Oh fucking hell....
... it's embarrassing how many shit stories are flooding my mind now.

The same mate who had the mussel incident (whom i lived with at the time) had the shits. Separate occasion, months/years later.

He was in bed, ill, quaffing pepto bismol or whatever and trying to recover.
After a day or so, we were going out and asked him if he was up to it to which he replied he was.
So we're all downstairs (me, another mate and the ill persons gf, now wife) waiting for him.

Down he comes looking pleased as punch, and announces "i can now fart with confidence - i'm all better", at which point he lifted his leg onto the arm of the chair, strained, and shat himself right in front of us - all ceremoniously.

The look of horror on his face was superb. We cried. In fact, i've been crying in the office writing these. I cant tell my colleagues why i'm shaking and crying with laughter either.
"I'm recalling stories about shit". It's not that kind of job.

No apologies for anything. Ever.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 13:25, Reply)

Open the floodgates
Another i've remembered...

A mate (no, really) once bought some frozen mussels. The thought horrifies me, but one morning he was hungry and had nowt left but these frozen mussels at the back of the fridge.

He cooked as instructed, but found some were still frozen.

A little later, following a shower and wrapped only in a towel he shat himself - all down his legs.

He found a whole mussel stuck to his calf.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 13:17, Reply)

Lost shit
I used to work nights many moons ago and part of my routine when arriving home in the morning, after the lady beebobod went to work, i used to skin up, watch telly and relax. usually factor in a wank of course.
One such morning i did the routine and settled down to watch the telly stark bollock naked.

Prior to sitting i could feel a fart so i assumed a sumo position and let rip a big dirty fart and then laid on the sofa and relaxed, in the noood, as is my wont.

About 10 am i started to get tired so i got up, turned off the telly and straightened out the throw which covered our sofa, only to find an immaculate cone of shit, which had somehow evaded my laying down position position and stayed perfectly formed, on the cover.

It looked like one of those little cones of incense.
(beebolbod for those that are hard of hearing - LISTEN, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 13:13, Reply)

I'd like to be able to relate a fantastically brilliant story about poo
but my life in that area seems to be rather boring, although you could describe it as a shit story right now, I guess.

/miserable bitch blog
( Maladicta, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 13:02, Reply)

'Turd' Class Carriage
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/6089042.stm

Don't know if anyone remembers this guy, but we certainly do. Imagine the horror of walking through a train to be confronted by a scene of abject horror. He'd taken what could only have been a monumental dump, then, using his hands, smeered it over seats, windows, doors.etc. It was even dripping from the light fixings.

The cleaners back at the depot were waiting for me dressed as a CSI fan convention, complete with portable respirators.

Just don't eat or drink anything that's made contact with a train seat...
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 12:26, 1 reply)

More tales from China
I went to Hong Kong in 2003 with a couple of friends, one of whom knew someone who already lived out there, and who invited us on a boat trip with some of her buddies.

They'd hired some kind of smallish boat, with a cabin area, and space on the roof for sunbathing, plus a platform at the back for climbing on and off. Food and drink was provided, and it was all set to be a glorious day exploring the coastline near HK. The only negative thing was that we were emphatically told not to shit in the on-board bog, as it was quite a delicate thing. No worries, thought we.

We spent the next few hours diving off the side of the boat into the sea, occasionally coming back into the boat to have another beer, or eat some more dumplings. Until the pilot came and ranted at us for a bit, saying someone had taken a dump, and it had blocked the loo, and now he'd have to flush it away. Fair enough, think we, and dive back in for another bit of swimming.

About 3 minutes after this, small bits of wood starting floating past us. Hang on, they're a bit too round and pebble-shaped to be wood! ...but pebbles can't float...oh no...SHIT! It turns out that when he meant "flush" the loo, the pilot actually meant he was going to open the bottom of the trap, letting the brown bum-slugs swim away to freedom. So now there was a shoal of floating nuggets between us and the boat, and we had to swim our way back to the boat remembering the five D's: dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge. I managed it. My friend though she had, until we pointed out a nugget nestling between her bosoms, in danger of falling down into her costume...she managed to get it out (by leaning over and jiggling it out), and the pilot moved the boat further along the coast, to less infested waters.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 11:15, 9 replies)

Tourettes has reminded me of something
it's a known fact that nicotine stimulates the bowel (or something) and makes it want to evacuate.

I stopped smoking cigarettes some time ago, but still get through more than my fair share of spliffs.

Just the act of starting to skin one up these days gets my guts rumbling in anticpation of a ride on the porcelain bus.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 11:13, 6 replies)

Cock
I once (way back in mt teenage years)did a massive poo shaped like a perfectly formed cock!..so life like was it in fact, that I called over my dear mamma to in order for her to have a quick shufty..we both gazed over it and marvelled in wonder for a few moments before sending him off to a watery grave. It even had a bell end and everything!!..personally,I blame the hormones..
(misshotlips, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 10:42, 4 replies)

It must be psychosomatic...
Has anyone else found that reading these tales has made them want to poo?

No? Just me then...
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 10:41, 18 replies)

swimming poo
I've done nursing, worked in old folks' homes, care in the community et al. For the last 7 years I've been delighted to work with children on the autistic spectrum as well as other special educational needs. Therefore, the majority of my working days have involved cleaning up other people's crap. Mostly of the literal variety; if there ain't enough of that to go around, one can bet one's BOTTOM dollar there'll be some metaphorical crap with which to be dealt.

Part of the *special* program involves taking the kids swimming, involving sensory stimulation (ooo-er) etc. Sensory perception in autism is a can-and-a-half of worms; suffice it to say, the possibilities involving poo are pretty much endless.

So, once a week, come hail, rain or shine, staff & children board the Sunshine Bus to the local leisure centre. The challenge of getting everyone changed and into the water is eventually achieved, and on immersion the mood is palpably calmer, thus making it all worthwhile.

Except that, on this occasion, one of the lifeguards begins shouting and gesticulating in a most frantic manner. What's wrong with the poor chap - has he seen a shark? Impossible. What then, is the cause of his alarm?

Now, I'm a bit corned beef in one ear (that's geordie rhyming slang for Mutt 'n' Jeff) and the acoustics in swimming pools don't help either. I eventually make out what the lifeguard is no longer shouting, but shrieking hysterically: "EVACUATE!!!"

Is it an air-raid? Bird? Plane? Superman? etc.
At this point my colleagues are rounding up the kids, who are adamant it is NOT time to exit the pool (the routine is exactly 25 minutes in the water - they've only had 5 - that is majorly disruptive to most autistic children).

Having got all of the kids out of the pool (as opposed to dropping them in heh-heh) I am the last person in the water. As usual, the last adult does a recce of the pool, checking for stray goggles, floaters etc. which I was doing. By now, the lifeguard is about to have an aneurism. I hadn't actually heard the reason for said evacuation. I'd assumed (should never assume - it makes an ASS of U and ME) there was a chemical imbalance of some sort; some dick had overdone the chlorine or something.

It transpires that *evacuate* was appropriate. One of the kids had evacuated his bowel in the water. So my sweep for floaters was equally appropriate :o/

I really should look into getting a hearing aid. Not that I could've worn one in the pool....
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 10:39, 9 replies)

Disadvantaged poop
Bit late, but my friend Julia used to work in a home for severely disabled teenagers.

One day one of them said "Julia come here! I've made a present for you". So she went over, and he threw a fresh turd straight into her face.

His best friend was never so rude, but he was eternally self-conscious about a minor problem he had, whereby instead of emerging from his anus, his shits would come straight out of the middle of his stomach. Happy days.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 10:13, 4 replies)

Smelly
cold and stupid bus ride back from the amazon jungle in bolivia via the Death road of Coroico, firstly within
the city limits of Rurre the bus broke down and required all of the
passengers to disembark and help push the relic from the 1940's.
This was to happen five more times including a fun one at 4.30 in
the morning. Fortunately I was awake because the fucking french
twat family in front of me, the family of 4 got on a bus ridden with bags and sleeping kids in the aisles, chickens in boxes and the snoring of poor and tired bolivians trying to make a crust. Their 14 yr old boy decided he needed to
take a dump at 4am so his french whining drifted into my seat directly behind him, soon followed by a farting noise and subsequent stench that awoke the slumbering passengers in the back half of the bus. I decided to peek between the seats and was presented with the following sight. French dad held a plastic bag whilst he squirted the
most vile smelling liquid into the bag and in doing so filled the
entire cabin with his stench. I was directly behind the little cunt
and also had the bonus of sound effects to boot. Then the kicker
was when he had finished he stood up and his dad proceeded to wipe his arse as he complained in gallic, then the cheese eating cunt tied off the stinking, warm bag and placed it under the seat at my feet, the bolivians sharing the back seat looked at one another wondering why this stench act didn't do what everyone else did and ask the driver to stop whilst they evacuated their bowels and finally the dad realized the folly of his ways picked up the bag and turfed its turd liquid into the jungle ranges to pollute another pristine landscape.. Some people should not be allowed on buses methinks. I haven't liked the french since, dirty fuckers...
(neighbour of the beast 668 has watched you in secret on, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 10:11, 1 reply)

Now wash your hands
I have a good friend, and her bloke is a carer for adults with special needs. One of his charges is obsessed with going to the toilet, and always takes an age in the cubicle when they are out.

So one day, my mate’s bloke and his colleague think to themselves “Wonder what he’s doing all that time, think we should have a look”? Agreeing that they should, they enter the next cubicle and peer over the top.

Their charge was busy washing his hands in the bowl, in amongst the shit and piss. Then he rinsed under the rim as it flushed.

He also did a crap in some bushes in full view of everyone once, but I can’t remember the gist of the story…
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 3 Apr 2008, 10:00, Reply)

meloncholic
gah, thursday is near over here in oz and my broadband has been down for 3 days. i'll just squeeze this one out...

if i drink alcohol and eat any sort of melon within a short timeframe, i become violently ill and need to find a bathroom pronto so that my body can volcanically eject the contents of my guts from both ends. the first time it happened was at a party. after hogging the 2nd bathroom for over an hour, my sister drove me home and we had to stop along the way so that my gizzards could do some gastric art all over a building site. i pity the poor buggers who turned up the site the next day to find the little gift i left for them.
(chameleon61, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 9:49, Reply)

Shitty Flu
At the moment I seem to have some kind of terrible flu virus, which means my barking spider is currently shitting rusty water precisely every two hours. Just in time to coincide with the end of the QOTW.

I'm trying to resist the temptation to crack a Thursday joke about Shi'ite muslims.

Edit: Oh, bugger - Frank Spencer has beaten me to it.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 9:26, Reply)

Palestine
I fondly remember the days spent in coffee houses with the militias, recounting anecdotes and joks from our past. One time, we had a competition who could tell the best one. Ten of us told a tale and Ahmed was the winner with his second.

It was shi'ite story number two.
(frankspencer, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 9:21, 1 reply)

Like the Mr Men, only not....
I give you, The Poo Poo People
(tiger blood and Adonis DNA, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 9:19, 1 reply)

Infancy
Has anyone ever shat their pants at work on purpose and just sat in in it, squelching around all day to reminisce about those early days of infancy when life was so simple and a gusset full of warm poo was the worst thing that could happen?

Er, no, me neither....
(frankspencer, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 9:18, Reply)

In defence of squatters


As previously mentioned, I have ulcerative colitis, which means if I'm not doing so well, I have very short warning before my anus must expel a cocktail of blood and faecal matter. These days I'm fine, but in the mornings it's always touch-and-go.

For the past four years, I've been living in South Korea, a country where the washrooms are of diverse quality. Go to a department store, office building, or hotel and you'll get some nice ones, but restaurants, bars, and even home apartments older than ten years are all fairly primitive. Squatters, no toilet paper, and people who take forever in the stalls. I've gotten into the habit of carrying a pack of tissues everywhere I go, and have even left a few puddles of crap in various places outside.

Back when I was new here, I lived in Suwon, a small town of 1 000 000 just an hour south of Seoul. Seoul was the place to be, so every weekend I was up there. But the subways closed at 10:30, so I either had to stay out all night or go home early. By the way, Korea doesn't have last call, so it's legal for bars to stay open until sunrise.

So I stayed up all night, got extremely drunk on a bad combination of soju and beer, went to a punk show where I mysteriously lost my glasses (it turned out I was so out of it, I took them off and set them down backstage), and I waited for the subways to open in the morning.

On the subway ride back, I was incredibly drunk and starting to feel bad, and on top of it all I couldn't see well without my glasses. It was the morning, when my colitis is at its worst, and pressure was starting to build.

The train reached my station and I ran for the washroom. But it was a primitive washroom, containing only two squatters. It was too late to reach any of the other backup toilets I know on my route home, so I decided it was time to try out one of these squatters. Keep in mind I was drunk, part blind, and had a colon filled with blood.

I pulled my pants down to the knee so that the pockets would be upright, and I squatted so that my legs were folded all the way. I let loose a pile of blood and crap into the basin of the squatter, and then I discovered the bad part: no toilet paper (and I didn't carry any of my own). So I did up my pants and waddled out of there, aiming for the nearest washroom where I was reasonably certain there'd be toilet paper.

Anyway, I got to the Internet cafe I always used, got into the stall, and wiped, prepared for a huge mess crammed in there. Now here's the crazy thing: the toilet paper was clean! When you use a squatter, it positions your body so that everything comes out while making minimum contact with your skin.

I still don't use squatters when the option is presented because they're uncomfortable, but I certainly don't fear them when there's no alternative.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 4:21, 5 replies)

A relation of mine
once used our bathroom. This particular lady is rather prim and proper, so I genuinely hope she didn't hear a fifteen year old me desperately trying to stifle my laughter at the sound of her emptying her guts. It sounded like she was tipping a family size bag of maltesers down the pan from a great height.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 1:51, 1 reply)

I work with some weird people...
at a small real estate firm. Our office is in a tiny illegal add-on to one of our buildings. Its dim, dark, dirty and cramped.

I arrived to work about 5 minutes late and was still the first person there. I went to the bathroom to pinch one out before the handymen came but noticed there was no toilet paper. "Fuck, I'll just have to hold it until lunch..."

I sat down at the computer and started to work. About an hour later my boss comes in, ignoring me and going straight to the bathroom. Not ten minutes later he flung open the door.

"Holy shit! I just took THEE biggest dump ever. Goddamn son!" He proclaimed, grinning from ear to ear.

I looked up from my computer. "There wasn't any toilet paper."

His grin faded and he walked out of the office, slapping me on the back with his unwashed hands.


There was another time when our Tongan handyman called me up at 6:30 in the morning. I was still asleep and called him back at 7.

"Maile, what do you need?"
"I needed the code for the office bathroom"
"Oh, it's ****"
"It's too late" he said.
"..."

"Too Late" and "Bathroom" should never be used together.

/pop
(lexisnexis, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 1:35, Reply)

Travels on the sleeper bus
When I travelled in China in 1996, I had the chance to ride on one of the sleeper buses that runs through China. These are buses stripped of all their seats with narrow double bunks installed inside. The entire trip was spent lying down next to someone. The bunks on top were close enough to the ceiling that sitting up straight would cause you to slam your head, and the bottom ones were similar, though you could lean into the narrow rubber floored aisle. Obviously this bus had no toilet, so when the bus made a rare stop you took the opportunity. All bunks were shared, so I grabbed Mark, the smallest amongst our group, as my bunkmate.

The trip was interesting, I could lay on my side and watch the scenery slide past. As is typical, people were smoking, and noisily coughing up gouts of phlegm which would then be spat onto the floor, sometimes smeared with a foot to help it dry quickly.

As the night wore on things began to quieten. I managed to find a semi comfortable sleeping position that afforded me a view from the window. A couple of hours from the city we reached the roadworks between our destinations, and from there the road became a pitted stretch of dirt, which rocked the bus violently, and lead to such a slow speed that I almost could have walked alongside. Nevertheless, I managed to sleep for a while.

That is, until I woke needing to go to the toilet. Something I had eaten was not agreeing with me, and I clenched my buttocks shut, wondering if temporary denial of access for the broiling mass within me would perhaps change it's mind. I swallowed one of my anti-diarrhoea tablets, and waited to see if it would have an effect. No such luck. With deft efficiency born of desperation I grabbed my shoes and my precious roll of toilet paper, which I crammed into my left shoe. I crawled slowly over Mark, waking him first to make sure he wouldn't think he was about to be molested.

I dropped lightly into the aisle, not waking anyone, and stood up straight. I made my way to the driver, and said `Cesuo', meaning `Toilet'. He said something I didn't understand, and then gestured for me to get back. I tried again but he looked angry, and my knowledge of Chinese didn't cover such emergencies. I stood back, and began to clench in an attempt to prevent myself from making a real mess. I knew that if I `Broke the seal' I would be unable to stop myself. I clenched my jaw and waited, and waited. Several millenia passed, and I looked at my watch. It had been 10 minutes. Our arrival would be around 6 am, approximately 3 hours from now. There was no possible way I could hold it in. Just as this thought arrived, I noticed with delight that the urgency was waning! My body had finally received the message! Feeling substantially better, I climbed back into the bed.

I knew immediately I had made a serious error in judgement. The wave had not receded, it had merely fallen back and waited for reinforcements, like the ocean receding before the tsunami arrives.

The second I lay back down I was assaulted from within with renewed vigour. I climbed back over Mark in a hurry, and jumped into the aisle, stepping heavily on my tour leader's leg. She woke up for about 5 seconds and swore, then fell immediately back asleep. I began the process of clenching my jaw and anus once again, but realised fairly quickly that I had no chance. My options within the next minute were to get off the bus and relieve myself or stay on the bus and relieve myself.

With a confidence born of desperation, I stepped to the drivers side and said, loudly, `CESUO'. He looked at me, obviously pissed off at the long nose bastard, and muttered `Cesuo?'. `Dui, Cesuo!' I said, managing to retain a sweaty sort of composure. `Kwai, kwai (quick!)' he said angrily, and pulled over, opening the door. In a head slapping moment of insight some time later, I realised that I should have simply bribed him to stop when I first asked him.

I looked out into the wet sand that made the side of the road, and turned to get my shoes and toilet paper. One shoe had disappeared! It was nowhere in sight!

Can you guess which shoe it was, friends and neighbours?

That's right! The shoe with the toilet paper!

I was about to spend time looking when a muscle spasm caused me to nearly befoul myself. I leapt from the door, praying the driver would not take off, and looked about for somewhere to conceal myself. As I stood with my socks sinking slowly into the damp coarse sand, I realised there was absolutely nowhere to hide. We were hemmed in by a ridge of sand which was being used to make the road better, and was about half the height of the bus. This was to be my first squat in a very long time. Without much hesitation I dropped trousers in plain view of any awake passengers on my side of the bus who cared to look, and unleashed a great steaming pile of liquid shit.

Now, I know that there are heights of pleasure rarely accomplished without pharmaceuticals or years of meditation. If the overwhelming sensation of relief that I discovered at that moment could be bottled, I would be well and truly rich. I gasped in delight as waves of relief flushed through my body, and finished up. I looked down, and to my surprise realised I had not soiled my pants, legs or feet one bit! In the heat of the moment I had paid little attention to the direction of the spray of either my starfish or dick, and it seems that only luck prevented what would have been one of the messier experiences of my life.

Pleasure then turned to a sense of mild despair. I realised that I had no toilet paper of any form, and unless I chose to wipe with my socks, I was probably going back onto a bus, unwiped, in close quarters with my travelling companions. Thinking quickly I exercised the option that I considered to be most valid, I extended my index finger and wiped, once for each buttock. I then flicked my finger, scrubbed it with sand, and returned to the bus, where I sterilised with rubbing alcohol. I suppose I could have played a game of `smell my finger' with my bunkmate, but I'm not that evil (and I know that I must sleep at some point).

My shoe, with toilet paper, was found the next morning under a bunk. Other members of the group expressed disgust that I had walked on the floor in bare socks. I never had the heart to tell them about the high tech wipe. High tech? Yeah, it was digital.
(Tomble Underground, overground, Tombling free., Thu 3 Apr 2008, 1:16, 3 replies)

New years 2000
What a lovely new years we had planned, a dance party on the night before, champers on the beach at midnight, the girlfriend and i were really excited!

The location for the turn of the millenium was Gisbourne beach, New Zealand. We had a good chance of being the first people on the planet of watching the sunrise at the 2000 year past jesus mark.

I don't even remember needing a poo until we'd partied all night, crazy drinking, dancing in the moonlight. Then we went and parked by the beach, right next to the camera crews. I nodded off in the passenger seat and didn't wake up till an hour before sunrise. That's when i realised i was having some cramping feelings in my gut. It was that after lots of beer feeling, where you try to fart and it stings your turd cutter a little bit and you have to fight it back in.

I thought, it's all good, i'll just pop down the beach and hide by a bush or something...no such luck, there were about 3000 people on the beach! all waiting for this sunrise and to the last one they were carrying some sort of camera.

I tried to get my girlfriend to drive us to a toilet, but she wasn't going to miss the first sunrise of the new millenium so i had to hold it for a bit longer. A seriously long hour ensued where i was curled up in a foetal position in the car trying desperately to not bitch and upset my girlfriend. The pain was so unbearable by the time the sun rose, that i only have vague memories of the light changing then dimming as the sun rose into the clouds.

We drove about 2miles to find the nearest "convenience" and i was dissapointed to find that the pain was not acompanied by a satisfactory movement.It was one of those ones where you have to keep going back every 40mins to get rid of a bit more.

Sorry, story was funnier in my head.

Length...i'm bored at work, so deal with it...
(fearofusa has boner at work on, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 1:02, Reply)

The Jesus.
I once worked in the studio of a marketing agency. Next to me sat an annoying young arsehole who thought he knew everything. This was bad enough without his brother joining the company a few months later. Compared to this new guy, the original brother was an angel. Brother 2 had cribbed the answers to the interview test to get the job (guess who from), played his House music over the studio stereo instead of wearing headphones and was a monosyllabic f***wit. However his one impressive achievement was laying the most enormous brown trout in the bogs which is still talked about to this day, 8 years later. Not only was it the width of a beer can, it appeared to have hairs coming out of it. We all went in and looked at it and each person visiting the loo tried to flush it away without success for 48 hours. Finally it went down, only to appear again a whole day later. It was truly the Jesus of bum-otters.
(Mr McKenzie Mr McKenzie, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 0:10, 1 reply)

Northampton Soundhaus
Quite appropriately a shit name for a venue.

Out on the lash to celebrate us old uni housemates reunion-ising (how the hell do you verbalise 'reunion'?!), in the hole known as Northampton due to fiscal shortages of the one member of our party unable to afford a train ticket out of Northampton. So we all went to him.

Innumerable beers later and we're moshing away. Quite a good DJ that night - some suitably violent music was getting played, and much drunken fun was being had by us all.

Until, that is, my body decides to fast forward the next mornings beer shits to the very definite present. However, there's still a lot of liquid in my stomach/bowels. It just had to be messy. A shining thought pierces the drunken haze: THIS IS GOING TO BE A BIG ONE: KEEP IT ALL IN!!!

A couple of fruity farts creep out. The big, slightly moist variety that can make your trousers flap, and without the covering noise would have most definately made people stare. I subtly (well, i'm 6'6" and was very drunk - take that last thought with a pinch of salt) head bang/mosh/beat my way to the other side of the dance floor. Result! People are shaking their heads in disgust at some other poor pleb who happened to be standing in the area recently vacated by me.

A few more farts, each fruitier than the last. My mates have now noticed and are shooting a couple of questioning stares. I've run (snarf snarf) out of fresh dancefloor.

I couldn't let it happen. I wouldn't let it happen. I........let it happen.

In most rock clubs, the toilet cubicals are best avoided, and the Sound Haus is no exception. Finding just one stall, i'm thoroughly unsurprised to find its filthy, there's liquid (please let it be water) flooding the floor, there's no toilet seat or lock on the door, and there's just a shred of toilet paper dangling from the dispenser.

Still, the cramps were unbearable, i was unsure of my drunken ability to ensure the next fart would be dry, and i also figured (accurately, its turned out) that i was never going to go back to Northampton, let alone that godawful club.

So...

You remember that scene in American Pie where Stiffler has added laxatives to Shotbricks mochacino, and he dives into the ladies toilets? That was me.

Wedging a foot against the door, and doing a pretty good drunken swaying to remain hovering just above the seat-less bowel, i let rip.

Armageddon ensues. I'm in there for about 20 minutes, completely and utterly annihilating that toilet. Its pretty much entirely liquid, and being as i'm hovering and swaying slightly its going EVERYWHERE in and on that toilet bowel. The water turns brown. The inside turns brown with a few white spots peeking through the mess. The rim gets a good pebbledashing. To this day i have no idea how i managed to avoid my trousers around my ankles.

Everytime i felt the contractions subsiding and my colon contracting, a fresh wave would hit. I swear - the horrors of war have nothing on the sights, sounds and above all the *smell* that i was reducing the toilet cubicle to. Remember, this is the only male toilet in the venue, and the venue is pretty small, so pretty much the first jet had filled the toilet area with the most unpleasant of poo aromas. I'm usually comfortable in the smell of my own farts (as are most men), but this aroma was positively chompable. By the end even i was gagging as it completely filled the entire (small) gents toilet area.

Much careful toilet paper origami on the few remaining toilet paper scraps later, and i was sorted. Assuming anyone had long since left me to (two) it, i was very much amazed to see someone patiently waiting to use the toilet. Personally, if i'd been in line hearing and smelling such inhumane anal destruction being unleashed within, i'd have run a mile.

His comment will stay with me forever: "Dude - you just don't *do* that...

I felt pretty good after. All cramps were gone, i had a pint waiting for me and some grindcore had just come on.

When i smelt my shit stink waft over the dancefloor about 5 minutes later, i just pretended not to notice.
Inwardly, however, i glowed with pride.

This is my first b3ta post. My dick is fucking enormous, so please be gentle...!
(Stuffed Chimp, Wed 2 Apr 2008, 22:54, 1 reply)

I don't have a story for this QOTW...
...but I AM posting this with my beloved PSP whilst having a shit. I also sometimes post from the bogs at work using my smartphone.

Does that count?
(Orin delurked to post this gibberish on, Wed 2 Apr 2008, 22:25, 1 reply)