Fantastic Mr Fox
...lived under a tree (in the Roald Dahl book). The tree really exists, just up the road from Dahl's house. As kids, we used to climb the tree -- somehow it had developed a sort of natural deck of branches and twigs about four or five feet off the ground, which made it an ideal place to lark about and generally get up to smashing japes etc.

Anyway on one such occasion, I suddenly became aware of an imminent eruption in my nether regions. It was clear from the unpleasant sensations that this was to be no ordinary poo, so rather than conceal myself behind the nearest hedge I opted to make a dash for home -- a few hundred yards at most.

Sadly, it wasn't to be. As I arrived at the entrance to the close where we lived, somewhat out of breath and desperately clenching my poophole, the inevitable happened.

Now I had opted to wear my wellies that day, it having been a little damp in the morning, and had made the fashionable choice to tuck my trousers in. Thus I trudged -- now with tears rolling down my cheeks, to add to my shame -- the last few yards home, with the feeling of warm shit slithering its stinky way down my trouser legs and gathering in squishy pools around my feet.

A few years ago, the tree fell over. I don't believe these two events are connected.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 10:38, Reply)