Jim's Rectal Riddle
Being a healthy young man I have no problems in this particular area. However, like everyone else, I have served my time in the Circle of Hades reserved for those who are loose of rectum. Mine was triggered by a dodgy omelette the night before, by eggs which were at this point several weeks out of date.

At the time, I was working in a call centre, which as you can no doubt imagine means you are effectively glued to your chair. This isn't exactly conducive towards maintaining a clean pair of kecks if you were afflicted in the manner I was.

Over the course of the morning, I was suffering from terrible back pain. I assumed I'd slept funny- oh how wrong I was. Whilst I was dealing with a particularly nasty customer (oddly enough, called Mrs Shitta!) on the phone who was moaning about 20p on her bill, the back pain reached a crescendo. And then, I felt a seepage. Oh God. Dealing very quickly with the remainder of the call, and trying not to catch the eyes of my colleagues, I hightailed it to the bogs to inspect the damage, of which there was not a sauage! Not a single clagnut. Not one. How? I don't know... but then I felt a rumbling.

Oh dear, I thought, as I moved with the speed of a severely constipated ninja looking for a bog. So, down I park, and wait for the feacal fireworks to begin- and oh boy did they begin. When I was done with the bog I swear I heard it whimper. I flushed as best I could, and having no bog brush to clean up the mess with, I reluctantly left the mess for a cleaner to deal with. However my cup of woe was not fully drained. Not by a long shot.

I managed to get myself excused from work for the rest of the day, by going into excruciating detail with my boss of the time. I think she let me go so she wouldn't have to hear any more of my buttocular botherations.

So, off I waddled home, and managed to get to the train station without any problems. However, upon reaching the train station, once again I felt that all too familiar rumblings. It seemed my turd trouble was far from over. Suffice to say another toilet was pebbledashed into submission. As I evacuated myself from the now cursed shitbox, someone else came in to use it. I took a rather perverse pleasure in seeing him come straight out considerably paler than when he went in. To cut a long story short, I ended up erm... decorating two more thunderboxes on the way home. It was as though Satan's firehose had somehow become connected with my backside!

As most stories such as this go, I ended up getting home, and spent the rest of the day surgically attached to the porcelain throne, with naught but a large glass of water, several bog rolls and a good book for company. It was not a good day. But to this day I am still puzzled as to how my underwear got off scot free!
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 31 Mar 2008, 21:24, 4 replies)

Get A Click For
"buttocular botherations"


I think I'll use that in the future.
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 2:14, closed)

oh you made me chuckle.
If I could give you multiple clicks I would.

buttocular botherations - need to work that into normal conversation.

cursed shitbox and thunderbox - oh dear, tears in my eyes from laughing.

great job!
(Lurkaloid awarded wanking black belt on, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 3:36, closed)

pebbledashed into submission
Fantastic, sounds like some sort of wrestling move!
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 10:34, closed)

buttocular botherations
True class! Like what Legless already saided.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 3 Apr 2008, 12:21, closed)