Poo Sticks
Used to play this game at a friend's house.

Open the drain cover by back door, proceed to toilet and drop log, flush toilet and rush downstairs out back door and try and see your 'poo stick' before it passes down drain.

Never quite managed to see the 'stick' but by use of out stretched arm flushing, launching myself simultaneously downstairs and sprinting to back door, I did once manage to catch the tissue paper tail sliding into the sewer.
(lardyboy Next stop, Fissplap Central, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 10:12, Reply)

i must spend a lot of time in the toilet...
another one :)

went into bathroom. had slash. turned to sink to wash and coughed. lightly.

burst a disk in my spine, cue screaming agony and near paralysis for 4 months. couldn't do a damn thing.
(unlawful odour i dunno..., Wed 7 Sep 2005, 10:05, Reply)

Black Friday
A Mate of mine, who we shall call ‘Business’ for he is always ‘doing the business’ with the girls in the office, was enjoying a lunchtime shandy at our local hostelry – a Chav filled Lloyds No1 Bar. Anyway, the lunchtime shandy descended into an 8 Pinter, and around 3 pm he decided he needed a dump so off he toddled downstairs.

A minute or so later he returned, apparently the bogs were out of loo roll.

He went up to the bar and demanded ‘Oy, barmaid, Got any shitrag?’ to which he was given one of those bales of about 40 rolls. Off he went back downstairs with the bale over his shoulder, whole pub wetting themselves, to the cry of ‘ Phone Esholt lads, there’s a big one coming through’ (Esholt being Yorkshire water’s local Shit sieve)’

Anyway apparently he had a very satisfying poo, and we all returned to work about 4pm absolutely twatted. Hence Black Friday.

No size related gag this week – can’t be ARSEd – It’ a SHIT idea anyway, and we all must be POTTY to do it every week. Groan
( ogwen69 has returned from Reddit, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 10:03, Reply)

Marvels of Soviet engineering
I worked in a beautifully restored East German town about 10 years after reunification. Among the many interesting stories I heard from my local colleagues were some of the thousands of reasons they hated the Russians.

The Russian army had appropriated a largish chunk of the middle of town. Anyone who has been the to old Eastern Bloc countries knows the old communist mentality regarding architecture: build it, forget about it. Maintenance? Cleanliness? Paint? Who needs 'em?

In any case ... toilets. When the army moved into their nice, old HQ building, the Russian masters plumbers immediately proceeded to brick up the entire ground floor, windows, doors and all. Stairs were added outside for access to the new entry level, i.e. the next floor up (1st floor for us, 2nd floor for the Yanks) and a hole was cut in the floor of said 1st and/or 2nd floor. This was the toilet. The hole. With fantastic drainage into ... the floor below.

Well, fast forward through 20-30 years of borscht and cabbage being shat down in there and the Russians pull up stakes and leave the now reunified Germany.

The poor bastards given the job of restoring downtown were left with 30 years of petrified Soviet souvenirs to deal with. It was soon discovered that you can't clean or remove or dissolve or wipe up human waste on this scale.

They dynamited the historical building, coprolite and all, and carted it off in tiny little pieces.

... No wonder the Soviets treated the locals so badly: imagine working in the HQ on a hot summers day ...
( Ebay_is_"be"_in_Pig_Latin, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 9:24, Reply)

asda wallmart loo
at derby, about 2 month ago, i had to use the bogs at the asda wallmart in spondon. i finished my business and was then greeted by the sight and smell of a stupid twat who somehow had managed to cover himself, his clothes and his wallet in shite. he said "its not shit"
obviously it was, as he smelled like the river thames, and he was covered in brown marks!
cunt

no need for girth, its the length that matters (or the lack of it) eep!
(beast on toast has xpango=> http://www.xpango.com?ref=90520974, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 9:06, Reply)

public toilet
it's a great name for a club.

it is a club.

it's a great club.

it's in spitalfields.

it's open on mondays from 4am until 10am.

it's wrong.

it's very very wrong.

it's great!!!!!!!!!!!
(chives, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 8:42, Reply)

"I CAN DO IT!"
A couple of years ago I was in the Super Walmart in West Plains(the next town over from where I live), when nature calls so while I'm doing my thing at one of the urinals I hear a woman's voice coming from the enclosed toilet stall, "Don't DO that, you'll piss in your face again!", she says, to which I hear a man reply, "I CAN DO IT!", in the most mung voice I've ever heard in my entire life!
(zerodin has magical powers., Wed 7 Sep 2005, 8:39, Reply)

Fruit with your vomit, sir?
Picture the scene, about 10 years ago, at a house party in my early teens, with a group of chums who were just starting to smoke pot.

So, about 15-20 of us, underage drinking, a few spliffs kicking about and general frivolity had by one & all.

All was going very well, everyone was having a good night, myself included, until I contracted my very first pot-induced "Whitey".

As any smoker knows, this is where - basically - you're too stoned. Your skin goes white, you might get some clammy sweats, and you just need to sit it out for a while.

Or vomit.
Copiously, in this case.

The host of the party had a toilet built into the alcove under the stairs, and I dived into it, and spent probably the next hour there bringing my guts up bit by bit.

It was a physically exhausting honking session, and - naturally - some of my friends became worried at the amount of time spent in there.

So, there's knocks on the door every so often an calls of "are you ok?" until one well meaning friend insists I open the door as he has something that will help.

I reluctantly open the door, and am presented with an apple.
An Apple.

"This'll help" he insists, thrusting the thing at me.

In my semi-inebriated, vomit-exhausted state I manage to politely decline before closing the door again & falling asleep in the tiny cupboard....
(Soupy Twist BEST BEFORE:, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 8:11, Reply)

my best mate nick
told me a wonderful story. nick had no qualms about crimping off a length anywhere, be it a public toilet or the house of a new friend. he would also tell us reasonably loudly he was "going to lighten the load". one fine day he wandered into some delightful public toilets - the ones in the indoor market in leicester - so im led to believe. as he was curling off the mother load he noticed a small hole in the wall to the next cubicle. fair enough, there must have been a screw for the bog roll holder or what ever. it was only when he started to hear the unmistakable fwapp fwapp fwapp, like a chinook taking off it dawned on him. glory be its a glory hole. as calm and as sound a chap as nick was he was disturbed and angered. enough to calmly roll a ciggie, light it take a few puffs and jam it throught the hole. the fwappage stopped and he ran. fast. to another toilet to go and clean himself up a bit. nice
( bertisfantastic bert is a sleepy bear, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 7:57, Reply)

Tiny Fury of the Forest
This didn't occur in a public toilet, it occured in the Great Outdoors. Nonetheless, I think it's pretty funny:

Due to an extremely regrettable combination of drinking Thursday and Friday nights, pizza, and Taco Bell, halfway up a fairly good-sized hill on a Saturday hike I realized that I was about to have an extreme Intestinal Experience. It was the kind of Intestinal Experience which causes you to be incredibly aware, deep in the forest, that there are NO restroom facilities for at least a good mile and a half around, and there is no way in hell that you are going to make it there, unless, of course, you prefer your Intestinal Experiences in your pants. If you know what I mean.

And so I told my companion to go on ahead, as I was going to need some privacy.

I walked off the trail a fair bit, found a tree that offered visual privacy, dropped trou, and set upon the task before (or behind) me.

Now, the tree that I chose was entirely surrounded by a deep layer of moss, and the trail itself was very soft and spongy, so I was making almost no sound whatsoever before I got behind the tree. You really couldn't hear footfalls. I'm assuming that this allowed me to surprise the denizen of said tree--an extremely small (and extremely pissed) squirrel.

So there I am, in possibly the most undignified posture I've ever been in, my bowels squelching and squirting, and this tiny little squirrel no bigger than a moderately sized pastry is screeching at me less than two feet from my head. Perhaps it had wee squirrel babes up there, but still. I outsized it by about a factor of 150, and there it is, flicking its little fluffy tail back and forth and making Extremely Upset Squirrel Squeaks.

"Shut UP!" I said. "I'm not a predator, goddammit!"

Of course, it did not. Not once, during the entire uncomfortable duration of my turd-passing.

You really haven't experienced absurdity until you've been chewed out by a squirrel while having unscheduled diarrhea in the woods.
(herbivorous, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 7:50, Reply)

Skeletor
Back in the day, a friend was doing promotions & PR for a notable Mancunian cultural establishment. It seems that about 50% of this promotional "work" involved going on lavish jollies which were organised by similar folk.

'Twas on such an occasion that she found herself in the executive suite at Old Trafford, being wined and dined along with the great and the good.

While her BF was staring goggle eyed at the proceedings on the pitch, she took herself off to powder her nose.

The toilets in the executive suite were as clean and glamorous as the rest of the surroundings, but the experience was marred by the monstrous honking, chuffing and parping noises coming from one of the cubicles.

Finally, the noises ceased and the door opened.

Who should emerge, grinning like a cat with a strawberry-flavoured arse? Posh Spice! (as she was called at the time).

"I wouldn't have thought she ate enough to *need* to poo!", was my corresponent's comment.
(apologies_for_length, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 7:10, Reply)

butterknife
An old mate of mine related to me this story one fine spring morning:

Earlier that day he had gone to have a piss in the toilet he shared with his flatmate. Now, as he was weeing he noticed a butterknife lying on the counter by the toilet. Curious as to what it was doing there he made an inquiry of his flatmate, who somewhat ashamedly replied that he'd accidentally poo'd in the shower and, not wanting to touch it to get it to the loo, had used the butterknife to chop up the loaf into small enough pieces to fit down the shower drain.

Needless to say they disposed of the knife.
(haust, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 4:36, Reply)

Yellow tartan cap
I was about 19 and was reluctantly using the toilets in the local town centre. I squeezed out a No.2 as fast as I could but was rather concerned at the fwapping noise from the next cubicle. I also had this uncanny feeling that I was being watched - which I was. I looked up to see a pair of eyes and a yellow tartan cap peering over the next cubicle.

After some shouted expletives and the quickest of wipes I was out the door in order to confront my "admirer" - who had a good 20 seconds head start on me. Still, I kept the yellow tartan capped foe in sight until I lost him around a corner.

Fuming, I carried on walking home until... standing at the bus stop with his back to me was the yellow tartaned foe.
I tapped him on the shoulder and drew my fist into a clench for when he turned around. He turned around and it was in that moment that I found out one of my friends was gay.
We exchanged some awkward pleasantries with no reference made to the toilet incident.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 2:04, Reply)

Old Man Hospital Poo
Last Christmas my fella was quite ill (dodgy kidneys) and had to go into hospital for about a week as his piss looked like vimto. Being a young-ish lad and all (20), it was decided that to put him with the old men would be slightly cruel, as most of these old joes were a bit demented and a whole ward of them produced a gigantic old person smell, not to mention the amount of grumbling that went on day and night. So they shove him in a little room on the end of this ward.
Every day I go in for a couple of hours to keep him company and to take him cheese sandwiches and Yazoo. And for a few days he's been watching tv and reading books and being cheeky to the nurses who ask him if he does voodoo and sacrifices goats (strange people the NHS are employing these days, wouldn't mind if he was a goffick but he's not). So anyway, it's his fourth day there and I go to take him his sandwich and a nice shiny balloon, and I get there and he has a look of complete horror on his face. Upon asking what the hell is wrong, he proceeds to tell me what happened to him the previous night - Whilst dropping off to sleep, he hears someone walking around outside his room. Thinks nothing of it, figuring that it's probably a nurse going about her nightly business. He was wrong. Very wrong. The door to his room opens, and in walks an old man, stumbling all over the place in the dark, mumbling something about finding his trousers. Rummages through the washing pile in the corner, then just walks into all the walls of the room. By this time, fella is just staring in shocked disbelief, thinking it's some kind of old person zombie type thing that has come to eat what remains of his kidneys, and by this point, is pretty fucking freaked out. However, things get worse, as the old man walks over to fella's bed, drops his old man style jama bottoms, and unashamedly just curls a huge one out on the floor, has a good look at the thing, then potters off. Fella gets up, and in his shoeless, sockless, traumatised state, carefully tiptoes around the mess, and in his pants, proclaims that he is leaving to the nearest nursey he sees, who promptly just shoves him back into the shitty room and tells him to stop making a fuss. Even after they cleaned it up, he said that it was still there in spirit, haunting him. Also, the windows didn't open. Nice.
(Hanargh, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 1:38, Reply)

In this life....
one thing counts,
in the bowl,
large amounts.

*plop! splash! plop! splash! plop! splash! plop! splash!*
(widdy, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 1:38, Reply)

Respected pillar of the community my arse...
The following story is, sadly, true. God I wish it wasn't. The names and locations have been changed to protect the reputations of the prominent academics involved.

August, 2003.

Mrs lawofnations was completing her degree at a London college connected with a famous museum in the South Kensington area. As part of this final part of the degree, she had to give a presentation. I had just quit my job in preparation of moving away from London, so turned up to give moral support.

Mrs lawofnations' office was on the third floor of the museum. As she was putting the finishing touches to her presentation, I felt the urge to drain the snake. I asked her where the toilets were, she told me, and I left.

Some time later I returned, looking shocked, bemused and appalled. What had happened to me in the intervening moments. Therein lies the sordid tale...

I went to the toilets. They were cramped and old. One urinal, one stall, and the urinal was already in use. I had to squeeze past the old man stood at the urinal in order to actually get into the stall. I shut the door, bolted it and prepared to void the bladder.

I was stopped in my efforts by the grunt from the old man at the urinal. "Jeezus" I thought. "It can't be fun trying to take a slash at that age - sounds painful." Oh, if only this old chap had a bladder infection...

The grunts became more frequent and intense. And louder. Now, I don't know if anyone has ever had the dawning realisation that the man next to you is having a hand shandy, but there's nothing quite like it to completely eviscerate your desire, or ability, to pee. So I am now stood there, lad in hand, desperate to piss and quite unable to, being serenaded by the geriatric onanist next to me.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this point. It was simultaneously hilarious and appalling. And then it got worse. He got more and more vocal.

"ooooh". "oooooh". "OOOOOH GABY!!!"

As the fwappage reached a crescendo, he bellowed "2, 5, 7, 9". There was then the horrid sound of something that sounded like a vast wad of wet paper hitting porcelain - what I now know to be the sound of what must have been a gargantuan volume of old man jizz - followed by handfuls of paper towels being grabbed and rubbed vigourously against "something".

Then the old man left. Five minutes later, when I felt it was safe. I left too.

I related all of the above to Mrs lawofnations. We used the museum intranet to try to identify Old Man Wanky and to find out if there were any "Gabys" who could have fuelled this senile masturbatory fantasy. I had only seen the man from behind, so couldn't identify him. There were three people called "Gaby" (or phonetic variant) - interestingly only two were female...

After the presentation, Mrs lawofnations, her friend U and I had coffee together. I told U the story, which delighted and appalled in equal measure. As the conversation moved on to less disgusting topics, the door of the coffee lounge opened. An old man in a familiar tweed suit walked past. My jaw dropped. I couldn't get the words out. Eventually I attracted the attention of the missus and U and spluttered "It's him!! That's him!!! The wanker!!!"

U looked, and almost choked on her coffee. "But that's Professor Snugglesworth - he's a respected pillar of the scientific community!"

Snugglesworth is in his seventies, so it's impressive that he's still able to so aggressively go at it. As to the string of numbers he shouted during the vinegar strokes, god alone knows what THAT was about. A lifetime tally or something?

Curiously, another person we know who works at the museum, and worked under Prof. Snugglesworth (so to speak) informed us that this wouldn't be the first time that a "respected pillar of the scientific community" has been caught having a quick one off the wrist in the museum.

Always the quiet ones, eh?
(lawofnations, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 0:22, Reply)

A bizarre thing I have just learnt,
in the pub about an hour ago with mates; I raised the subject of (I don't know why I did - these things enter my mind and I have no way of not saying them aloud) - how many generations of humans did it take before they worked out to masturbate? Then I asked whether anyone remembered being shocked when they first wank/frigged themselfs until they came.

Anyway! My friend (I WILL CALL HIM MATT AS THAT IS HIS DAMN NAME), when he was little, used to think that when he had an erection; it meant he needed a poo. So whenever he got one, he would go and sit on the toilet!

I secretly hope he still does.

And my other friend's step-brother once smeared himself head to toe in poo to get attention when he had a babysitter. O.O
( stevierar, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 0:12, Reply)

dear misskittykate1
not only lollipops ... was a little drunk, was in a pub loo, saw the vending machine selling M&M flavoured condoms, thought "ah ha, what a laugh, will offer them to my girlfriend" so put in a quid and got ... a wee box of M&Ms ... WTF buys sweeties in a pub toilet?
no anxiety dreams about toilets though but i did dream a kid falling through some ice in a frozen harbour the other night (oops, off topic)
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Wed 7 Sep 2005, 0:02, Reply)

recurring toilet dream
I have a recurring dream in which toilet cubicles are really really really long but the normal width so you lock the door behind you and then walk for about a minute and then you reach the toilet. But even more disconcerting than that, the door and cubicle walls only reach waist height. And the rows of toilets are back to back. And the room that the toilets are in is always really big with very high ceilings, almost some kind of toilet hangar. so you lock the door behind you and turn to make the trek to your toilet and all you can see is a line of people sitting in the distance, each on their own toilet, some facing you, some facing away, and the occassional person mid-trek. god forbid you accidentally enter your cubicle at the same time as someone near enters theirs because then you'll have to walk to the toilets and it looks like you're with them when in fact it's all a horrible mistake. and in the dreams i know this is the normal toilet set-up but still i'm feeling all the discomfort of communal defecation and no one else seems to think it at all strange. and the expanse of wasted corridory cubicle for some reason strikes terrible fear in my heart.
i'll just lie on this couch shall i?
(fubar, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 23:47, Reply)

Toilet traumas
Hi...first post, so be gentle.

What in the name of all things good and pure inspired people to start selling lolly pops in nightclub toilets? Oooh I just had a pee, what I really need now is chupa chups.

It is sick and wrong if you ask me.

Apologies for length - its not the girth or the size, but how many times you make it rise...
(MissKittyKate1, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 23:17, Reply)

Love Shack
Papa Joe's in Brussels, a rough old Ex-Pat bar, previously Twickers, then O'Dwyers, and now, imaginatively 'The Pub', good music, dancing on the shelves, people taking off clothes, a new fashion drink every week, a place where people told you afterwards what you did there ;-)

The disgusting, tiny, falling down toilets, right next to the bar.

The Gentlemen's Loo was renamed 'Mick XXXX's Love Shack' for the amount of times said fat ugly Oirish Fecker managed to lure drunk young girls (from all over europe) in there for a quickie.

Most of these nubile young things were on temporary attachment to the European Commission to get experience of life in Brussels...

That was an experience for them!

I hear he is a millionare businessman now, good on ya fatty :-)
(woffy, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 22:28, Reply)

i once ate too much hash
i was trying get rid of an enormous stast rather than bring it through the channel tunnel. all was going well. i passed paris and was so munted i could hardly see. as i was sitting on the back of the school coach i was feeling the burn of a very queasy set of small bowel movements. i thought i would be ok. i was stoned as a cnut but i could like with it. we finally got into the train to take us back to blighty. things got worse and worse. i got stomach cramps, the sweats the whole nine yards. i thought "fuck im going to have to walk to the toilets , past all my teachers including the deputy head". i got up. i stumbled along the coach. i made it into the carriage of the train. i hobbled clutching my guts and my arse to the next carriage. i saw the toilets ahead. i must gave been about ten feet away when i finally lost my battle with my own intestines. it ran down my legs, covered my boxers, my jeans everything. i got into the cubicle and sat down to finish off. it was a lot of finishing off. i had to wipe all the shit off my legs and inside of my trousers. as a final flourish i took off my now ruined boxers and tried to flush the lot. it was never oging to happen. not in a month of sundays, but i was stoned so again thought "nah, it'll be alright". after two flushes i changed my mind. i pulled the shit and water soaked under crackers and hid them behind the sink. i cleaned myself up a bit more and then walked out to face the queue of my fellow schoolmates. the first in was a girl called kat. the sweetest, nicest, never say boo to a goose girl you could meet. my worse fears were realised. i was a stoned mess. the toilet looked like a shit bomb had hit it and it stank worse than the fiery pits of a post rugby team night out to the curryhouse. it was evil. she calmly walked in and didnt say a word. i got back on the bus and went back too sleep, hoping that it would all be a dream.

i met her two years later at a party. she was drunk. she told me she had never smelt anything so foul and said that she gagged her way through an extremely hurried piss. i was mortified. bright red and stammerng some bollocks about being a bit unwell. i quite fancied her. i dont tihnk the future was every bright for us. fucksocks
( bertisfantastic bert is a sleepy bear, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 22:27, Reply)

When I worked in London...
...there were a couple of incidents that made me larf:

1) While sorting the plumbing out once (literally I mean - that's not a euphemism) we had a manhole cover open in the downstairs loo (the gents). A flushing noise was heard upstairs (ladies - used only by the lovely accounts girls), whereupon a large turd rushed through the drain we were currently looking into... uurgh.

2) A customer once used the toilet (not unusual that, it happened all the time). A few minutes later I nipped in for a quick wee (no urinals, you see) only to be faced with the biggest, hugest most gigantic poo I've ever seen.
Honestly, it was like a Hovis loaf in the bottom of the pan. Maybe he was Goatse - that's the sort of size I'm talking about.

Once I'd recovered I of course went and told my mates, who all (naturally) went and had a look.
My mate Glaston then came out with the best one-liner I've ever heard:

"Oi mate, if that gets into the North Sea it'll be a danger to shipping!"

=)

Never mind the length, it was the girth that would've brought tears to your eyes
(sorry, but I had to say that)
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 22:19, Reply)

Mad old shit
Whilst working on an elderly ward in a northern city hospital, it was my duty to look after the old fellas and make sure they had everything they needed. One such chap-we will call him Ronnie for the sake of confidentiality was a pleasant enough fella but was very disorientated and confused. One morning I saw him rambling off in the direction of the toilets, good-oh I thought hes improving as he is toileting himself, but alas as I look down at his feet there are bits of turd dropping out the bottom of his pyjamas with every step. After getting another member of staff to assist we cleaned him up and returned him to his bedside armchair, only to discover more turds all round his bed and in particular about 6 or 7 malteser sized balls of poo neatly rolled and placed at equal intervals all along his windowsill.
Admittedly its not about toilets but I needed to share this.
(lankynyack, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 22:03, Reply)

Ahh, the joys of serving the fatherland...
Since my country still likes the idea of conscription - just in case the Russians come back- I was to decide whether to go to the military or to do civilian service for nine months. Being the wuss I am, I settled for the latter and started working in a hospital just about one year ago.

There was this 70 year old man, a nice fellow, he may have been a little schizophrenic and offbeat at times, but generally he was a rather pleasant person. In addition, he was also used to smoking 2 packets of cigarettes a day. Sabrina, one of the nurses and I had just returned him from the recovery room, after he had undergone surgery. He was still pretty drugged up. When we were about to leave the room, he told us he desperately needed to use the bathroom. So my colleague and I helped him out of bed and lead him to the toilet. I then left the room, assuming that Sabrina would be able to handle the situation on her own. After all, I had better things to do, i.e. proceeding to the recreation room and "reading" the February issue of Fhm. After about 4 seconds of entertainment, I heard Sabrina calling me. Expecting the worst, I immediately hurried to the toilet where I found her trying to hold the old man down. Our patient had decided that this would be the perfect time for a smoke and had had the glorious idea of standing up and trying to barge past my colleague to get to his massive cigarette storage located next to his bed. During mid-shit. Bliss. The fact that Sabrina had destroyed his humble wish made him pretty angry. I grabbed hold of him and tried to calm him down, which wasn't effective at all. Grumbling, he attempted to hit me. I caught a short glimpse at the toilet-bowl and saw one of the biggest turds in the history of mankind. And that was just the part of it that hit the target. The old man was quite strong for his age making it difficult for me not to let him go. Both of us held him tight until he calmed down a little. With me still holding him, Sabrina then proceeded to remove any remains of this incident and started to clean the man's behind. I then realized I had lost a button of my trousers during the scuffle. Being quite skinny, not even the tightest pair of those horrible white trousers fitted me perfectly. Now, with the main button gone, every movement I made let my trousers slide down a little. So there we were, still standing in this narrow restroom smelling of shit. Me holding down an elderly man with my trousers down to thigh level, while the nurse was bending over, wiping his arse. It must have looked like a fetish game of Toilet-Twister™. It's somewhat humiliating needing someone else to pull your trousers up, makes you wish you had a third hand. Eventually we somehow managed to persuade our old friend to return to bed, where he got a tranquilizer. Fortunately, the rest of our shift was rather boring.

And yes, we weren't able to flush this thing, as it was just too big. Left that for the janitor.
(Successful Failure, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 21:50, Reply)

Lavatory humour
My father-in-law worked at Heathrow as an engineer in the 1950s. While he and his fellow grease monkeys were eating their sandwiches one lunchtime, a chap drove the honey wagon out on to the tarmac to empty the poo out of an airliner. They saw him stand underneath the plane, connect the pipe up overhead, throw the handle and obviously nothing happened as his next move was to disconnect the pipe and poke a stick up the opening to clear the blockage.
They had to call the airport fire brigade to clean him up.
(sputnik1, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 21:49, Reply)

Festival Toilets ::
At the Rockinbeerfest they had lovely portible toilets with tiles, a sink and a mirror.

By the Sunday the whole thing was closed.
( Vintage The badgers took my sanity... and my TV, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 21:33, Reply)

Vietnam
Hole on a mountainside; had diaorrhea and all manner of fecal matter inside. Smelled like death. I was reluctant to pee after the first few seconds as it warmed the mess up and made it smell worse...

Insult to injury came as the vendor on the hillside [it was the Perfumed Pagoda near Hanoi] then proceeded to charge me and my two friends 15000dong each. That's like 3 pounds. Cheeky fucking shitbag.
(Schumann makes awesome quiches., Tue 6 Sep 2005, 21:20, Reply)