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This is a question Shit Stories: Part Number Two

As a regular service to our readers, we've been re-opening old questions.

Once again, we want to hear your stories of shit, poo and number twos. Go on - be filthier than last time.

(, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 14:57)
Pages: Latest, 21, 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, ... 1

This question is now closed.

christmas - antigua - catamaran
this christmas (2007) i was spoiled enough to get to spend it in antigua. apart from the stupid norovirus knocking me out for a few days, it was absolutely incredible.

early in the holiday, we went on a catamaran cruise round the island. sitting on the edge of the caribbean catamaran, feet in the caribbean water, caribbean waves bouncing and splashing, caribbean sun beaming down - it was glorious. and the crew were lovely, all ridiculously hot 6'3 guys. except the captain, a sweet little old guy with the slowest, thickest, most chilled out caribbean accent you've ever heard.

so towards the end of the holiday, thinner, shaking, stomach raped by the vomiting virus, i thought another day lying on a cat would be the way forward rather than the tropical tree climbing that the family were doing. the crew were pleased to see me again and all was blissfully well. i went to get a drink and a fat, pale but cocky american came over and started chatting me up.

he had not got very far (although about as far as he was going to get) when the little captain came up. he was gibbering with rage and seemed to have grown and swelled to about 15 feet tall.

"you!" he bellowed, poking a shaking finger at the american, who paled and wobbled. "you use de toilet very very bad, mon. der shit all over de place. ALL OVER DE PLACE!"

the corpulent american started to sweat visibly. his ready chat had deserted him.

"you get down dere and you clean it! all of it!" the captain thundered.

then, as if the whole boat hadn't already heard, he picked up the microphone.

"toilets must be cleaned after using them," he announced whilst the american hid his head in his hands. "no leave them covered in shit like dis guy already did..."

sometimes i am very glad i am a girl!
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 22:32, 4 replies)
Street End Incontinance (bowel)
I've shit my self before. That was pretty embarrassing. I was feeling none too well and walking home from the train station (I should point out at this point - It was 7 O’clock in the morning and I'd been ingesting everything alcoholic/drug related for the past 12 hours) As I walked through the quiet streets my stomach made herself known. Rumbling is a bit of cliche - let's go for a..GROWL. Bubbles were popping down in the lowest part of my gut and a sudden cramp made me stagger into a waist high wall. I was at the end of my road, only a 20 second walk away to my front door. A hot rush hit the back of my knees. A faint sound of liquid brown smattering the floor. A warm foul rush assaulted my nose. Yes. I was 30 and had shit myself in the street.

Wibbly lines

I was four, desperate for the toilet, daddy took me into the ladies cubicle and waited outside. We were at a railway station. I tried all the doors. They all had ladies in them. I felt myself losing control. "Please" I shouted "I neeeed the toilet". Reply there came none. "Pleeease" I was 4 and no bitch shouted “Wait a minute!“ “What’s wrong?“ they just let me cry and shit myself. And I shit myself in the toilets of a railway.

Wibbly lines

Excellent. Walking anywhere with shit on you is unpleasant. Nodding to the odd neighbour and the FUCKING POSTMAN (Who hadn't delivered to my door before 12 before. Bastard) makes the experience more harrowing.

I got to my front door, only to encounter another rebel descent from my arse.

Those jeans were fucking ruined.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 22:23, Reply)
That old cling film doozy
I need a stool sample! Look for instruction.

"Two easy ways to collect it are to either use a potty or to put a sling of cling film over the top of the toilet."

My bathroom looked like a painter's radio after trying the second one. A painter repainting Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Use a potty.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 22:13, 2 replies)
Christmas Tree Shit
Last Christmas my dad and I were setting up the Christmas tree in the living room. I went to pick up part of the string of lights and immediately felt moisture on my hand; dad had put the wire down on a previously unspotted pile of dog shit. Disgusted, I went to clean my hand off, but didn't say anything to my dad; by the time I'd come out of the bathroom, he'd already wrapped the lights around the tree. I immediately began searching for the soiled wire and upon locating the spot, I hatched a devious plan.

I stole the boxes of candy canes (that were going to go on the tree) and only allowed two or three to be put on at a time. I strategically placed a cane behind the dogshat lights and caused my sister to get shit on her hands not once, not twice, but three times. She would scream every time; it was glorious.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 21:57, 2 replies)
Bog muncher
We had a someone where I work (probably a student) who used to eat his lunch in the toilet cubicle. Every day you could go in after 1pm and find an empty crisp bag, sandwich wrapper, juice bottle etc lying on the floor. Usually with a copy of the Sun.

One day, a colleague (let's call him Gareth, for the usual reasons) was in having a pee when he heard the unmistakable sounds of in-cubicle lunch munching, So having shaken and rezipped, he decided to lean down and have a look under the door to see who it was. Only the bloke inside must have had a similar idea as when Gareth looked under, his eyes met with those of the closet luncher looking out!

Eventually, we got fed up with the mess and put up a sign inside the cubicle which read:

"Please do not eat your lunch in this cubicle. People have to shite in here".

He took the hint.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 21:13, 1 reply)
When my son was two
he came into our bedroom one Saturday morning and crawled into bed between us, then said, "Mom, I just did a cow poop."

After a moment's silence I announced, "He directly addressed you with that one."
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 21:11, Reply)
Needless suffering
I have a lot of stories involving poo. Here's a recent one:

OK, I was in a pub in Edinburgh watch the rugby with some friends when I felt a rumbling from down below triggering a brown alert. I had been a bit ill for the last two days so I knew this wasn't going to be pleasant. I made my way upstairs and to the bog where things proceeded without incident. Sure things were smellier, stickier and slightly stingier but no more so than you'd expect after a night of drinking Tennant's. Sure I pitied the next user of this cubicle but it didn't bother me too much. Now all I needed to do was wipe up and wash up and leave. And this is where the nightmare begins.


No matter, surely the cubicle next to mine would have some. I carefully pulled up my trousers making sure the sticky mass clinging to my ring piece and the surrounding area didn't come in to contact with my boxers and John Wayned it round the corner, only to be confronted with another empty toilet roll holder. So down come the kecks again as I sat down to come up with a plan. Aware that the longer I left it the more red-raw the stinging shite sauce would leave my arse-crack, I remembered the old adage 'If you had no toilet paper, use your finger as a scraper'. So I did. And there I stood, hunched over with a hand full of putrid, warm shit and my trousers round my ankles. And still my arse was not clean. I had to wash my hand and go back for another swipe. I don't know if you've ever tried to pull up your trousers with one hand whilst trying to keep your bum from touching said trousers but it ain't easy or pretty. I waddled out of the cubicle and disposed of the brown mass down the sink before breaking out the soap, which failed to completely remove the smell meaning that I had effectively stink-palmed myself, and then returning to the cubicle to repeat the cycle.

After washing for the third time and preparing to have another go something jogged my memory. Last night I had been at another pub and had felt a little sniffly. So I asked the barman for a handful of napkins. I still had them in my back pocket.


Anyone want a chocolate-covered pretzel?
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 21:05, 2 replies)
The Phantom Pebbledasher
Moons ago, there was this company I used to work for. Like any company, the office had it's own toilets.

But all was not well in the bogs. Every so often, one of the toilets would have it's inside-back caked in what must have been the consequences of a spicy meal. The whole length from the bowl to the rim-overhang was covered in a lumpy light brown bum-soup. This was the sort of company where everone knew everyone else, so the thought that one of us could do that to a toilet was a bit unsettling.

Attempts were made to do something about it. At first, we just quietly used a different cubicle. Soon, an e-mail was sent round the company suggesting that the men clean up after themselves. No effect. Measures had to be taken...

One morning, a Wild-West style 'Wanted' poster appeared in the toilets. "Wanted, the Phantom Pebbledasher" it said. It had the outline of a head drawn on it. This seemed to do the trick. From that day forward, I never saw a pebbledashed toilet at work again.

So if you too visit the loo at a place where everyone knows everyone else and the toilet is abused, a bit of shame can correct errant toilet-habits.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 20:57, 1 reply)
My boy, Zach (aka Tank) has just taken the biggest shit I have ever seen for a five year old!! I swear it was as long as his forearm and was actually out of the water!! Talk about disturbing. He looked at it and went "HEY! That's a really big poop!!" then flushed it before I could take a pic for you all.

All I can say is "WOW!!"
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 20:06, Reply)
The antique shop poo story
This story is told to every person my parents know.

When I was a baby, i could not poo. Ever. My parents tried everythong. I would just sit and go purple, swell up but not poo.

So my dad thought it would be a good idea to feed me some bran. Bran is like a natural laxitive, so instead of one spoon sprinkled on my breakfast, my dad fed me about half a bowl full of bran flake with extra bran.

Off they went, with me in a pushchair and nappy on a lovely walk. On the walk, they stopped at some country shops. They went into a really really expensive antiques and craft shop.

Five seconds later they smelt something shitty. I had pooed like a baby had never pooed before. The worst thing was, i pooed so much, it started coming out my nappy, all over the expensive carpet. My parents had to run out of the shop, puliing a chair, a baby and leaving a trail of shit behind.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 19:28, Reply)
All washed up
I have a mate, who we'll call John, because that's his name. John used to live in a second floor "flatlet" where you had to go down two flights of stairs to get to the bog. They were steep, so to be avoided if you were drunk.

One day, he came into the pub and related his tale of the previous night (you may later wonder why anyone would actually admit to this).

Seems he'd drunk so much beer, that by the time he got up to his front room, he felt very full and a little ill. So he did what anyone would do. He gave the precipitous stairs a miss and threw up on his sofa. Then he realised a number one was required. Stairs this time? Nope. He urinated all over his carpet.

At this point, he felt the urge for number twos.

Did this finally force him to brave the stairs?

Not our heroic Johnny. He went to the kitchen and had a shit in the sink. On the dishes.

At this point in the tale, I jumped in with "Bet the washing up was no fun this morning!"

I'll never forget his answer :

"I couldn't face it, so I've left it for later."
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 19:18, Reply)
Drinking=interesting results
Drank lots of jagermeister one night. Next day...dark green, sinister-looking droppings.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 19:17, 2 replies)
Denmark, Sweden, Finland, Norway
So far, I've been telling you about my dire rear explots in third world countries. But how the flying duck did I manage to contract the big D in such obviously first world countries as the Scandinavian countries?

I was on an Inter-rail journey and because of the events I had planned, I was dashing around Europe quite quiclky. From Portugal, I made a mad dash through Spain and France so I could arrive in Luxembourg for the total eclipse (this was in 1999). Now, as you know, in Eurasia, the further east you travel, the more likely you are to contract dire rear. However, France is somewhat of an anomaly. If countries are to be located by their toilet-standards, France would have to be moved to the middle of Siberia.

Anyway, I arrive in Luxembourg, and oh so naively assume that just because every youth-hostel I've been to before has places, there would be one for me. Bear in mind that this is the night before the total eclipse. Unsuprisingly, there wasn't, so in desperation, I decided to bend the rules. I sneaked into a dormitory and found that there was enough space between one of the ends of the beds and the walls for me to lay down and sleep without anyone noticing. So that is what I did. I did not pay anything for my stay at the youth-hostel (although in my defense, they wouldn't have gotten anything out of me had I turned elsewhere, and besides, I had a beer or two in the hostel bar). Karma did not let me go un-punished for this act of youth-hostel etiquette breach.

The next day, I woke up feeling shit. I thought nothing of it, and went out to see the overcast eclipse. That evening, I started to make my way to Denmark. I wasn't feeling well and it wasn't until late that I changed onto a sleeper-train so I had to keep myself awake until then.

Once on the sleeper train, in the middle of the night, I awoke with an urge to shit but it took me all my effort to drag myself to the train toilets. Now, since then, I've had diarrhoea in places such as Cuba, Mongolia and China and have never had an accident. To my shame, my one accident happened in Denmark of all places. To make things worse, I didn't even realise I had had an accident until I pulled down my shorts. ARGH! Because I was desperate to get back to my bed (or at least what passed for a bed), I just poured what I could into the toilet and decided to leave the rest until the following day. Although I had another go at cleaning up in Copenhagen train-station, it wasn't until I got to the youth-hostel that I cleaned up properly.

I've been in youth-hostels in nearly every European country, and several non-European ones. For some reason, Scandinavia is the only region where it's common to have un-partitioned mens' showers. Fortunately, I had the showers to myself so nobody got to see my poopy buttocks.

My rear continued to be dire throughout Scandinavia. One thing I will say about Scandinavia is that it's quite possibly the best place to contract diarrhoea. The toilets there are amazing and plentiful. Needless to say, I can claim responsibility for the 1999 diarrhoea epidemic in Scandinavia, so if you're living in the Nordic countries and caught explosive bumhole, I apologise.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 18:27, Reply)
Brown Punctuation
Last boxing day my friend had a party to celebrate his birthday, being the good sport that i am i decided to get very, very drunk.
After eight cans of San Miguel , a bottle of Bucks Fizz and two bottles of cheap champagne i decided it was time to leave, feeling very worse for wear

Got home and went to bed, then it all went down hill

Ran to the toilet cos i needed a poo, halfway through the smell hit me and i needed to puke, so i jumped off the loo onto the floor and puked into the toilet, the force of said vomiting caused me to explosively shit all over the floor and the door behind me, i was so drunk i didn't even notice.

The next day i did notice the walls covered in puke where i missed the toilet and the exclamation mark delicately painted in a nice dark brown on the floor...

Best part, for some reason it smelled of sambuca, even though i don't think i consumed any the previous evening

"inserts poor length joke"
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 18:02, 1 reply)
Fishy Catalan tales of woe
Barcelona, end of a wonderful honeymoon with the new Mrs rsrd_jsy, sitting in the airport wishing we didn't have to leave and return to our drudge filled lives. I feel a rumbling and advise that I am just popping to the loo for a spot of brown trout fishing. After the usual visual inspection of the delivered goods a sweat breaks out across my forehead and I rush back with some fear and exclaim: "I think I might be dying...my poo is jet black and I know that that is not a good sign!" "Do you think it might have something to do with the squid ink paella you insisted on ordering last night, dear?" came the response.

Bless her little cotton socks but it was the one time I was thankful for her smug condescension.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 17:54, 1 reply)
Continuing in my trend of contracting a dire rear in third world countries, I went on a trip to Cuba. Our tour-group was infested with middle-class gap-year students. This meant that hardly anyone knew that to flush a toilet with a broken flusher, you need to pour a bucket of water into the bowl. Needless to say, we hadn't been there long before every toilet in the toilet-block had a big brown poo floating in it. It was as if the toilet-block had become a physical version of ratemypoo.com . Was I expected to write a mark out of 10 on the cubicle-door for each deuce I encountered?

Like most of the group, I contracted a dire rear. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as dire rears go, but the plane journey back was interesting. Having filled the plane toilet with what resembles an Indian meal, I was still sitting down when we hit turbulence. I'm just glad that liquified shit stays together when shaken about violently, because otherwise, it could have been messy.

When I got back, I was too sick to go back to work, so when I came back to the office, I was given an official work sickness form. As well as asking what I was suffering from, they asked me to describe the symptoms. Was tempted to put "Pissin' rusty water out me arse", but as it was not an office filled with b3tans, I just settled for 'diarrhoea'.

Arse-pissers of the world - unite!
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 17:30, Reply)
You drink a cold glass of water and its still cold when it comes out.

Its what they give you the day before a colonoscopy.

WARNING: take the day off work.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 17:01, 2 replies)
China part deux
When me and my friend were in China, both of us had contracted diarrhoea. I was suffering from consipation at the same time. My friend wanted to get some medicine, but I decided to go un-medicated. The reason for this is that the expert opinion of 21st century medical science is that if you have both the big D and the big C at the same time, you're fucked.

Anyway, we went to a chemists in Beijing. We were approached by two young female shop-assistants who we quickly established did not speak a tongue in common with us. My friend, being the smooth talker that he is immediatley broke down the language barrier.

PFLFFFFFT was what came out his mouth.

This would have been very impressive had it come from the toilet-cubicle next door, but he managed it with his mouth. The two young shop assistants became exciatable in that way that young asian women become exitable. The were chorusing what must be chinese for "Oh yes. I know what you want. Hihihihi!". He quickly recieved his medicine, paid and left, but I could not help wondering if he had mistakenly picked up anti-flatulence medicine instead.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 17:00, 3 replies)
Prague is SHIT - Literally.
Posted this in the dares QOTW a few months back. Hey Ho - Its quite apt for here too.

this pretty sums up the weekend

Airport at 5 - 5 pints
Flew at 7.45pm friday night - bottle of champers, 4 stella, and a vodka in 1h 55 on the plane
got to the hotel at ten to 11
was in prague main square for 11
ended up in some bar off my face.
got in at 4.30am satdy morning - ming
was up at 11.30 went to the river and the main square, went to a few shops and was back in the ale house for 2.30
died about 8 - got up at 11 - went back out
got in at 5am
flew at 3 -
eating chinese by 7


When in the bar on the Friday, I was under the influence and was forced to indulge in different concoctions

About 2am all of a sudden I had a sudden urge that I had to drop my guts, the pain appeared in seconds and I couldnt hold myself. So i ran down the stairs into the 1st door on the left (thinking it was the lads)

Fuck me sideways it was the birds bogs. Anyway I digress, I got my pants down and my guts emptied, with what I can only describe as DEATH. A pure brown Angel Delight mixture, no lumps, just pure shitty smoothness come out of my 70's tea towel holder.

I then noticed the door had no lock, so imagine me, half hanging over the bog, and some bird trying to get in, with me hanging on left handed to the door shouting in a high pitched voice (trying to pretend im a bird) "One second hun" "out in a sec"

The fucking door is now banging open and shut like a fucking poltergeist has hold of it, so I wipe my arse one handed pull up my pants and press the flusher.


The fucking thing wouldnt flush, it was broke, ive got a pile of shit that smells like horror and enough to make a fucking dining room table for a hamster if you microwaved it, and half of Pragues tarts trying to get in.


The door flies open and im stood there faced with a fucking room full of girls. What does Hoogs do?

1) Walk out not giving a fuck cos he's arseholed.

2) Apologise and walk away.


I stood there and in the most campest fucking voice and dramatics went....


Then legged it up the stairs at light speed, grabbed Mrs Hoogs and went to the other end of the bar.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:51, 5 replies)
Chased out of the cellar by a Poo Golem
Basically the upstairs bog wouldn't flush properly, and a foul smell was starting to come up from the cellar of the house. Muggins here was duly dispatched to investigate.

I teetered precariously down the rickety wooden staircase to be presented with a 6" deep grey sea of flood water stretching before my eyes.

"You have to do something" says my lady housemate.

"Right" says I, and off I go, bucket in hand to try and drain the level a bit.

A couple of hours, and many shit grey buckets of effluent later I locate what looks like small drain cover. Brilliant, thinks I. If I can can open it, I'll be able to drain the cellar and all my problems will over.

So I prod the cover with a stick. It gives slightly. Wierd, this obviously isn't a metal drain cover. I prod some more. There is a slight gurgling sound. Excellent I think, I must be getting somewhere. One last prod...

I gave a mighty blow and there was a very loud gurgling noise. I backed off nervously when all of a sudden a mighty shite-geyser erupts under my feet. All the backed up sewage, which had been held at bay was released and fountained upward in a grey cloumn. In the dim light it looked like a giant shit golem, raising from the ground and reaching out toward me...

Apparently from outside all my housemate heard was a gurgle, a massive whumping sound and a shrill cry of terror. She then saw what appeard to be a shiit-covered version of her flat-mate streaking out of the cellar and collapse retching in the kitchen.

The smell, ugh, undescribable.

Moral of the story? Flushing tampons leads to Lovecraftian manifestations. Every time.

Length? Ooh 100 yards in 3.5 seconds...
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:51, 6 replies)
global warning
The Irkutsk tribe of northern Siberia have survived for centuries in the harshest climate known to man. No trees grow in their permanently frozen territories, so they have had to learn the art of building from their own shit.

Master craftsmen have spent years aligning faecal logs to build huts, barns, bowling alleys and pagodas. Since the air temperature is so low, the crap has to be sculpted quickly and added to over time. Thankfully, there's no smell and the frozen turd houses are quite comfortable. Even the furniture is fashioned from human excrement.

But climate change has meant that all of this is melting now and the tribe will soon inhabit a vast pile of lightly steaming dung. Art works will be lost and valuable tribal sculptures will melt. A millennium of crap will ooze into the sea and poison the fish. Global apocalypse is just mere weeks away even as you read this.

The only solution is to stop burning your fridges on a pile of aerosols, and to send your every turd henceforth in a jiffy bag to:

The Irkutsk Tribe
Northern Siberia
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:48, 3 replies)
Paddy's day
Went out with a few mates of mine to have a couple of scoops on Paddy's day (seeing as I'm a plastic Paddy and all)
Had a top night and ran into my old mate Cono (for that is his name).
That night we decided to see if the old Guinnes slogan is true:
Makes you fat and turns your shit black
I'm in work the next day and feeling a bit delicate and get a picture message from Cono:
Yes, the slogan is half true, his shit was indeed black and it was now on my phone.
Wasn't the most pleasant image while eating lunch...
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:33, Reply)
Range Rovers
Someone on our street has got one of those obscene Range Rover vogues, and keeps blocking the road when he dumps it by our house.

One night, a few beers later we decided that in the dark we would climb onto the bonnet only wearing our socks and do a nice ripe poo on the windscreen.

Suffice to say, curry and a low level of fibre in my diet left quite a nice surprise for him in the morning.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:18, 3 replies)
I have a Niece and a Nephew (I actually have several) and these two are twins.

Now a bit of background for you: I am single. And while I enjoy spending time with my family, being the single guy, I am often saddled with the various 'emergency' child sittings that crop up from time to time.

So, cue my Brother in an 'emergency' and I have to watch his 2 year old twins. "Dont worry" says he "They will be ready for their nap when I bring them over, so all you will have to do is let them crash and you'll have no problems."

Okay. I mean, how tough can it be? Right? I mean, they ARE TWO years old! Apart from crappy nappies, what could go wrong?

Now, despite having seen some horrible stuff as a jarhead (US Marine) there are only a few things that affect my otherwise steel stomach: poop is one of them. And Baby Poop is no exception. So throughout all my Niece's and Nephews lives, whenever a nappy needed changing, I was able to make myself scarce.

So, this day, my goal was this: He is only gone for two hours. I can deal with two hours as long as there are no dirty diapers.

So I unfolded their folding crib that my Brother brought over and laid out their blankies and set them in there.

My Nephew, we shall call him Jake, for Jake is the name he was given, apparently (and I say 'apparently' because I wasnt IN the room when it happened) was able to get out of the crib. I dont know if he did it before or after, but he removed his twin sisters diaper AND his and used the excrement contained within them as a kind of sepia toned wall paint.

I smelled something amiss whilst watching television in the next room, the volume barely audible so as to hear any protestation in the next room...so I went to peak in on them, to make sure they were okay (I had not heard ONE laugh, giggle or anything, that stealthy little bastard) and I was greeted with a smiling Jake OUTSIDE the crib, hands caked in his and his sisters excrement, busily working on what I can only describe as an homage to LeRoy Neiman.

It took me over three hours to clean the room. When my Brother arrived to claim his spawn, I showed him the room and he just chuckled and said "Yeah, they do that at home all the time too."

I am still plotting my revenge.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:16, 4 replies)
Shit story in Germany
A very appropriate place for something involving feces to happen, I suppose..

As it happened, my school organised trips to the film festival in Hückelhoven, Germany every year. I started going when I was in 3rd year, and this particular incident took place when I was in 5th year at the tender age of 17. We'd gone to Hückelhoven with a group of 14 people, a number of which were complete nutters (who might or might not have included me).

One day there were absolutely no films any of us wanted to see, and aside from the films, there was absolutely fuck all to do in the tiny town of Hückelhoven during the day, so we ended up sitting around the square outside the festival hall boring ourselves to death. Cue one of the guys in the group to start telling a story about how he once crapped in a plastic bag in hotel room in Rome, after which he dropped it out of the window, of course either inspiring disgust or hilarity among his audience.

At this point, people starting daring him to outdo his previous feat and suggested he crap into a glass of some sort, and leave it at the busiest point in town. So he did....

He found an empty coca-cola glass, took it to a quiet spot somewhere in the middle of town - not bothering to find a restroom, but I suppose if you're that far gone.. - shat in the glass, an stuck a fluorescent green ice cream spoon it. He then placed it on the edge of a fountain in the middle of town, and took a picture. Nobody around seem to realise that there was a turd on their fountain...

I don't think I was ever so disgusted and amused at the same time..
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 16:05, 1 reply)
Dog shit and cars
When I had my first house I allowed some Senegalise friends to stay with me.

I live in a slightly closed-minded part of Lancashire, and I deduct that one of the neighbours must not have been too impressed by my West African friends and I sitting out in the street playing guitar, drinking beer and smoking spliffs, as I came out one morning to find dog shit smeared all over (and I mean literally all over) my beloved Vauxhall Cavalier.

From that day onwards I was on permanent lookout for closet racists who live in the street so I could return my own gift down the side of their car, or, as they're probably too dysfunctional to look after a car, more likely through their letterbox.

Unfortunately it was to no avail.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 15:47, 6 replies)
It was a cold Sunday in January Several years ago
Myself and my two brothers decided to go out on a sunday session around Birmingham's balti belt. The pubs are admittedly a little rough, but this is where we grew up.

We started after the Sunday league match and continued on all day and by about 9pm, we were just leaving a Sikh-run pub after dancing to Bhangra music for the last hour. We were extremely drunk.

Halfway up the road, my brother declares loudly that he 'needs an Eartha Kitt' and then sneaks off into a carpark. We then wait for him and a few minutes later he returns with his hands caked in shit. When asked what happened, he tells us he forgot to take his underpants off and had filled them up like a nappy. He then panicked and had to tear them off either side at the seams.

We then burst into laughter and called him all the stupid names imaginable. He took umbrage at this and then started to chase us up the Ladypool Road swinging his pants around his head slingshot-style like a feacal version of the Palestinian intifada.

My eldest brother, then and now, was a man of considerable weight -a fat bastard in modern parlance- ran like someone half his weight and proved the principle that you run faster when someone is chasing you. The only thing slowing us was the laughter. The chasing brother then released the bolas of turds which flew over our heads and slapped right onto the window of one of the more popular balti-houses in birmingham.

The shit-infested pants then stuck to the window...and then slowly crawled down the window leaving a turd trail. My brother swears to this day that he saw someone vomiting in the restaurant.

Cue two Kashmiri gentleman chasing my brother with large kebab skewers swearing in Urdu (having grown up here I could swear fluently) who in turn is chasing us with shitty fingers.

We hid in a local park till they went away and made our brother hose himself down in the garden of our mother's when we got back. My mother made him throw all his clothes away.

Happy days.
(, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 15:29, 3 replies)

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