MY CAT!
My cat shits on my rug just to get back at me when i ignore her. i had my girlfriend round one day and we were quite happily doing wat we were doing wen my cat decides to climb up the middle of the bed and say hello, of course i push her off and we finish doing wat we have to do. Upon returning from the station where i dropped her off feeling all manly and satisfied i am met with a wall of smell and and the worst 10/15 minutes of my life washing her pungent pressie out of my shag rug! She has from then on insisted on doing it every time i push her off the bed or just ignore her.....bitch
(kristofski6992, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:38, Reply)

Steve, again.
My mate Steve has a few of these so next one:

My mate Steve is fairly good looking (so I'm told be girls of the female variety). He is also a complete piss-head. These two things occasionally conspire to make amusing stories. Such as this one.

Steve had been drinking, a lot, in the Union as students do. He had a girlfriend back in the homeland, and he loved her (a little bit). Unfortunately she wasn't here, and booze was. One of the girls from his course found Steve attractive (lets call her Frogmella). She communicated this to him by whispering into his mouth, and generally swapping spit. Frogmella wanted to crank it up a notch so suggested they head back to hers.

Steve, tried his best to convince her that he had a girlfriend, and that he only wanted to sleep. Frogmella, eager for company suggested that her bed was a great place to sleep. Steve, in his addled state could only compliment her logic and follow her home.

Poor Frogmella did not manage to get her wicked way, as Steve promptly passed out once installed in her bed. The ignominy was pilled higher when come morning Steve unleashed his morning reveille fart. Only to realise a split second too late it was in fact a reveille shart.

Yes, he had shat in a random girl's bed. He did what any man does in this situation. He gathered his possessions and fled the scene with much alacrity.

Length? It must have been impressive as she still tried to shag him afterwards.
(brycemonkey No fatal accidents since:, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:32, Reply)

Shit Mist the sticky octopus of doom!
We were on a jolly holiday in France, staying on a little boat on a canal. There were 4 lads and we were about 22 at the time, so much cheap booze was consumed. The daily ritual was wake up from heavy night around 10am; Steve farts loudly; we get up to escape the gas cloud; find some cheap food/booze; eat and drink; repeat.

Except the morning where Steve's morning reveille was particularly impressive. We exited into the fresh air quicker than usual when we noticed his 'fart' making it's way past the back of his knee like a sticky plastic octopus toy. (What do you mean WTF? *sigh*
www.toydepot.com/depotshop/SearchResults.asp?ProdStock=2094)


Anyway, except brown and smelly...

Length? It had gone already traveled to his knee and it kept going till it landed on his foot.
(brycemonkey No fatal accidents since:, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:18, Reply)

At school
We didn't have a swimming pool, so used to traipse a mile or so to the local leisure centre and use the facilities there.

One day a kid decided to have a shit in one of the changing room cubicles, and wiped his arse with the only things he had available.

Panini stickers.

The sight of Peter Shilton stuck to the wall with brown smelly glue will never leave me.

And i needed a shilton to complete a team.

I didn't take it.
(Halfy By light alone, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:10, Reply)

Not me, but a mate (and other oft repeated headers)
A mate was once going out a girl whose parents had gone away for the weekend. So they made ample use of the opportunity. At one point, they were on the sofa and he was fisting her, but she said she felt odd and as he extracted his hand, she blacked out and extruded her breakfast onto the pristine white cushions.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:08, 3 replies)

Not a pun
My missus works in Asda on the George clothing department, and one of her workmates said that on her shift some customer had been in the changing-rooms and curled one out on a chair.

Luckily, cleaning duties are tendered out to "Asda Aces".
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 21:03, Reply)

That was some shit...
It was a cold winter day when my co-worker informed me that his Mother-in-law had passed away. She had been given 6 months to live 3 years ago. I offered my condolences, gave him a hug, and pretended to care where the funeral was before asking a very sensitive question.

"Do you still have any of her meds left?"

He did. I almost shit my pants when he brought in 40 tablets of 60 milligram time released morphine. I think I gave him 40 bucks for the bottle. I worked my 8 hours just itching to try one. I had had morphine before, but never in such a strength.

I got home and immediately crushed and boiled the pills to defeat the time release. Then I converted it to morphine sulfate and did a hot line.

I felt it enter my bloodstream and rush to my brain then drip down my spinal cord untill it burned my asshole. It was groovy. I was in the greatest mood ever.

After a week of giddy euphoria I felt a slight cramp in my gut. I came to the realization that I had not taken a crap in a week. I tried to crap but it just wasn't happening. I bought a bottle of saline laxative (the green carbonated crap that tastes like Kool Aide Man's sweat) and guzzled it.

Day 8 - I woke up that morning and nothing. Hmmmm... The pain was worse. I bought a bottle of this earbal cleansing shit and another bottle of saline laxitive (cherry this time). 4 to 6 hours later.... Nothing. I tried yoga techniques and le mans breathing. I visualized the mass in my colon and tried to picture the massive fecal build up passing through my rectum and into the toilet. Then I grabbed the handicap powergrip bar and pushed on that bad boy with all I had. After all that I had not even dropped a turd but had given myself a hemorrhoid.

Day 9 - Pain and lots of it. Unfortunately the only thing that killed the pain was the Morphine that had me stopped up in the first place. I had to be at work today and was ready to take drastic measures. The lady behind the counter tried to stifle a smile as I put the glycerin suppositories and the fleet enema double pack on the counter. Her demeanor changes when she saw my bloated, sweaty, green face. So I went home and started reading the directions for the enema. I used the lying on the side method. I felt a tingle and ran to the toilet and unleashed.... What I had just put in. It wasn't even brown. The second time I used the doggy style insertion method and held the mineral oil in my colon a full five minutes before trying again. No dice. Wow. I passed out at work and someone had to throw water on me to come to. I ran to ye old drugstore and purchased a gallon of Pedialite that I downed while waiting for my credit card to go through. I tried a glycerin suppository that did nothing but burn my strained sphincter. On my way home I paid yet another visit to Rite-Aide. It was time to get serious.

Day-10 I took 6 Peri-Colace. The ultimate laxative. This stuff will empty your colon in about an hour and is the most violent laxative ever made. Forget every cure you have ever heard. If Peri-Colace doesn't work, nothing will. The bottle said not to exceed 2 tabs in 24 hours but when the hell do I ever use as directed. Nothing. Nada. At this point my body was shutting down. My piss looked like semen. I couldn't stay awake. I was desprate. I tried every cockamamie home remedy I heard. I drank a jug of prune juice, I drank some milk that had expired 2 weeks ago. I got a 7 Layer Burrito with extra sour cream and red sauce, milk of magneasa, cocaine, coffee enemas, speed, mineral oil, a danger dog from Hollywood, nothing.

Day-11 I couldn't move or wake up. My friend dragged my ass out of bed. I slept through my meeting with my lawyer. I then went back to my car and passed out untill I had to be at work. I some how made it through the day by listning to "Sugar" by Tori Amos on repeat. I was too tired and sick to try anything that day.

Day-12 Alright, I had a cruise that I had paid 300 dollars that was leaving tomorrow. After you haven't shit in 2 weeks you may need a colostomy to remove the feces, and I wasn't about to wear no fanny pack filled with shit to Rosarito. I took 60 Peri-Colace (40 is a lethal dose) with a gallon of mira-lax that I forged a prescription to get. I awoke three hours later with the first urge to shit I had felt in weeks. I crawled excitedly twords the toilet hoping this was the end of this misery. I grabbed an issue of Cosmo and crawled onto the throne

It was all over in 3 seconds. But what a three seconds it was! My asshole permently doubled in size as the "cork" tore my anus to my balls. After that it was all liquid. I was sure there was more to come, but that turned out to be everything.

The next 2 hours was pure torture as the laxative overdose cleared out several major organs and a penny I swallowed when I was three. When I looked at my creation all I saw was brown water that had risen to the rim. I was curios exactly how big it was but was not about to go fishing for it then throw it on the Tanita. I wiped my ass, thighs, balls, the toilet, the walls around the toilet, the ceiling, ect.... Then I popped a morphine and went back to bed.

Length was nothing, that fucker was 2 stone.
(anotherlogan and the whit he shites, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 20:44, 6 replies)

At work and old lady did a runny poo all up the walls in the changing room
and didn't tell anyone, luckily I was at lunch and didn't have to clean it up!
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 20:41, Reply)

sigh
I used to work in a hotel. One floor was dedicated to the storage of bed-linen.

That was the sheet storey.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 20:09, 4 replies)

library
I went through a stage of reading Sci-Fi. One day I borrowed 4 books by 'acclaimed sci-fi author' Ben Bova.

I mean this sincerely too, they were what I'd call shit stories.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 20:07, Reply)

Not me
but my mate, whom we shall call Martin, for tis his name...

We all went out drinking after work one night, ended up in Burger King, then back to the pub, and finished up with a kebab. Yes we were fat bastards, but it felt soooo right at the time!

Anyway, all of this wanton bingeing took its toll on Martin's guts the next day at work, he arrived looking a very strange shade of green, think of those trebor softmints and you're on the right lines.

So, he manages to grimace through an hour of team meeting and then leaves the room for about 30 minutes, re-emerges looking slightly greener (probably green tic tac at this stage) and wafts of putrid odour following him into the room. If you have ever heard the song "Chemical Warfare" by Slayer then Martin's arse was singing a fine tribute.

Several people started retching after his post-nuclear rectal fall-out so the boss woman got the short straw to take him home. In her brand new Jag.

Martin, obviously in quite a state, didnt realise he had small flecks of necrotised shite all down the back of his legs, the smell of his carrion based bowel linings must have seeped in to her plush new leather seats as she kept complaining that the aircon stunk for weeks...
(Suomi_Finland_Perkele knocking 256 shades of shit out of your screen on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 19:57, Reply)

I grew up in Hull...
...if thats not enough. My school had a big problem with graffiti and toilets being destroyed on a regular basis, which led to the head teacher locking ALL the bogs. This meant that every time you had to lay a cable you had to ask the lesson teacher, then go to the deputy-head, get key, shit, return key, return to class to be jeered at for having a crap (even if you only had a wazz). Like most kids I wanted to survive school without being named bab-man etc... One morning just after assembley I needed a turd BIGTIME but decided to wait till lunch, go home and let the lads out there. Complications arose and I found myself having to stay at school, turd DENIED!!!
I somehow managed to turtlehead my way to the end of the school day and left like a shot at 15:30. Making my way home looking like one of those Fast Walking atheletes in the Olympics. I made it to about half a mile from home when the beast broke down the doors. A very solid and warm, Mars-bar sized, item had arrived in my pants. I was wearing boxers at the time and was able to do the jiggle and flick to get it down my trouser-leg and away. The rest of the way home was a battle to keep the poo-Malteesers from getting lodged in my shoes.

Boxers were ruined, soon discarded into the wheeliebin and a shower was in order to deal with my shit caked arse and right leg.

Sorry about the length, at least it wasn't runny...
(Mr.Dog was in love again on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 19:09, Reply)

I have noticed...
that many B3tans have a "where I have been" type map showing countries in the world which they have visited in their profile. My main interest tends to take me out in the middle of nowhere for long periods of time, and on that basis if I knew html (or whatever it is) I could draw up a similar map, but of England, with the various counties that I have shat in in the open air shaded brown.

So far (and this is from memory, there may be more) this includes

Avon
Cambridgeshire
Cleveland
Cornwall
Cumbria
Durham
Fife
Hampshire
Lincolnshire
Northumberland
Suffolk
Tyne and Wear
Wiltshire

A specialist one I'd agree in the real world, but maybe not here.

Length? Very much so.

Edit: Sorry, Britain.
(tinypod will never learn. Ever., Fri 28 Mar 2008, 18:57, 1 reply)

Shakes on a plane
Yes, that should read shakes, not snakes.

Several years ago, flying back to dear old Edinburgh from sunny Majorca - thank god its a fairly short flight.

The holiday squits had started the day before travelling home, and the various stages had been gone through. The gentle beginning of thinking "ooh, that was a bit squidgy" to the "holy shitting christ" of Krakatoa-esque explosions, finally settling down to the "don't make me go more than ten feet from a loo, for all our sakes" desperation stage. Afraid to fart, cheeks clenched tightly at all times, just in case.

Arrive at the airport, check-in queue moving fast, quick sprint to the loo. Through passport control, quick sprint to the loo. Tour duty-free, quick sprint to the loo. You get the picture.

Finally board our plane, seated in the second row, only feet from the crapper. Result!

Take off was all normal, although I swear it took twice as long as usual for the seat-belt light to go off, and all the while my stomach was gurgling like a high school chemistry experiment. At last, the light blinked out, and in a flash I was in the wee room, thankfully still with clean pants (it was close, believe me). Britannia will never know how close I came to ruining one of their seats for all time.

The flight settled into routine, with me leaping for the loo every twenty minutes or so, and I began to think I'd make it. Until the seat-belt light went back on, with a mumbled announcement about turbulence. Oh no. Really oh no.

For the forty long minutes until we landed, I was in agony. The plane was bouncing around the sky, lightning was underneath us, and normally I'd have thoroughly enjoyed myself. I was clenching my buttocks so tight I could have cracked walnuts. I was squeezing so hard I was physically shaking with the effort.

The landing was a bit bumpy, and that really didn't help. I was first off the plane, and thank god Edinburgh has toilets right after passport control. I was in there for twenty minutes, and at one point was resting my flushed face against the nice cool partition wall when JuniorWitch#1 came looking for me. I grunted that I wouldn't be long, and chanced rising. To immediately sit straight back down. More explosions, and it was at long last over.

By the grace of affordable housing we only live ten minutes from the airport, and at last I was back on my own throne. With Andrex. I had earache from the landing, took two co-codamol my neighbour provided, and inadvertently discovered they have an immodium-like effect on the bowels (or at least on mine).

Every holiday since then, I take two co-codamol if I get the squits and it works a treat. I can't take more than two, or I end up not shitting for a week - and I'm not sure which is worse.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Fri 28 Mar 2008, 18:47, Reply)

Izal toilet paper...
Who is God's name thought that it would be any good at cleaning someone's bum. It just moves everything around and it hurts your fanny.
( girlinthehole, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 18:30, 7 replies)

x10
i have ulcerative colitis and when its bad i have to go to the loo up to ten times a day,shitting a lovely mixture of shit, blood, mucous, diarrhoea, and sometimes just blood. this goes on for days and can catch you in all sorts of places. For example, getting to work early and not being able to get in to poo and shitting in the drain round the back.
Or walking along the street and having to run to someones driveway and shitting on the side of their path.
What fun i have with my bum.
( Dont point it at your face up the ass, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 18:17, 1 reply)

when he was a toddler
my brother would often be found sitting behind the couch with a big smile on his face and half a turd in his hand.
oh, and a big, shitty ring around his mouth.
dirty little gobshite.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 18:12, Reply)

The water of doom
Que first beautiful, warm day of the year
que fat spliff and a nice walk

The sky is blue and the birds are chirping and i have a slight pressure from my intestines, but think nothing of it

Half hour into the walk i decide to light up the spliff at a nice secluded bush down some alley
it is at this point that I realize the slight pressure i felt down below is the brewings of a full-scale battle that is about to be raged

By this point i am not a little high and a half-hours walk away from my room and this is when i feel the first drip

The first thing that came into my mind was "incontinence" and i thought of old people shiting themselves in diapers--not a good thought when the next one is of YOU doing so

Relaxed pace turns into frantic speed-walk as my asshole apparantly starts to lose the battle to hold the damn closed, much like a stoned superman would have

The dripping feeling continues much to my dismay but i see my dorms ahead, just a 5 minute walk away. I can already tell there is very little if any solid matter in my future, but likely there will be much toilet paper

Did i mention they dont like us smoking ganja and coming back to the dorms? Obviously not something at the fore-front of my mind at this point

As i burst through the door and start sprinting up the stairs i hear familiar voices at my landing, and sure enough the RAs who busted me the week before are sitting there waiting for god-knows what, but certainly ready to give my reeking-of-joint self a good talking to

i guess i scared them away with the splattering sounds from the bathroom because they certainly werent there when i got out 15 minutes later

the feeling of instantly losing 5 pounds of water plus the relief of not getting busted plus the fat spliff=best shit of my life
(Rum Blumpkin, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 17:44, 1 reply)

Khaki floater of doom
Many years ago I had to go on a family holiday to Greece, and whilst on a trip to the beach the foreign food did what foreign food does. Unfortunately for me, there were no public bogs anywhere on this beach and apparently no cover whatsoever. The only solution appeared to be to swim out to sea and release the turd as far from shore as possible. The turd turned out to be rather large and a pale khaki colour that made it easy to see. It did, of course, float, and immediately headed for shore.
I swam in as fast as I could, intending to find some sort of receptacle so that I could scoop it up and hide it before someone noticed, but I was too slow. As I reached the shore the turd floated past the face of another swimmer. He turned out to sea to find the culprit and spotted my mother and brother in the vicinity of where I had released it, who received a shaken fist and some foreign curses for "their" filthy deed.
(knirirr, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 17:11, Reply)

What's Greek for Shit?
The year was 1999, and a group of us who had just finished our studies at the world-renowned Braintree College of Further Education decided that it was Time For A Holiday. Our destination?

The picturesque Greek island of Zakynthos.

I don’t know if it’s true of all Greek islands, or even Greece itself, but the first thing that we were told at the orientation meeting was this:

“For the love of all that is holy, when you have a poo and wipe your bum, put the tissue in the bin.” Apparently, the plumbing on the island dates back to the time of Plato, and really can’t stand having tissue running through it as well as all the other detritus. Anyway, thanks for the info, nice lady – if you would kindly show me to the bar I’ll be out of your hair!

Roll on 11 days, and we’re nearing the end of our holiday. Lounging by the pool, eyeing up the locals, the conversation inevitably turned to matters of the smallest room.

“I dunno about you guys,” I said “but I’m tired of putting the tissue in the bin. It just doesn’t feel civilised.”
“I know what you mean,” said someone else “I feel sorry for the maids.”

Silence reigned for a couple of seconds.

“Hang on…” said Suzi, “what do you mean “putting tissue in the bin”? You haven’t been flushing your poo away, have you?”
“Um, yes… Why?”
“You bloody idiots!” She yelled “You’re not meant to put any solids down the toilet or it’ll block the drains!”

It turned out (to cut a long story short), that Suzi hadn’t listened properly. She had, instead of passing her jobbies into the toilet, been folding tissue paper in to her hand, pooing on to that, and depositing the whole shitty, tissuey mess in to the small bin by the throne.

She left the maid a big tip, in more ways than one.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:55, 7 replies)

Hunt the tommy...
This was the name of the game that we used to play during pub crawls. A gang of at least 20 of us aged anywhere upto early 20's depending on experience would usually play this nasty to brighten up the more quieter pubs along the route. The rules were simple and often expanded on as the weeks unfolded. Initially someone would have a dump in the pub toilets, deliberately missing the bowl. After announcing "tommies on" the challenge was then to drink-up and get out of the place before the alarm was raised. As the weeks went by the stakes got higher, seasoned pro's would actually shit into their bog-roll covered hands to enable the most bizzarre locations for the said turd to be deposited. A points system then evolved for the most outrageous appearances. Often we'd resort to the hide'n'seek version if the layer had taken the trouble to hide the log, a true case of sniffing out the prize. Common practice was the top of the cystern, the pool table pocket, behind the odd curtain, the end of the bar even! The more memorable was one left in a half drunk pint glass of bitter and the creme de la creme being an actual drop kick that splattered the optics behind a crowded bar. The most destructive was laid at a private party. A guy actually took the trouble to dismatle a bathroom light fitting and leave his freshest offering enclosed inside the light/heater and re-affix. Weeks after the party, the poor girls parents had the entire back garden dug-up by the water company, looking for the "blockage!" Can you imagine their reaction on the discovery of the real problem? That one still brings a chuckle when recollected, nearly 20years ago now! He-he!! Nice one Bob...
(minky, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:51, Reply)

An interesting take on the subject!!!
Safe for work.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOU8GIRUd_g
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:49, 3 replies)

Mouse shit
I have a bit of a shit problem in my office at the moment.

I don't really mind mice, but when you come in every morning to find tiny balls of crap all over your desk, it gets a bit annoying. And puts me off my breakfast, too.

So I've come up with a plan. I shall round up every last mouse in the building, and sew their arseholes closed.

Unfortunately I've not caught one yet.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:43, 1 reply)

The Shame
I'm not even going to write a story about this one....I'm just leaving you the photographic evidence. Make of it what you will and be thankful I've simply linked to it and not posted it in all it's technicolour goodness.

Yes, it's me.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:39, 8 replies)

Don't, Just Don't
On a trip to New York, whilst enjoying the best Americana on offer, I thought:

"I'm in New York, what better way to get the authentic New York experience, than by buying a pretzel from a pretzel vendor"

Any New Yorkers on the board probably just choked on their coffees...

Now I like the big pretzels especially with herbs and what have you, but had never had a salt one before. To say that this pretzel had more salt on it than was in all the oceans of the earth would be an understatement.

The fallout from the pretzel didn't manifest itself until the evening, when in a restaurant, my body gave me a 5 second warning. I made my excuses and had a good half hour splatterfest in the restaurant's facilities.

On my return feeling somewhat refreshed, my concerned companions enquired if I was OK, to which I replied that I was and that that pretzel I'd gone out of the way for earlier had upset my stomach a bit.

I was blissfully unaware of what was to come the next morning...

Departure Day, 5am: I sit bolt upright with pains in my abdomen and rush to the toilet. Despite a lot straining I produce nothing but slightly murky water. I go back to bed only to do the same half hour later. This process continues until 9am when things step up a gear.

The pain feels like I have lava flowing through my lower intestine whilst simultaneously having fire demons in there poking me with pitchforks.

At this point I was half-naked, lying in a foetal position, whimpering like a dog, fingers digging into the mattress, and tears of pain streaming down my face. It was and still is the most pain I have ever been in.

The time to leave for the flight was getting closer, and my partner had gone off to get some breakfast. I was at the point of thinking that I would end up in a hospital in New York having my digestive system replaced, when a final pang signalled I should get myself to a water closet. I ran and released.

That moment was like a sunrise, birds flew into the sky, opera music was heard, babies were born, I think I may even have seen god.

My partner came back to find me withered but otherwise fine, my ordeal was over, but I was 15 stone lighter and a bit more grey in appearance.

Never, never, never, never, never, never ever get a salt pretzel from a vendor in New York.
(stubbledchin, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:33, 1 reply)

A story from my father
who is an archaeologist, specialising in Cental American stuff (I won't be any more specific than that). He used to take digs out there every year few a few months, with him and his students/colleagues setting up little tent villages on site in the jungle.

The loos for the site are literally in a tent, built over a large hole, that gets filled in and moved on every so often, as soon as its full. Obviously, this gets very unsavoury very quickly (especially in Belizian heat), so many prefer the alternative of heading off into the jungle with a spade and some loo roll. The local wild pigs soon developed a taste for human excrement, and would root around the freshly dug earth, snaffling up the recently-buried logs.

Eventually, people stopped taking spades with them for their daily shit; there was no point, as it'd just be dug up staight away again. The pigs grew to recognise the "picking up of the loo roll and heading off with a purposeful air" signs, and would follow the shitter, waiting around with looks of hungry anticipation as (s)he did their business, and then leap onto the freshly-laid turds with the ferocity of Heather Mills at a divorce hearing.

The only catch was trying to remember what these pigs looked like when shooting animals for food. They really didn't want to eat something that had been living off a diet of roots, nuts and raw sewage.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:33, 8 replies)

Where I used to work
there was a turd discovered in the ladies loo that was so big it was resting on the seat.
We never did find out who did it.

BTW has anyone used one of those 'Superloos' that still haunt our town centres?

And would you use
www.random-good-stuff.com/2006/08/27/see-through-public-toilet/]
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:32, 5 replies)

A cute little one

Just remembered something. When Mrs G and I were potty training our young sprog, we taught her to say "I've been and gone and done it" when she had managed to produce something solid in the potty. It made potty time fun for us anyway - and gave us ammo to tease her with when she got to teenagehood.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 16:30, 1 reply)