Highway To Hell
Or to be more specific, the A5. Or if you're really into roadnames, elementary deduction and wish to stalk me in a worrying manner, the A55, A483 and then the A5. Happy now?

As previously mentioned, I have a bathroom that resembles the pitlane at a Grand Prix. Very limited time in the morning with everyone charging around getting off to work/school/nursery etc. One's downloading facilities have evolved to produce morning dump Part 1 at 0730, with Part 2 emerging once I've got to work.

Not this time, sucker.

Charging around, grabbing phone, keys, fags etc, I sense a slight warning twinge from the bowel department. Not having partaken of anything particularly spicy the night before, I think that I can ride this one out until I can get to work and drop the payload on my employer's time.

Into car. Vroom vroom. Traffic. Hmmm, bit of a cramp there *shifts uneasily*.

Vroom vroom. Passing the delightful town of Wrexham, CRAMPS. Aaaaarrrgghhh that fucking hurt! *sweat starts to bead on brow*. Speed now verging on the daft as I stare manically through the windscreen.

Vooom onto the A5. Two minutes later I realise I have just passed a MacDonalds. Buggerfucktitwankshittybollocks.

Keep going! Next services approaching - oh hang on, their bogs are the customer-only-have-to-queue-and-ask-for-the-key ones. No way I'll manage.

Faster! Next services, car screeches to a halt, I roll out in a foetal position and stumble like I've been gutshot toiletwards. This is going to feel soooo good.....WHAT? Toilets are in Burger King. Which doesn't open until 1000. Mummy.

Back to car. Warp Factor Don't Shit Yourself. I can manage, I can manage. The cramps appear to be dying away, and I even manage to slip out a quick 'pfft' without soilage, so the pressure on the old teatowel holder has dropped from ludicrous to merely silly. Vroom Vroom.

I actually GO PAST the next services without stopping as I now feel in control of the Rebel Scum Colon.

Whoops.

I am now on the final furlong, of toilet-less road. I am almost there, when the cramps and sweats start again. The dulcet tones of Messrs Humphreys et al have long since been replaced with primal moaning.

Into carpark. Gingerly I get out of the car in a manner least likely to put fatal pressure on the throbbing supercharged poo factory that used to be in harmony with nature and knew its damn place.

Waddling like a duck that had been indecently assaulted by a Canada Goose, I enter the building. Luckily my desk is on a direct path to the bogs so I can sling my bag in its general direction before surreptitiously loosening my belt......only 10 feet to the nearest toilet.....5 feet.....please let it be empty, just please.....JOY....slam door.

With a balletic grace, the kecks are down, shreddies follow as I whirl into position. However before buttock contacts seat, something happens....

...SCHPLUD....splosh...blupblupblup...

Uh-oh.

Lid, seat, bowl and floor have turned a particularly turmericy yellow shade of horrible.

One hour later, thanking the Flying Spaghetti Monster that there had been spare bog roll and a sink as it was the cripple crapper I had violated, I leave, a shaken, considerably lighter and thoughtful man.

They replaced the permanently stained plastic seat and lid a few days later.

I no longer try to hold on past the services.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 11:18, 2 replies)

Highway to Hell
Laughed out loud in the office, have you ever thought of story telling on the Richard and Judy show ??
(Dr. Fizzing Clopper, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 14:12, closed)

Nicely told
*click*
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 14:20, closed)