Upstairs at the Garage, London
One of the people who ran an occasional club night at which I sometimes DJed, a gorgeous woman who I thought was out of my league, took me into the gents to offer me some nasal refreshment. Deed done, she asked 'don't you realise I've been after you for ages?'. My response: 'Er, no, actually...' We met up 2 days later, and after two pints, I took her back to mine, shagged her rigid, she left her husband and moved in. We're still together now, after 9 years, live in Cornwall and have a beautiful 3 year old daughter. Bogs are great.
(redthing, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:16, Reply)

The Irish Cat
Years ago, whilst doing the old backpacking-round-Europe thing with a mate, I visited Budapest. As it happens, an uncle of mine was working over there at the time and, as he'd been living there for over a year and knew the city pretty well, he offered to show us the sites. This involved taking us out with his mates to a succession of increasingly lairy and mafioso-filled bars.

We ended up in one pub, the Irish Cat which, as the name suggests, was one of those bloody "Irish" pubs that fill the entire planet and are, to my mind, more of a national shame than McDonalds. Anyway, I followed the signs to the toilets and, somehow avoiding visiting the Ladies loos despite the oh-so-hilarious Gaelic labels on the doors, entered the Gents. However, I then immediately reeled back from the doorway with my eyes streaming from an unbelievably unholy wave of ammonia fumes. Steeling myself (and probably whimpering slightly, if memory serves) I went back in and saw that the Irish Cat had imaginatively solved the problem of letting lots of men get access to the toilet at once by, erm... doing away with all the toilets. Instead, you just stood on a wire mesh that covered the floor, whipped out the old pink pistol and let rip wherever you stood. This excellent solution to public-toilet-based queuing was, to my drunken mind, work of FUCKING GENIUS, and was only slightly spoilt by the pools of piss that rose unacceptably high up the sides of my shoes and the fumes that assaulted my nose as I did my pee-pee.

The lesson: if you're going to encourage people to piss on your floor, make sure the drainage works.
( Olembe Refuses to write in this space, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:13, Reply)

Come fly with me
(What does it say about that this is my THIRD post already???)

A friend of my mum's was flying home from a holiday in Mexico. As the plane took off Monteczuma's revenge struck and he staggered to the loos - or rather "loo" as there was only one. He sat himself down and quickly realised that he would be spending a LOT of time in there. He then realised that if he left the loo he might need to queue to get back in and that his digestive system would not survive the wait.

So he stayed on the bog.

For the whole flight. It was a loooooooooong flight.

There he sat, despite the polite knocking, then pleading, then shouting, then hammering that came from the other side of the door.

He claims, towards the end, he heard quiet sobbing, too.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:10, Reply)

About 2 years ago
During the particularly sticky summer, my then girlfriend and I decided to head off down to the seaside after work one evening, grab some fish & chips, and just enjoy the cool sea air. We ended up heading to Seaford, a town duller than a sack of spuds, but I knew by merit of the fact my grandparents used to live there that it had a good Fish & Chip restaurant.

As we trundled into town, it became apparent that it wasn't going to be a great night to sit and eat on the shingle beach; it was still very humid, and it wasn't helped by the fact that a dense sea mist had rolled in, and it wasn't possible to see more than a few feet. Undeterred, we got food, and headed down to the Martello Tower on the seafront, and ate. After the greasy feast, I headed off to public toilet by the tower primarily to wash my hands.

As I walked into the bog, I was aware that someone had followed me, but paid no attention, and set about having a nice relaxing slash.

I could see in my peripheral vision, he was standing about 6 feet to my right at the urinal as well, but I was rather concerned by the distinct lack of any splashing noises coming from his direction. Strict urinal etiquette meant I could not turn my head, even slightly, to see what was going on, even though I knew my worst fears would probably be confirmed. I finished up, zipped, and walked to the sink to wash up, not even giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging he was there.

I had no choice but to walk past him on the way out, however. And yes, he was standing there facing me, trying to manipulate and cajoule his nob into a frankly unimpressive semi-erection. I just sighed, rolled my eyes and walked past him out into the misty evening.

In retrospect, I guess I should have realised that this rather isolated shithouse would in fact be the local bumsex hangout, but I hadn't, and this alone kept my girlfriend entertained for the rest of the night.

So if you're in Seaford, and in need of cock, the bogs by the Martello Tower on the seafront may well be up your street.
(Glis, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:06, Reply)

On a trip through the American South,
my mate Dan and I stayed at a massive hotel in Houston. Settling down in the bar, we ordered a beer, and, when it arrived, we couldn't believe the size of it. It was cocking HUGE.

The barmaid obviously noted our goggle-eyed glee - with a cheeky wink, she informed us that "ever'thang's bigger in Tehks-uss, hons!" Later, we ordered steaks, and these arrived looking like fucking paving slabs - they'd basically knocked a cow's horns off, wiped its arse, and served it up. Again, our spluttered reactions of joy were met with a wink, and the reminder that "laahk ah sayud, ever'thang's bigger in Tehks-uss!"

Several massive beers later, Dan stumbled off through the nearest doorway looking for a bog. Unbeknownst to me, in his spectacularly inebriated state he'd managed to stagger blindly into the indoor pool (which, the hour being quite late, had been closed down for the night). I heard a shriek, and legged it through the door after him. I could hear the belmer gurgling and splashing around in the dark.

"What the fuck are you doing in there, you massive spaz?" I helpfully enquired, half creased with laughter.
"I dunno, man...I think I must've fallen in..." came the panicked, squeaky reply. "Oh god, please don't let anybody flush it!"

Mod Edit: *Ahem*
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:04, Reply)

Couple of years ago i was living in Nepal
on one of those VSO teaching projets. I lived with five other people in a house over a shop owened by a lovely Gurung family. They were always looking after us and inviting us to their parties. Their house was just to one side of the shop, and Captain Gurung's brother in law lived above them, just opposite to us. Subsequently, there was a bit of a communal area between the two houses on our level where they used to place the guests. Our toilet (delightful little hole in the ground that it was) was therefore fair game for all guests.

So one day we're having a right old shindig, the raksi is flowing and the chick pea curry is delicious. There's singing, there's dancing, and it comes to the time for the main course. This was a special holy festival, so we had meat. After the goat is sacrificed, grandma comes along with the bucket of blood and intestines and throws it down our little poo hole, splattering most of it over the floor and the back wall. Yum.
( eponymous Oh!, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:02, Reply)

Social Crapper!
okaaay... Out in the West End at the concrete bunker that is known as The Social (A DJ pre-club bar for those who don't know). I had been given some extremely strong marching powder and I basically done way too much in one huge hit! 5-10 mins later... I start to quiver, my heart is banging out of my chest and I'm losing grip on reality big time!! But worse that that.. I just explode back door stylee and shit myself in the largest of ways!! Anyway, I leg it to the cubicle (only one cube in the social!) and have to decide whilst quivering my shitey nuts off - How to clean up and get outta this mess?

I remove my jeans followed by my stinky-soiled pants and in my higher state of paranoid fear I try to set fire to my pants to get rid of the evidence... But these soiled calvin's were not gonna burn!!! So, I left a nice present for the cleaner hidden behind the u-bend! But I also had to clean up the sticky remains on my arse and sacks. So, the only way to get totally clean without a shower is to get some water and soap from sink. So I get some toilet paper and creep out of the cubicle to the sink where I soak the tissue and apply soap. But as I do this, some geezer stumbles into the toilet! He just stares in amazement at this tragic sight - Naked, fucked-up, lost-it coke cunt standing there in t-shirt & socks, absolutley off his bleedin' tits with a shitty arse exposed. I just start to laugh and ask him to give me a minute - His face was priceless!!! Anyway, he leaves and I continue to make the journey from cubicle to sink several times whilst random punters were coming in to have a lash, But needless to say, I did eventually get cleaned up without getting caught and carried on partying!

Hmmmm....Later......Laughed, I nearly shat!

(No apologies for length...only to the cleaner who later found my shitty present!)
(eurrrrrggggggghhhhhh Cunting /talk, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 13:01, Reply)

I stopped at a motorway service station
once to go for a piss. It was one of those long tiled wall with trough at the bottom affairs. it was reasonably busy so I'm stood having a piss. Bloke next to me is also having a piss, both adopting the stare-at-tile-directly-in-front-of-face-as-if-it's-interesting approach. Then, what i presume was his son, who was about the 8/9 mark strolls up (not to piss) and just stands right bang next to me while staring at my cock (he was about japs-eye level and max of 10 inches distance from it). Obviously this is rather embarrassing for all but im continuing pissing while dad glances round in very embarrassed fashion picking up on my 'help me out here' glance, hoping his son would pick up on his glares and move along. son just kept staring at my cock until the dad is forced to say a curt 'Jamie! Stop it!'
The dad and I exchanged a shared embarrassed look with regards the whole affair and went off our seperate ways.
(hazey, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:59, Reply)

Using the gents- a ladies' cautionary tale
A few years ago I used to frequent a particularly grotty club in Bristol called the Lochiel. Which was a boat.

One night, the queue for the (one, count it) ladies' toilet was horrendously long, so i decided to use the gents.

As grotty club toilets go it wasn't too bad. Very scruffy, but the actual cubicle was pretty clean. So I locked the door and settled in.

When I'd finished my wee, I stood up, pulled my leggings up (long time ago remember)and due to my alcohol comsumption and a slight starboard list of the boat, I wobbled against the wooden cubicle wall. Regaining my balance, I smoothed my leggings up over my arse before leaving.

But wait? What's that in my hand? It seems to be a jelly-like, slightly warm, sticky substance...

That's right. By leaning against the wall briefly, I had somehow transferred a mis-shot wad of an unknown man's jizz to my person.

Nice.
(clapper, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:57, Reply)

Dothiepin Turds
.
When I previously went bonkers the shrink eventually identified dothiepin as the anti-depressant that helped me during that paticular descent into madness, so around Jan 2003 they started me off on it again.

One of the more spectacular effects of this stuff is to produce the most enormous turds you can imagine. Truly eye-watering grunters. Real gut-clenching, teeth-grinding, face-grimacing pan-splashers. About the thickness of a toilet roll inner, averaging about 10 inches in length, these monsters take some serious straining to get out. Some times I've sat there with sweat rolling down my cheeks (top set!) wondering if I'd ever get this massive stink machine out of my rikker and down the pan. Very painful. Extremely embarressing. Very time comsuming. A huge pain in the arse. It took about 10 weeks for these symptoms to calm down, to return to what passes for normal motions. Quite big, mind, but nothing on the scale of the early days.

Another problem with DT's is how to get rid of them once the paperwork's done, they just won't flush away, they're far too big to negotiate the u-bend. Not too big a problem in the privacy of your own home, but if you happen to get caught short at someone else's crapper then as Apollo 13 might say "Houston, we have a problem". Many's the time I've stood there washing my hands wondering what to do about that bloody thing lying there smiling at me. I can't just leave it there. Maybe I could mash it up with the bog brush then flush like a madman and hope it goes away? Then that leaves the problem of the brush, which looks a real mess.......I mean, you can't wash it out in the sink, can you? So quietly open the bathroom window and sling it out into the bushes.....or up onto the roof...then nonchalantly stroll out, make my excuses and leg it.

Anyway, the Dothiepin Turds are back. It must be a function of the amount of dothiepin in my system, so as I reduce I've reached the drug/blood level which triggers these monsters. Over time the ADs will reduce further and eventually the problem will fade away......but it took about 8 weeks to get over the hump going up, so I expect a similar time coming down this side. So, if my beloved and I visit your homes over the next couple of months I suggest you chain up your bog brushes, or nail shut your bathroom windows.

Just thought I'd share that with you.

Why does a poxy antidepressant have such an effect?

It's a
(Conundrum, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:55, Reply)

The American Incident
About 3 years ago I took a trip to America with 2 friends of mine, who are married.

The first week in LA passed without any major incident happening and we set off to stay with my mates mum and stepdad in Florida for the 2nd week.
His mum was English and his stepdad was a brash, ex airforce, Texan (and a bit of a cunt)
The apartment had 2 bedrooms - theirs, and the one that my mate and his missus were staying in. Both were en-suite, with my mates bathroom also being accessible from the lounge (where i was sleeping).

Enter me and my mate, back from the local bar on the 2nd night of staying in the apartment, bladdered and ready to kip. After about an hour I felt the sudden urge to chunder my guts up, and dashed into the loo.
As my vomit exploded, half of it missed the bowl and i spent 25 mins pissed on the toilet floor mopping up with bog paper.
Chuffed at my clean-up job, and the fact I hadn't woken my mate, I flushed it all down.

To my horror the giant pukey wad disappeared but the water began to rise in the bowl.
No problem, I thought, back in the UK the water will rise just below the rim and then stop.
However, I failed to realise that this toilet operated in some sort of bizarre syphon system so that if the water level does not return to normal in the bowl then the water just keeps pissing out.

So now I'm standing in about 1/4 inch of water, and shitting myself, with water gushing over the rim constantly like the Mount Vesuvius of crappers.

I end up waking my mate, who runs in (crazy frog style - dingle dangle) and manages to stop the water by hooking something in the cistern. We then proceed to clear the blockage with a wire coathanger, and mop up the soaked carpet with the bath towels.

Unfortunately, water had seeped into the lounge carpet and there was a huge soggy patch by the door. His stepdad, who didn't have much time for me anyway, was utterly fucked off about it all, and I was sheepish for the rest of the trip.
(DrDeath Lurkage is my speciality, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:51, Reply)

AAAAARGH! You've misspelt 'weird' again. AGAIN!
I'm withholding my entertaining toilet story until you correct the spelling. Damn your English teacher!

Mod Edit: Oops. Yes damn him, damn him to hell. I hated him.
( Irregular Shed is trying to remember what it is he does, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:48, Reply)

I'm pretty sure this is true ...
although it sounds so like an urban myth maybe I've heard it enough times to believe it. Hopefully someone else there can confirm.

Summer festival, possibly Glastonbury or Reading in mid/late 90's. Dance tent was flooded, and was being churned into a mudbath. A poo tanker was despatched to suck up a load of the muddy water to improve matters. Wrong lever was pulled and a fair amount of human waste product was pumped into the tent.

Naturally, the monged out revellers cared not a jot.
(Throbbe, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:48, Reply)

Dry Bosnian humour?
Just last week my ambulance was sent to a cardiac arrest in the men's toilet at the local shopping mall. The elderly gentleman was a couple of hours deceased and signs of a heart attack were evident.
However, we knew the local detectives wanted to examine the scene and we waited until they arrived.

We got a security guard to stop anyone entering the toilet both to protect the scene and to save anyone the trauma of seeing the dead guy in his now open cubicle. The security guard was a nice bloke and told us he was a recent Bosnian migrant with only basic English skills.

One young chavster decides that no way is he walking to the other toilets at the other end of the mall and complains loudly that he’s “busting for a shit”.
Our explanation of the dead guys’ presence meant nothing to him and after some typical chavvy arguing and whinging the security guard says to him “Look, you not on list - you not getting in.”

I’m still unsure if he was being humourous or was just using what limited phrases he had learnt. Either way, top bloke.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:47, Reply)

Oh man, I can't believe I'm relating this one...
Legless's Barium Shit story reminded me of the last time I was.. uh.. clogged up. The easily squeamed may wish to look away now.

To this day I don't know what happened, but for some reason I was having problems producing anything one morning. I could feel something lurking in there ready to emerge but the bloody thing just would fit through the exit. Immense pain, cold sweats, tensing and relaxing, mild panic, dear lord in heaven please don't leave me looking like Mr. Goatse!

After wondering if a trip to casualty was in order, I hit upon the bright idea of cutting it up with a fork handle. I wiped up what little I'd managed and waddled into the kitchen (feeling dainty at this point) and selected the thinnest handled fork I could fine - a spare from the old set no longer used. Back in the toilet I stuck the handle up my arse into... omg... a solid lump. Oh my god.

I waggled it a bit, and could feel the entire mass turning slowly within my bowels. It was the most disturbing thing I have ever experienced. Somehow, while my eyes streamed tears of pain, panic and probably shame, I managed to draw and quarter the bastard. A couple of minutes waggling my hips to try and reshape it and I was ready to try again.

Success! (Praise Jebus!) The monstrosity slid out into the tranquil waters of the toilet bowl with nary a wimper, and all was well. I turned to face my vanquished foe (because you just have to, right?) and discovered a flat, tennis-ball-sized lump that was the colour of earwax and the consistency of plasticine. Have you ever tried cutting plasticine? Imagine trying to cut it with a fork handle. While it's up your arse. Oh my.

I threw the fork away. No way was it staying in my house.

Length? It was the width that was giving me problems!
( Biggus Dickus , it was like that when I found it, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:45, Reply)

Think I've posted this before
but a few years back I was on a break in the US and was swimming in one of the Great Lakes when I felt a fairly urgent need to evacuate my bowels. I decided I had three options:

1 - Walk back to the beach pavilion at the parking lot. It was about a 10 minute walk away though, and I didn't relish either the hurried journey or the possibility of being caught short in front of other beachgoers.

2 - Make like a cat, and go up into the dunes, dig a hole, do my business and bury it.

3 - Drop my shorts and do it where I was, in the lake.

Needless to say, I decided on option 3, seeing as I was a reasonable distance from anyone else on the beach and it may have been more obvious if I'd gone up in the dunes.

So I did the business in neck deep water (being careful to orientate myself such that I was facing into the longshore current). One of the most interesting features of this event was the way in which the emitted turd stayed in one piece due to the buoyancy of the water. It was a fair old length too! I was also amused by the way it gracefully tumbled to the lake bed.

Length? About 10 inches I think.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:40, Reply)

pigs, bears and boats
Good QoTW - my French girlfriend, already horrified by the British love of anythign poo related, will be mortified - she loves B3TA, so there will be a crisis...


aaaaaaaaaaanyway...



on a ropey old boat from Dar-es-salaam to Zanzibar, had a dose of the squirts anyway, boat heaving, pitching and rolling away on the ocean at night, i grabbed my torch to find the loo - didnt need it (the torch) i just had to follow my nose... i didnt have the option, my guts were thrashing like john hurt's, so i staggered into the vile pit and steadied myself agains the wall while i de-trousered; shone the torch round to see that every surface (including, natch, the wall i was holding) was coated in liquid shit...

a mate was camping in canada, having been warned to keep everything in bags up trees and away from tents etc, was a bit bear-jumpy. So on needing a dump, wandered into the woods, a good way from the tents,dropped 'em and unloaded, happy as you like until the bush right in front of him started rustling ver loudly - he panicked, and in his alarm, sat back. Right in the hot pile of poo he'd just left...



couple of years later in india, found a place to stay one night in a weeny village. Through hand signals i indicated my need, and he pointed the bog out but via the magic of sign language, told me to hide my bogroll in my shirt.. of course, i forgot. So, nonchalantly climbed the stairs to the little shed-with-box-with-hole, dropped keks and turned round - just as one of the owners pigs stuck its nose thru the hole into my arse. Apparently, they like to eat poo, and much prefer it on draught. As soon as they see someone carrying bogroll, they get all excited and wait in the drop zone for fresh ones, all hot and lovely. The only repellent is to take a big spliff in, and when the nose comes up, blow smoke in - they get all sneezy and back off. HOWEVER - then a chap finds himself coated in a thin layer of poo-scented pigsnot....
Later saw them walking around the village, covered in poo and with bits of bogroll on their heads like jaunty little caps - i swear they smiled at me...

this QoTW is about length, isn't it?

on reflection, perhaps my GF has a point - we/I AM poo - obsessed.


anyone got actual photos of The Shit That Killed Elvis?
(micky2shoes has more shoes than feet, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:40, Reply)

hope Paris Hilton reads this
Picture the scene, work cocktail party at the Park Lane Hilton. Many free Italian liqueurs imbibed, makings of a good night.
Unitl the toilet problem. The bogs have a light turned on and off by the door opening and closing. Someone held the door for me, so when it shut behind hin on his way out it went off. Using my lighter I found a urinal and let rip. Cue huge bouncer opening door, finding me pissing in the sink, and cracking one of my teeth as he threw me out. Twankunt.
Length/girth? Just take your dentures out first
(alboyalex, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:40, Reply)

My Poor Bro.
Me and my younger brother have never gotten along.

Years ago, when I was still living at home, I used to drink over Newcastle and my brother used to drink in our home town. As I had a lot further to travel to get back home after closing time, I was always the last one to make it home after a Friday night on the piss.

When I got home and headed for bed I went through the same ritual every week. I'd head for the bog and find my brother unconscious with his head down the bowl. The poor sod could never hold his beer so every week when he got back from a night out he'd head for the bog, stick his head down it and go to sleep. He knew that if he went to bed he'd only get the black-whirlies and have to get up and go to the bog to be sick anyway, this way just saved time.

Anyway, so I'd head for the bog and look at my brothers sleeping form. If I was in a good mood, I'd lift his head out the way, take a piss, flush and put his head back and if I was in a bad mood, I'd piss on his head.

I did this for two years before moving away and he never knew. Sorry Chris.

But most of the time I was
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:36, Reply)

How long can you go....
This was actually a mate's story, but he's not a b3tan so I'll take the liberty of telling it here.

He and a few mates rented a house somewhere in the Scottish Highlands for a week's holiday. For reasons best known to themselves (students y'see) they decided to see how long they could go without flushing the bog.

Well, as you could well imagine, four blokes in a house with lots of beer and food etc generate a fair amount of effluent. So after about 3 days, the pan was filling up to the extent that they reckoned the experiment had been successfully concluded and to take it any further would be unwise. So they decided to flush it.

Problem. Several kilograms of shite provide a sturdy barrier to a weedy little 9 litre flush, with the result that the pan quickly overflowed and spilled crappy water all over the bathroom floor.

They eventually cleared it with the help of a large stick!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:33, Reply)

You'd never guess where I'm reading this...

(The miracles of laptops!)
(RowdsterDelux, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:31, Reply)

Competition.....
My mate shared a flat with 4 other blokes, all rugby players so weekly competitions were always going on. The one I remember the most was the 'don't flush the bog' one. The first person to flush had to buy a slab of beer for each flat mate, so after 5 days of poo's the smell was evil, one guy eventually bit the bullet and flushed after his parents announced a surprise visit....wasn't to chuffed to buy 4 slabs of beer either !!
(suntoucher, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:30, Reply)

IOM College treats
Oh many moons ago, during the times of foundation courses and nonsense, a group of female co-workers happened upon a the magic of the digital camera and proceeded to take it (naturally) to the ladies bogs. Soon there was much rejoicing and people gathered to find out what the fuss was.

Apparently, someone (or thing) had managed to create a day-glo orange turd in the middle of the bowl.

The worst part was there wasn't any toilet paper to be seen.

Hit 'n' run.
(SaggyVent, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:29, Reply)

Vesuvius
Ah, going back to school for this one:

Ducking out of PE one day (I swear our "female" teacher enjoyed teaching us girls faarrr too much) I found sanctuary in the loos at the other side of the building. Oddly, the water level of the loo in the cubicle I was hiding in unusually high, although the thing was clean enough and I couldn't see anything causing a blockage...

After about 30 seconds the curiosity got too much to bear and I flushed the loo just to see what would happen...

It didn't clear as I thought it would, oh no.

The water came rushing up the pan, over the seat and onto the floor, overflowing into the adjoining cubicles, resulting in a cry of "Ewwww!" from the next door occupant who was trying to have a peaceful eartha. On hearing her voice, I realised it was the girl who'd thrown chewing gum into my hair in English class a few weeks back and sincerely regretted not unloading into the bog before I flushed it.
(spacecowgirl, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:29, Reply)

At Glasto, 5 years ago.
I shat a Transformer toy (Ravage I think). However, due to it being covered in rectal blood and beery-shit, I left it in the toilet.
(nappy rash, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:26, Reply)

Barium Shits.
Years ago I was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer and had to go for hospital for tests, the main one being a Barium Meal.

Now this is a process where you drink a polystyrene beaker of sludge and they X-ray you to find out what your insides look like as Barium is opaque to x-rays. So they strapped me on the table (the table moves and swivels as well) and gave a this beaker of "Strawberry Flavoured" barium sludge. I nearly broke my wrist! It was a bout a pint of barium sludge and it weighed a fucking ton. It felt as if the beaker was filled with lead. And drinking it was like pouring slow-setting concrete down my throat. Not nice.

Anyway, tests over I headed for home. The next day I awoke bright and early and went for my usual morning dump. But something was wrong. I could feel immense pressure in my guts, but strain as I might, nothing was moving. Refusing to be beaten by a turd, I gathered my will and went for a knuckle-biting strain and Glory Be! I felt the obstruction start to move. Now once this fucker was on it's way, nothing was going to stop it. It was with a feeling of horror that I felt my poor arsehole stretching to dimensions it was never designed for. I was actually moaning softly now. The Turd Of Gods continued to force it's way out of my and eventually crashed into the waiting bowl with the power and majesty of the launching of the Titanic. The noise was deafening - a bit like hearing a torpedo being launched.

Now rid of my burden, I wiped and stood up (and to borrow a line off Stutz79) weak and shaken like a freshly raped dog. I peered into the bowl for the cause of my discomfort and gazed upon an enormous, bright pink turd. It was a thing of awe. About 10 inches long and about 4 inches thick, it lay there at the bottom of my toilet bowl like decomposing shark. I was impressed!

After a while of looking at my handiwork I thought I'd better flush and get on with the day. So I did. And looked and there it was. The flushing hadn't even moved it a millimetre. So I tired again, and again. Still the fucker wouldn't move. Eventually I gave up and went downstairs for a carrier bag which I put over my arm and reached in to grasp the offender and lift it out of the bog. I swear the bugger weighed about 5 pounds. It truly was the Turd of The Gods.

I disposed of it, well wrapped up, into the dustbin but, looking back, I really wish I'd taken a picture of the bugger.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:25, Reply)

Toilets....
Firstly, at work there is a bit of a "game" currently going on as to who can render the (single) toilet inoperable to other staff.
The basic rules are it must be in the pan - other than that anything goes...

So, cling film etc etc out of the way the latest thing is to build a small raft of toilet paper at the bottom before nestling the biggest, baddest, smelliest turd imaginable on it. Tuesday, we all got to work and the foulest smell known to man hit you - someone (unknown) had performed this trick on the friday last thing where it had festered over the bank holiday. Clear winner, not only was the toilet unusable, so was the workshop!

Anyway, toilets - was out on the piss once when as you do felt the urge to vomit. Was pretty leathered so standing wasnt an option, knelt in front of some shitty pub toilet yawning down it and feeling pretty shit, when a massive pain in my belly overtook me - dry yawning for england the smell suddenly told me i had shit myself, and a quick look at the puddle of rusty water all over my jeans and the floor told me i wouldnt just be cleaning this up and rejoining my mates. The worst thing was the walk through the pub to the door....
Oh, and hosing myself down outside the back door...

At Donnington, couple of years ago for the moto gp (camping for the weekend). Toilets absolutely filthy by friday night, so my mate decides to have a shit round the back (pissed of course) All seems to have gone well as he trudges up to rejoin us until we realize (smell first) that he is covered down one side, and all over his shoes in shit. He fell over whilst bent down and failed to notice that possibly several hundred other people had already had the shit round the back idea...


Talking of toilets, is there a formula for pressure versus proximity? I only ask as if you need a shit whilst out, you can bear it till you get home, as soon as the door is unlocked the pressure intensifies, you run up the stairs with greater and greater pressure and by the time you are over the toilet you only just (sometimes) get your trousers down before you explode a shit bomb all over the bowl.

BTW - great question!
(Aleister Crowleys Badger Nothing to see here, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:17, Reply)

Exeter Phoenix New Years Eve
Apparently the queue for the womens toilets was too long for one enterprising young lady, who decided to use *a sink* in the gents toilets to relieve herself. She got quite a bit of respect for that!
(ultrafunkula, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:17, Reply)

Isle of Wight, Morocco and Bill Oddie
Disgusting public toilets somewhere on the Isle of Wight, desperate for a shite. Did the deed, discovered there was no bog roll. After 10 nerve-wracking minutes of wondering what I was going to do I had the genius idea of ripping up the cardboard tube and using that instead, worked surprisingly well. I didn't hang around to see if it flushed or not.

Small Berber village somewhere in the Atlas mountains, Morocco. The toilet, although porcelain, was basically just a platform to stand on to shit in a small hole, flushed using a bucket of water. Not wanting to crouch too close to it I did a semi crouch and missed. Had to wipe/smear the bulk of my sticky shit off of the foot plate. After a whole lifetime of shitting you presume that you get quite good at it, I was very disappointed by my aim that day.

Same trip, in the cubicle at Marrakech airport, getting changed. Loud knock on the door shortly followed by a soggy filthy mop being thrust under the door by an impatient cleaner, damn near knocked me over.

Oh yeah and Bill Oddie once held a toilet door open for me. True story.
(smuj83, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 12:02, Reply)