of sheer, sheer pain.
(songsforeveryone, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 19:26, 2 replies)

I'm suddenly reminded
of the time I stayed with my in-laws. Myself and the wife were ushered out early one morning by the maids, (oh yes I know, posh) before I left though, I had a quick go of the toilet. When we came back from breakfast an hour or so later I felt the need to use the facilities again. Except this time, in the porcelain throne, lay an enormous golden brown log. I certainly didn't leave it so I laughed as I thought not only of the so called maids abuse of our hospitality but also the sheer girth of it, and what her diet must consist of. I also thought, hey I'm not going to sit next to that, and promptly flushed.

Whereupon the monster job got stuck in the u-bend and caused the toilet to rapidly fill up with water.

Now I've been in this situation before so I know the drill, except this time I can't find the valve handle to stop the water flow. Don't panic, modern toilet I think, it'll stop when it reaches the rim due to some arse-fangled ballcock mechanism... will it fuck. The pissy/shitty water started coming over the sides and onto the floor. I called my wife and she turned off the deluge but the damage was done. The floor of the bathroom was soaked. I sighed and began the long process of cleaning up but then I heard an odd trickling sound. After some investigating I found the problem. That's weird darling, says I, there seems to be some kind of air vent... on the floor? what?

Yeah, turns out the bathroom was right above the in-laws master bedroom... and now toilet water was leaking through the vent, through the ceiling and onto their plush duvet.

I was so ashamed I almost wept. But the icing on the cake was when my missus entered the room behind me in a state of similar horror and for some inexplicable reason, it was about 10am after all, turned the lights on. Blew the bulbs, tripped the fuses and made an ugly situation 10 times worst. You have no idea how much I *feared* that toilet from then on. Everytime I was forced to use it I went armed with a plunger and rubber gloves, and sat there for 10 minutes after every bowel movement, watching it flush, just to be on the safe side.
(Suddenly, zebras Safe and sound for eternity, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 19:09, Reply)

Dog Poo Grenade
Once while out walking with my dog he stopped, as dogs tend to do and curled out the biggest, foul smelling shite that I've ever seen. The fucker pretty much filled the plastic bag I shovelled it into. With no turd bin in sight I ended up carrying it around with me for most of the walk. Going across a playing field he decides he wants to run around like a lunatic and be a general annoyance...cue me running around trying to put him on his lead before he upsets someone...he's not violent, just way too friendly for his own good. A bunch of the local chav brigade were gathered in one corner drinking and on spotting my labrador generally enjoying life they decided to start chucking rocks at him. Without a second though I launched the plastic bag full of shit through the air at them. The smelly missile flew through the air, hitting one of the group square in the chest, bursting on impact. The sight was funny for about 20 seconds until I had to sprint back home with hound in tow as they did the natural thing and chased us. A dangerous game to play but if you mess with my dog then I tend to get quite protective.
(Freak on a Leash is jerking off to centre himself on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 18:54, 6 replies)

Camp toilets
In my spare time, I help out as a Scout leader, which I enjoy as it is a good laugh and the people are fun. Every summer the troop heads off for a fortnight for summer camp - usually camping on a site in the arse end of nowhere, basically a field next to a river for a supply of water. Obviously the toileting facilities of misc fields are not really that well regarded, so we take some chemical toilets of our own. These are used by everyone on site, then most days get cleaned out by some of us leader sorts.

In reality the job isn't that bad - basically emptying the contents of each wee toilet into a pre dug pit, quickly cleaning out the toilets and then backfilling the pit a bit to cover up the days deposits.

The best bit in my opinion is definately the job of filling in the pit... The fantastic 'schplut' sound made by a shovelfull of earth as it gets chucked into the wee puddle of chemicals and poo in the bottom of the pit continually sends me off into fits of the giggles - which really must be an odd site to see next to an array of portable toilets and cleaning equipment.

We were also quite amused last year when someone spotted two perfect footprints side by side in the bottom of the pit - some scout must have been running past and misjudged the positioning of the pit by a meter or so and landed smack bang in the middle.
(442, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 18:52, Reply)

First year in halls
Two sets of toilets, each with two traps.

About halfway through the year, a mysterious mutant leviathan pooh appeared in one of the crappers on the top floor.

A couple of girls occupied the rooms near that bathroom, and were the ones who usually used it (and one may have been the bomb dropper, who knows?)

On their discovery of said shite, they squealed and danced around for a bit (either in disgust or in honour of their new god). As is sensible in this situation, they didn't attempt to do anything about removing the beast.

It sat there for a fortnight. Festering...

The girls pinned a note on the cubicle door saying: "Caution: Bulldozer required".

This obviously snapped the will of the cleaners, who had also been avoiding the mammoth task.

They wrote underneath: "Pour a kettle of boiling water down and flush the fucking toilet!". Exact wording, too.

It vanished after that, so I guess it was boiled to it's stinky demise, but I like to think it escaped of it's own accord and is graduating in Business Management this summer...
(pharmatron Death or Scunthorpe? CHOOSE!!, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 18:48, 3 replies)

Is my life really just a bad joke?
Q - What does a constipated accountant do?
A - Work it out with a pencil.

I feared the frequent contact with poo that becoming a parent makes inevitable. In fact, I was petrified. "You don't mind when it's your own kid's" I'd be reassured, disblieving the assurances of my advisors. I never did realise just how close the contact with my offsprings faeces would get.

my little angel had some digestive troubles when newborn. At only a couple of months old, she seemed permanently hungry so my wife insisted we supplement her booby-juice diet with some hungry sprog tinned milk. It turns out that she just really liked her mums tits and wanted as much as she could get (can't blame her really - I'm rather fond of them myself!)

This 'fools-amphetamine' powder had an unpleasant reaction to her still developing bowel though, and made her extremely constipated. She would screech in pain and turn beetroot-purple in the face as she strained with all her tiny might. Removing her nappy at such a time would reveal a bum-nugget of epic proportions tryig to escape her poor dilated sphincter. (I'm talking at least an inch and a half thick - that's probably the equivalent of 4 inches to an adult!)

It wasn't dissimilar to watching her, herself squeeze out of her mother not too long previously. When she gave up / ran out of energy it would retract back up into her abdomen. My wife was unsure of what to do, and distraught at the sight of our beautiful daughter suffering such agony.

I did what any great dad in my position had to do. I armed myself with a cotton-bud and (very carefully!) dug out the blockage as it emerged, little by little, massaging her abdomen to re-form the plug into a more passable shape between 'contractions'. When the blockage eventually passed, Mr Whippy doesn't even come close to the cable she ejected. 4 days of unbroken, streamlined refuse.

Why the poor reference to the old joke? I'm an accountant!. Unfortunately, it was my princess' arse I had to go digging into. I'd gladly have taken it from her if I could.
(Greencloud Wanted to go fishing on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 18:21, 4 replies)

Same best mate
as in the previous tale once told me of a rather odd situation a few years back at his job.

He works in a garage (he now runs it) and one day, the toilets became blocked. They tried the plunger, nothing. They were considering phoning a plumber when my mates dad arrived on the scene.

He's always been a bit of a character has my mates dad, he's one of the "old school" of men. Rough and ready, scared of nothing, guts of iron and a sense of humour that just doesn't exist these days.

Informing him of the problem and their plan to phone a plumber, he replies "Ach, I'll sort it", reaches in bare handed, rummages around a bit and pulls out a large solid turd.

"Whose is this? It's fuckin' solid!" he says, as if producing a solid one is more disgusting than fishing it from the U-bend with your bare hands.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 18:00, 2 replies)

My best mate
has a 3 year old son. I'm a bit weird round kids, I'm more than a little afraid of them, but I love the little fella to bits and he's constantly cracking me up.

About a year ago, when he was around 2, upon returning from our weekly visit to the local kebab shop my mate suddenly stopped on his way in the door. There was the wee man, standing in his PJ's with a big smile on his face. My mate turned to me and said "I forgot about this. What's the funniest word you can think of.... don't tell me. Now. Imagine that word being said by a 2 year old...."

He observed my face for a second, turned to his angelic son and said "****, what's down the toilet pan?"

"Jobbies!"
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:41, 2 replies)

Shitty tramp
A couple of years ago the sweary one and I were in town, doing some shopping. I’m after a black suit for my graduation, and she’s after a nice new dress for said occasion. As often happens in these situations, we both find what we want pretty quickly and are faced with the familiar, age old dilemma – back home, or pub?

Pub wins. Every time.

So, we are firmly ensconced in the Strawberry, enjoying a foamy pint of Old Cuntbuster (or some similarly ludicrously-named real ale), and having a smoke, when this bloke rolls up. I use the term ‘bloke’ loosely – he was barely recognisable as human. “Hev ye gorra tab I can borra mate”? slurs the man-thing, to us (I never understood that particular phrase – if I give you my name and address are you going to return said fag in the post to me)?

At this point we both become aware of an almighty foul stench that has just assaulted our olfactory senses, and realise it’s coming from this random cigarette-bumming missing link. Desperate to be rid of him the sweary one replies, “Yeah, here” and thrusts a cancer stick in his general direction. It was on doing this that we noticed a bit more about him.

The guy had a beard that was obviously the result of several years’ growth. Within that beard was a carefully-cultivated mat of the most offensive looking vomit I have ever seen. His beard was like a micro-cosmos of undiscovered life forms – scientists would have had a field day. I could feel the bile rising slowly. However, the smell he had brought with him was becoming overpowering, and as he turned to stumble back towards the bar, we noticed what was an absolute tour-de-force of shit plastering the back of his jeans. From the inside. The guy had shit himself in what can only be described as a voluminous manner, probably more than once, but was obviously too pissed to notice and had ground this horrific life-form into his jeans through the simple act of sitting on a bar stool (‘scuse pun) and shifting his weight around occasionally in order to get comfy.

Gagging, we stayed and continued our pints, lighting up again several times to alleviate the smell. Nothing comes between us and a pint…
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:31, 2 replies)

Two toilets blocked... one shit
A couple of years back I broke two fingers at a local gig. Due to the nature of the breakage they had to put me under general anaesthetic to treat them and I ended up having a pin insterted into one finger. Now everyone knows general anaesthetic backs you up a bit, but 8 days later I still hadn't taken a dump and was starting to get a bit worried - I was still eating like a horse and it felt like there was a block of lead inside my stomach.

10 days in and I was sat there at work when the first rumblings happened. I knew this was it. I rushed off to the toilets and prepared to do battle with the uberturd I had stored in my colon.

Dropping my trousers, I sat down and readied my soon-to-be-ruined anus. I tested the water with a little push to see how big this thing truly was, it barely moved so it must have been a beast. I was at work and time was of the essence so I decided to throw caution to the wind and let fly. I pushed with all my might and the turd finally moved slowly but surely towards it's watery grave. I had never known pain like it, and along with the pain I also experienced spots before my eyes and my hearing seemed muffled as well. This shit had really broken me!

After dropping the main log there was a good deal of looser, less consistent stool to follow, so much in fact that I thought I had better flush before I wiped or it would block up. It blocked anyway, meaning I had to shuffle to the next cubicle with my trousers round my ankles to wipe my arse. The sheer mess surrounding my poor bunghole meant that I had to use almost a whole loo roll which promptly blocked that toilet too.
(kabukisteve, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:28, Reply)

Judo competition hazard
A very good mate of mine competes at a national level at Judo. He takes competitions very seriously and will disappear off the social scene for months at a time in training prior to a big event.

Not surprisingly, nerves tend to get the better of him. Everyone has their pre-match rituals, from the subtle (wearing of lucky pants) to the unsubtle (not putting one's belt on until the last minute to prevent your potential opponents sizing you up). My mate however, will disappear into the gents three of four times before the bouts kick off to relieve stressed bowels.

Midway through his first bout, things are going badly. His opponent has nearly thrown him for Ippon and has him in a headlock on the floor. Fighting to the very last with every ounce of his strength, my friend notices everything going black before he passes out cold on the mat.

The haze begins to clear and he comes round to see first aid gathered round him. He notices the wet, warm feeling in his pants and assumes it's sweat from the exertion of the fight. He gets to his feet and declares himself fit to fight another round.

Dizzily, he wanders off in the direction of the lavs. With a faint feeling of trepidation, he locks the cubicle and drops his grundies.

Oh no...

His worst fears are realised. While out cold, his nervous bowels have voided themselves in situ.

He's left with a terrible dilemma. Does he throw said ruined pants away and compete commando? If he does this, then the risks of total exposure are quite high as it's not uncommon for trousers to be yanked down mid fight. Such an indescretion would earn him disqualification from the competition.

However, the deciding factor was that he knew there was a tiny chance he might black out and shit himself again. A ghi of course, is white and any stainage will reveal itself quite quickly.

With sweat beading on his brow he sets out to rescue the pants as best he can. He gets to work scraping the slurry out of the seat of his keks with his fingernails.

Mid scrape, someone walks into the toilet and calls his name.

"Are you in here? Your name has been called, you're due to fight a bout in a minute!".
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:28, Reply)

Ahhh.....dogs
My girlfriend stayed over this weekend and brought her new puppy. It usually stays in the utility room at her house which is far away from her bedroom so you can't hear it whimper and moan at night. However at my house my room is just above the kitchen so we tried to make it sleep in there, but the noise was just too much to bear. So after about 30 mins of incessant whining I begrudgingly agreed to let it sleep in my room. I went down to fetch the dog and the first sign of disaster was surely when I stood in cold dog piss in my socks.
The night itself went off without a hitch and besides the dog climbing on my head several times and sticking it's cold nose in my arse crack while I was thrusting away on my girlfriend I was relatively happy.

Well until the morning anyway. I woke up to a stench so foul that Hitler himself would have shed a tear. Now my room isn't massive so locating the poo took all of 0.12 seconds and my blurry eyes were greated with quite a site. My disbelief at the disgusting smell was soon overtaken by a morbid fascination of a poo that looks for all intents and purposes like it had been deposited by a gorilla. It was huge!! A quick check of the dog revealed firstly that the that no damage was done during the evacuation of said poo and secondly that the dog was indeed still alive.

Once the smell had died down and the faeces was removed from my room my girlfriend and I were able to do our best Attenborough impressions while marvelling at the wonder of nature and pointing at the dogs stretchy arsehole.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:27, Reply)

frat prank
Me and some buddies were getting wrecked on beer and weed when Chuck suggested that we replace the insides of Biff's stick deodorant with a firm turd. We all did one and chose the firmest one, which we levered into place.

When Biff came into the room, we all joshed him and said "Jeez, Biff, you stink - why don't cha put on some deodorant?" So he unscrews the cap and smears it under his arms and we're just pissin' ourselves cause he's smearing shit under his arms instead a proprietary fragrance!

If we'd known he'd recently cut his armpit shaving, we wouldn't have done it. That's why he died of blood poisoning and we all went to prison.

Wicked party, though, dudes!
(frankspencer, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:19, 3 replies)

horse shit
this is more of a rant really while we are on the subject. Why is it ok for horses to shit evrywhere!!
yes i know they are not as bad as dog shit but its still fucking disgusting.
The amount of times i've stepped in horse shite to have a friend/family member say "its ok its only horse poo" fuck that it still came out of the cunts arsehole.
(apo-dap, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 17:06, 7 replies)

A guy at college
A nice guy but would go on epic EPIC benders he would get himself into terrible drunken states then carry on drinking for a day or two. One such day he was in a bar

"I need a shit" he slurred and shambled off to the bogs. I have to guess what he did next because I wasn't there (thank God)

Drunk bastard goes into cubicle drops trousers and pants, throws up into trousers & pants, thinks 'oh dear', pulls up pants & trousers then shits himself. Then, and this is the clincher, goes back into the bar to finish his pint!! On his own as it happens because everyone else leaves.
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 16:57, 3 replies)

Mind the door
Back in my school days, I ducked in for a slash between classes. Two other boys were already there, and they told me, "Hey, someones written something really funny in the bog."
Being the school geek, I knew I was being set up, so I looked over to see the puddle of liquid poo on the floor, that they were obviously going to push me into. I leaped over the puddle before they could trip me, and said, "Can't see nothing."

They grabed the top of the door and pulled it shut. I turned, to see a solid wall of shit! Someone has sat on the rail over the door and released a liquid fecal tsunami over the entire door and part of the wall. They must have slid along the rail, to make sure they covered the whole door.
Naturally, they kept me trapped in there until I was well and truly late for class. By the end of the day, they'd trapped a few more boys, and word had gotten around.

Next day, it was still there. Word got around again, the cleaners have refused to clean it.

A week later, it's hardened, and pictures are starting to appear in it. Some obviously drawn with a pencil, some apparently with a finger!

Two months later, word of it escapes the school, the state Education department gets involved, and finally the toilets are closed for a few days, and reopened in a pristine condition.

Oddly enough, we never found out who did it. How someone at that school managed to keep their mouth shut about their biggest acheivement is a mystery.
(ShowPony, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 16:52, 2 replies)

Shit lip
Yet another tale from yet another mate of mine :D

While at school, a pal of mine who we shall call 'A' was part of a group of friends which contained the token gobshite of the playground. Not a social faux pas could be committed by anyone that would not get a very public dressing down and general ridiculing from this lad.

One day, 'A' had the misfortune of treading in a big smelly dog dirt. This was not noticed by him until he was part way through a maths lesson, and as the knee-buckling waft of the dog's egg passed through the classroom more and more people became aware of it and berated 'A' for having such a stench about his person.

Then the smell hit gobshite, and all hell broke loose, much braying hee-hawing laughter, pointing, and piss-taking was had until, eventually, 'A' had enough.

Taking his plastic 'shatter proof' school ruler, 'A' scraped a good lump of excrement from the side of his shoe, and, bending the shitapult back, flicked it in gobshite's direction.

It couldn't have been a better shot, the piece of poo landed RIGHT in his face, just next to his lip. I can only assume he was dismayed by this episode - by this point in the story 'A' was laughing to hard to tell me more - but he did later tell me that the (literal) gobshite was thereafter a much more humbled young man, and that he was labeled 'shit-lip' for the rest of his school days.
( Droog is too orangey for crows, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 16:49, 2 replies)

I never knew whether to laugh or cry
I guarantee on pain of death that this is 100% true.

At the end of a meeting of my girlfriend's university friends in Huddersfield, which was at Frankie & Benny's (My most hated of all restaurants), I had the overwhelming urge to visit the toilet.

While everyone was waiting for the bill to arrive, I cautiously hobbled towards the bathroom, as the slow realisation came to me that something of substantial pressure was pushing against my sphincter.

Leaning into the cubicle, and taking a seat, I was unsurprised that within seconds,

PTHCHECKHCKECHCEKECTHTHTHTHTPPPPTHRP!

a tidal wave of epic liquid scheisse spewed forth from my anal cavity cascading toward the transparent depths below.

This continued for a further five minutes, until I felt that enough of the gravy was gone that I could relax.

Now, as some of you may know, in the toilets of Frankie & Benny's they play a 'teach yourself Italian' CD or something equally inobtrusive to the faecal experience; a man saying something in Italian, and a woman calmly saying what he just said, but in English.

Then I heard the immortal phrase:

'non ci è carta igienica'

and with exquisite timing, i reached to my right hand side to hear the woman calmly translate what I was experiencing at the time:

"There is no toilet paper".

PANIC.

I tell you, I almost shat.

In this situation, I felt exactly what the title of this post says. I laughed, I cried, I wondered how the hell I could get out of this without just assuming the embarrassment would kill me, and ending my own life.

My quandary was now how to deal with my gravy-coated posterior. There was only one way (I now realise that there were two ways, but that is beside the point).

I jumped up and looked into the other cubicle to see if there was anyone looming, and as quick as a shit-stained ninja I opened the door and dashed as fast a man with his pants around his ankles could into the next womb of thinking tranquility.

I'm so glad that noone walked in at that point where I was waddling between cubicles, else they would have seen on top of clenched legs what presumably looked like a fleshy balloon that had been cleaved with what appeared to be a melting chocolate axe.


Less about length, more about fluid ounces.
(Lythium deals in lead, my friend., Mon 31 Mar 2008, 16:30, 5 replies)

I told you I didn't want to go out
Only two people know this story, and now you lucky lot can hear it too. Apologies in advance for length, my brevity seems to have gone the same way as my bowel control.

Now this was around the time of my birthday a couple of years ago. I'd been off work most of the week with a condition which had me backed up pretty badly. I was spending my time lying in bed, watching Family Guy DVDs, eating ice cream and wanking whenever I felt too sorry for myself. On my girlfriends insistence I went to see the doctor and she prescribed me a senna-based product to ease things along. Not being familiar with the wonderful world of laxatives I imagined that on my gridlocked digestive system the effect would be to induce normal bowel movements once again. Oh how wrong I was. We'd planned to go for a meal with friends in the evening to celebrate my birthday, but I wasn't really feeling up to it. However, the missus insisted I come out. Not for the last time in that relationship, I really should have stood my ground.

So we're in Soho enjoying a curry (why?). After the big meal and a few beers I'm really not feeling too hot. Everyone else wants to go elsewhere and carry on drinking, but I make my excuses and leave, thinking I can get home and watch some more Family Guy. And maybe have another wank.

As I'm walking back to Charing Cross I feel a rumbling omen in my gut and a small *FFFRRRP* escapes my butt cheeks. Alright thinks I, I'll just stop into the crapper at the station and release this long overdue load.

A couple of minutes later and I realise the situation is rather more urgent than I'd previously anticipated when a sharp cramp hits me, causing me to stop and do that cross-legged, doubled-over pose as I try to rearrange the contents of my rectum into a less explosive configuration using my buttocks.

By the time I reach the station entrance I'm in serious trouble. Sweating like a paedo in a playground, I inch forward painfully slowly, as every movement of my lower body threatens to unleash the fury within with a comical *PARP*. Just a hundred yards further and I'll be ok. Other people arriving at the station are shooting me puzzled and pitiful glances as I struggle forwards, looking to all the world like a parkinson's sufferer attempting the tightrope. But I can make it, I know I can.

Just as I reach the main concourse, barely 20 yards from the toilet entrance, it happens. With an almighty bubbling roar from my lower intenstines--it felt like the depth-charge scene from U-571 was being replayed in my gut--I momentarily lose sphincter control and I feel my pants fill with a gritty warmth. There's no other option now, I have to make a dash for the toilet before this gets worse!

Bad idea. As soon as I start to run, the full force of the faecal flood smashes through my puny anus. Within seconds it's too much for my underpants as several days worth of shit makes its sloppy break for freedom. It's steaming in a raging torrent down my leg and as I run I can feel it flicking off my shoes. I think I hear a scream of disgust from behind me, but all I can concentrate on is the toilet steps ahead. Down the step and through the turnstile, I secure myself in the closest free cubicle, barely landing on the seat in time to expel the last remnants safely and I pebble-dash the bowl so violently it sprays back onto my buttocks. My groans and the *PRRRAAP-PRAAARRAP-PRRAAAAAARRRRP* trumpeting from my burning arsehole combine to make a terrible symphony for anyone unfortunate enough to be listening.

Exhausted, I clean myself off using an entire roll of paper. My underpants are filled and will have to be discarded. The legs of my jeans are completely soaked in runny, stinking shit. It's coated the backs of my shoes and even managed to find its way inside my socks. I am essentially a huge, walking shit stain. I start to rub at my clothes with the cheap, scratchy paper. It's not absorbing anything, so, dignity in shreds, I resort to scooping the crap out of my jeans with my bare hands.

It took me a full half hour to clean myself up, but you'd hardly notice the difference. I'd managed to get the worst off my shoes, but my jeans are still heavy with shit. My hands are stained a muddy brown colour. Then I realise I have no change of clothes, and still have to take a 25-minute train ride home. I feel utterly wretched, ashamed and alone and I sit back on the toilet seat and begin to cry.

The journey home is one I never, ever want to repeat. As I leave the toilet I take a furtive glance back the way I came and see a brown trail leading back towards the station entrance. Luckily (well I bloody well deserved some luck at some point in this story), my train is waiting on the platform and I am able to put my head down and quickly get on board. I'm terrified someone I know will get on the train and discover my shame, so slide down in my seat as low as possible to try and avoid being seen. The stench is awful and hangs in my nose, almost making me sick. Every time I move my jeans squelch and stick to my clothes. My spirit broken, I pray for the ground to open and swallow me whole, but then realise it would probably spit me straight back out again.

If you were the poor girl who sat on the seat in front of me for that entire journey, covering your nose and mouth with your scarf and periodically making retching noises, I am so, so sorry.

My girlfriend returned home somewhat later to find me (post-shower) in bed, shellshocked and hugging my pillow, the washing machine putting my dirty clothes through their second cycle of the night. "What happened?" she asks. All I can manage is to look straight ahead at the wall, still clutching my pillow for comfort. "I told you I didn't want to go out", I whimper.
(pmsc, Mon 31 Mar 2008, 16:20, 10 replies)