dave likes cheese
the poor guys after you might think you're even a bigger freak going in there all the same
( liverbird, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:52, Reply)

well
a few years ago in a festival partaloo went in found a huge mountain of toilet paper witha perfect "mr whipy" poo coming out the bog and promptley left. but i still dont understand how they pooed so high as they were either higher than the portaloo or they had stood on a chair while having had a poo .i dunno?
(ruku87, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:50, Reply)

Yay, we're finally getting new toilets!!! Or so we thought....
I'm at a fairly well respected university and I've been complaining for months about the state of the loos, I'm on a committee which gets such 'illustrious' speakers as Sir Robert Winston in for evening science talks and think it's a bit embarrassing showing doddery old ladies to a toilet which is, quite frankly, covered in shit.

So one complaint meeting in September I was told that they wouldn't bother trying to hire cleaners who actually use anything more than a hopeful flush to clean the loos since they were being refurbished in summer.

Yes, they think that a rehaul in June is a good excuse not to clean the loos from September onwards. A student house yes, but one of the oldest chemistry departments in the country?? Shocking!!

I bided my time patiently, took the old doddery ladies to the second floor bathroom or told them to try and hold it in for a whole academic year (my biding, not their holding it in...) and finally the builders arrived. They drank tea, they whistled at the hot scientist girls, they even picked up a screwdriver once. Steadily the summer disappeared and my hope grew in an inverse relationship. Finally yesterday my day of reckoning came, the builders had taken down the paper&magic marker 'Do not use, toilets being refurbished' sign.
Instead of going to the basement to use the loo, as I had been for many months, I ventured into the ground floor loos.

The floor shon!
The walls gleamed and sang happy peeing songs to me!
I felt like eating my lunch off the restroom floor, smiling all the way.

I headed towards the dirtiest of the loos and with trepidation opened the door....

Imagine my horror on discovering that the cheapskates had changed everything in the loo except that actual shit stained loo itself.

Yes, that's right, they'd put a new floor in, put up new partitions and doors, even changed the loo roll holders, but it had not occurred to them to change the actual loos.
(chemgirl, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:49, Reply)

When sphincter's attack
I have a certain love for "all things spicy", so imagine my delight when I found that my local supermarket started selling those chili's you get with your kebab's.
I bought lots of jars. A plethora of jarage perhaps. And ate them. Ate them with gusto and with everything. Pasta, Chips, Soup, just Cheese and Chili - Probably the only thing I didn't eat with Chili was my breakfast.
So after a few days of this, and sometimes getting the munchies and wolfing down just Chili on its own, the vast amount of Chili content in my stomach started to strike back.

I was on my way home from work, arrived at the station and made my way to my new ladyfancy friend I'd recently started shagging. I'd had bad indegestion all day, heartburn and everything else. Then, to my horror, I got a fairly large sphincter quiver, my first ever. This lasted for about 4 seconds and felt like my arse had turned into a rocket and was ready for blast off....

I then knew I had to drop my payload, and fast. Problem was I was in a house that I'd only been to twice before and there was no way I would destroy this ladies toilet (And most possibly the shagging oppotunity)
I made my excuses and left.

I had a 10minute walk. A 10minute walk I never want to experience again. With every 3 steps came the most almighty sphincter quiver, each one getting worse then the previous one. I felt like I was in labour and about to give birth to some alien chili gremlin.
After the last almighty contraction, I had to get my waddle on (Walking normally was impossible by this time, I was walking like a poor John Wayne impressionist), I eventually get my keys out, fingers clammy, chili sweating from every pore.
I get to the toilet - What then happens is a feeling I never want again.
Felt like a combination of a cluster bomb and a McSplurry, my eyes were watering, I was crying out due to the horrific blazing-ring-sting.....
Took a full week before defacting was a pleasure once again
FIN
( -:Coop:-, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:47, Reply)

Best QOTW for a while...Toilet humour is great!
First - Girlfriend and I were out in a manky old club. she went to the bogs and returned sobbing. she had dropped her mobile down the pan as she turned round to flush it. The phone was obviously totalled, but she wanted the sim-card back. I borrowed the tongs from the ice-bucket at the bar, went into the bogs and scooped the phone from the manky bowl. I hope they washed those tongs when I gave them back.

Second - I crapped myself a while back. Havent done that since I was in nappies, but for no reason, completely without warning, not even the urge to fart, I just suddenly filled my pants. Fortunately I was wearing a boiler suit over my jeans so there was no leakage for anyone to see. The site toiltet was a 2 minute drive away. I sat in my own crapped pants and drove the landrover to the site, wiped up and flushed my shreddies down the pan.

Third - The bus station in Inverness. I went for a whizz in the toilets. Turned out the guy at the next urinal was having a wank. If my nob was as small as his, I would be embarrased to show it in public.

Fourth - out on the lash a few years back, Needed to spew, ran to the bogs, slammed and locked the only cubicle door and let rip. My aim was terrible and I spewed all over the bowl, cistern, wall, toilet-roll holder and floor. oops. I then suddenly need to crap too. No way was my arse going near that pan so I did the high-altitude hovering thing and crapped. Missed the bog again and it went all down the bowl and onto the floor. oops. I really do apologise to anyone who had to use the toilet that night and feel sorry for the cleaners.

Finally - Thinking about it now, my aim is terrible. I hate dumping in public toilets and never want to put my arse on the piss-ridden seat so always do the high-altitude hover thing and most of the time my shit splatters everywhere except in the bowl.
Several times I have uttered "I wouldnt go in there mate, some twat has crapped all over the place" to whatever poor sod goes to use the bog after I have done this.
(dave likes cheese, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:39, Reply)

no shit.....
What do you give the man who has everything?

cant remember where i first saw this but it seems a good a place as any to post it...



www.bumperdumper.com/

stusut69 - hope its a long time before you get either sectioned or your medication changed, how the fuck do you top that answer??
(Aleister Crowleys Badger Nothing to see here, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:36, Reply)

No, I didn't check if he was really Jewish
I may have used a urinal next to Jerry Seinfeld. At my high school after-prom, we had hired a stand-up comedian. In the bathroom, I stood next to a guy who was a dead ringer for Seinfeld. He even gave me that half-smiling "I wonder if he knows who I am?" look. He simply said "How you doing?" and nodded as he zipped up. The voice was perfect too.

In 1988, when this happened, Seinfeld was a nobody, but I had seen him on the Rodney Dangerfield young comedians special so I knew who he was. Sometimes if two entertainers have the same agent they will travel together.

Well, at least that's what I tell people, even if it isn't true.
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:31, Reply)

I got my head stuck in a toilet once.
Thankfully no one took advantage of my position. Although no one came to help for a good 6 hours either.
( Lightguy hail satan, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:29, Reply)

it's shit.
I am 23, staggering in to the kitchen of my family home, fighting a hangover bigger than the flab roll that hangs over the waist band of Lisa Riely's hot pants. I am wearing my trusty towelling dressing gown, and nothing else. Now, I knew that we had family staying, cus I had to sleep on the sofa. I open the fridge door, with my back to the rest of the kitchen. I thought I was alone. I take a big refreshing gulp of apple juice, and feel a big rumble bubble in the old belly. "Ah, I feel a little windy-pop a-rising!" I happily sing to myself, looking forward to the gas release relief. I squeeze a little, too hard in hind’s sight and out pops a slimy; booze endued jobbie, right on the kitchen floor. It looked like I had broken off one of Bungles (from TV show Rainbow) fingers at the knuckle and smothered it in Vaseline. I am slightly taken a back by this, but not over come. That was until I shut the fridge door, turn around and see my mum, dad, uncle, auntie, sister, gran and grandpa sitting quietly having tea and toasted crumpets.
I had just sang a song about farting, then shat myself in the kitchen. In front of every respected member of my family.

Now, at every opportunity, does not matter if in front of one or hundreds of people, my father is always, “ hey every one, you wanna hear the story when T-bone Jnr shat on the kitchen floor?” I reply with, “ you wanna hear a story about when dad was caught touching the 8 year old boy next door?”. My stories never get a big laugh.
(Jeeves, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:27, Reply)

Bagaloo
When I was in a shopping-center toilet once, I spied the yellow bin in the corner of the room as I stood at the urinal. Sticking out of the top was a big brown strap. Having shaken the weasel, I went over and inspected this curious object that turned out to be made of leather. It wasnt a belt; what was it? Since it was in a bin, I shouldnt have touched it, but curiosity got the better of me and I grabbed the strap and pulled it out. It turned out to be a handbag! When I took it to the center security I was told that earlier some old biddy got mugged and this was her bag that had been dumped in the lavatory bins!
Didnt even get a bloody reward. Bastards.
(Dooley, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:14, Reply)

Never lose hope. Even in the direst of situations.
It was a summer Sunday's afternoon and I was enjoying a few pints with my chums, Greg the Loafer and Harry the Chink, in a country pub only a short bicycle ride away from our home town. It was a clean establishment and clearly very old, yet well-maintained. Half-way through my fourth Guinness I felt the call of nature and so decided to shuffle off to the men's room to relieve myself.

I walked in taking great care as the tiled blue floor was damp. The gents' was quite a spacious room with five urinals against the longest wall and two cubicals at the far end, all lit by a single strip light down the centre of the ceiling. I positioned myself in front of the cubicle second from the left and unzipped my jeans. My flaccid member rubbed gently against the starched navy denim of the trousers as I handled it and it came to rest upon the cold brass of the zip, its musty odour dispersing in the cold air of the room. I relaxed completely. My bladder flushed. The sense of relief was so great that my face contorted involuntarily into an expression somewhere between that of an elated Down's Syndrome and a weeping Spanish nurse.

It was in this state of guilt-ridden bliss that I first became aware of the presence behind me. It was the aroma of toffee permeating the soupy smell of urea and bleach that initially caught my attention. Still in full flow, I turned my head to look behind me, and there she stood - five foot of panting old woman, her mouth open to reveal a set of false teeth that moved in and out like a diaphragm as she breathed. Her beige, knee-length overcoat was fully buttoned and looked new, while her black, flat-soled shoes encased a pair of tiny feet, her thin varicose-riddled legs masked by tan stockings. Her face, surrounded by a flyaway mane of permed, snow-white hair, would have appeared kindly had it not been transformed by her wild, goose-like eyes and her sinister, thin-lipped half-smile.

I was about to offer her directions to the ladies' room when, without warning, she opened her coat and let it fall to the floor. It was clear that beneath she was wearing only stockings and shoes, her matted, silver, piss-stained thatch on full display. The moisture was evident. The shock caused my whole body to spasm, directing a golden arc of liquid feculence up the tiled wall and onto the underside of the cistern. Above her pubis she had a small pot belly, her belly button only just visible in the shadow of her veiny, milk-white breastflaps. Before I could replace my freshly-drained fleshy hose she lunged at me head first with a calf-like grunt, but I was quick to move. With the reflex of a souped up heron I evaded her unexpected attack and dashed to the right towards the relative safety of the first cubicle as her head glanced off the gargling urinal with a dull thud.

Inside the cubicle I had hoped that there would be a small window that I might escape through, but there was only a small ventilation fan. I could hear my attacker outside the cubicle flailing wildly on the floor outside, her naked limbs slapping against the cold, wet surface. I felt tired and helpless, but I thought of my cousin and our imminent marriage and vowed to myself there and then that I would survive this terrible ordeal. I resolved to turn the tables on this rampant, haggard old sex-witch.

I brandished the brush located in the holder to the left of the toilet bowl and burst from the cubicle, my aggression and determination to survive equalled only by my fear. "Stay down, vile lavatorial hag!" I cried, as I thrust the toilet brush threateningly at the wrinkled, loose-skinned figure on the floor. This did not repel her as much as I had hoped, so I continued. "Do not force me to bloody my hands with thine vital juices!" But the old crone would not heed my warning and lunged again. By now I was weak and ready to surrender to her and as she flung her hideous, ancient frame open-mouthed and headlong towards my crotch, I begged my twitching phallus to perform quickly and efficiently so that this ordeal might be over as soon as possible. But I had reckoned without the young velociraptor that burst from its hideout in the second cubicle and seized the vicious old harpy by the throat. As it tore into her flesh with long, rapid strokes of it's muscular, scaly hind legs, I made a swift exit.

Even today I look back on that afternoon and, as I feel one should from every bad situation, I learned something from my mistake: when in times of trouble do not fear - there may be a late-Cretaceous Period bipedal lizard concealing itself nearby.
(stusut79, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:07, Reply)

my mate Dave had awful luck with toilets.
One party's memorable highlight followed the drunken birthday girl having to be put to bed after too many homemade cocktails. Dave went to the jacks unfortunately at the same time she decided to regain consciousness... Cue her, wearing only a towel, thundering down the hallway and breaking open the lock, before dropping the towel and pirhouetting to unconsciousness, open mouthed face looking right up between his legs - not conducive to keeping the flow going...
Same guy a year later needed to talk to god on the porcelain phone at a lesbian cocktail party. It of course being a lesbian house meant that the toilet seat would not remain up for long. we followed the shout of pain to find him with a cracked line of blood across his nose, looking like he'd lost a fight - he had, of sorts....
( WhoElse I'm what Willis was talking about, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 16:04, Reply)

Although not strictly toilet focused, toilets do play a key role
I moved to New York almost a year ago, and one of the first things I learnt about living here is that there are no measures when ordering spirits. You just get as much alcohol as the bartender thinks you should have.

My first weekend here, me and my lovely new lab friend (new B3ta recruit white_castle) headed out on a Saturday night to get ratted. From that point on, I remember very little until I woke up in bed on Sunday at 4PM. We are all due at my bosses house for dinner at 6. ‘What has this to do with toilets?’ I hear you cry. Well, during dinner, both Freya and I felt the need to talk on the porcelain telephone. Repeatedly. The time that sticks in my mind, however, is when I burst through the door, vomit exiting sprinkler-fashion from my mouth, only to discover that the loo seat was down (thank you white_castle and your modesty around vomity floaters), so my offering bounced off and was spread liberally around the bathroom. I spent the next 10 minutes scrubbing puke out of the grouting.

My boss got me back 2 month later when she was sick down my leg in a rodeo bar. Hurrah.
(kitteny_goodness, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:58, Reply)

i make my mother crap like a blue ribbon dairy cow.
whenever my sainted mother calls me, usually every day at twelve to enquire as to whether or not i have enough lunch money, met a nice girl, spoken to brothers recently, she invariably cuts the conversation short by informing me that she has the 'turtles head' and needs to visit the neccessarium. every time. whats more worrying is when she finally got a mobile and called me back mid-evacuation. hateful woman.
(hotpiss is very much liking your popping musics, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:57, Reply)

I was in the bogs
of a local nightclub one night, standing at the splashback wall urinal, when a group of three guys come in. One of them stands at the other end of the urinal, whips it out and states, quite loudly "There it is, boys - that's why the ladies can't get enough of me!". As if that wasn't weird enough, the other two gathered round him and started making comments like "That's a fucking beauty alright" and "Bet they fucking scream when you give 'em that".

I swear it was a straight bar! Honest!
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:53, Reply)

Crappy Krabbi
Travelling round thailand with my girlfriend we got stuck between ferry and flight in the stink hole that is Krabbi town. It was fucking hot and I had a dodgy tummy. Looking round for an air conditioned place to drop my load we ended up in a Chinese Karaoke teahouse(???)

I rushed into the sweaty Thai (squat over the hole) toilet and a shit grenade went off in my arse. It absolutly stank!!!, to make matters worse there was no toilet paper and just at that moment the cleaning lady decided to mop the floor. Sweating like a rapist the only thing left to do was wipe up with one of my socks.

The cleaner had a look of absolute disgust as i left the cubicle and placed my diarrhea covered sock in the bin, making a mental note to look out for lack of paper in the future.

We left the teahouse and headed for a crap department store where, 10 minutes later, I felt the cramps again. Sprinting to the shop's (even worse) toilets I let off another small brown explosion to the audience of a Thai man having a fag. I'd bloody done it again!!! there was no paper! There was, however, a little hosegun next the loo, obviously a primative flushing system. I picked it up and aimed it back up my arse to wash the crap out. Bad move! the gun went off like a riot hose, spraying little bits of shit up the walls and ceiling. Que my remaining sock.

Not a good day in Krabbi!
(fatcatpat, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:42, Reply)

GBDennis
i was the same... i can do 4 days without needing to 'visit'... festivals taught me that (did it this weekend in fact)... Solfest yaaayyyy!!!
(unlawful odour i dunno..., Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:31, Reply)

Seeing the toilets at Glasto
was enough to stop me taking a crap from the Tuesday before I left to about 5 minutes after i got home on the Monday. Glasto toilets = REALLY FRICKIN NASTY. Think of the gutters at the edges of houses, except a foot off the ground running under a couple of dozen "cubicals," so you can watch the person a couple of stalls up from your's' post digestion flafel float past. *shudder*

Also a spider decided to sit in the toilet this morning. I think you can image what happened to him :).
(Graz Da Frog, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:23, Reply)

Reading Poop
As a slightly poo-phobic kid (I'd only ever crap at home or on "nice toilets"), I never gave a second thought when a bunch of us decided to go to the Reading festival as a 17yo.
Feeling slightly bloated on the first day, I decided to queue up for a crap.
2 hours went by in this queue, once into a cubicle, i vomited. The vomit was a reaction to the rather large and still steaming turd in the wash bowl. Natually I left and never queue'd for the toilet again. The next day, lack-of-poo induced, prompting emergency call home and dad coming to pick me up..... all the way from Bradford.

Whoops.
Something about length....?
(GBDennis, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:23, Reply)

Two stories about my brothers
1. Middle brother wakes up one morning at parents' house after a night on the lash. Lying in bed nursing hangover he hears his girlfriend on the landing talking to mum: "Is he awake yet?" "I don't know, I'm going to go and get him up and tell him what he did."

Turns out he woke up in the middle of the night for a slash and, ignoring the en-suite bathroom mere feet away, walked down the landing, turned into younger brother's bedroom and sleepily relieved himself all over younger brother's bed. Then went back to bed. Luckily younger brother was away at uni at the time.

2. And now one about younger brother (still in parent's house). He'd been down the local, got plastered, and woke up in his bedroom in middle of night busting for one. In his bleary-minded state he thought he was (a) still in the pub and (b) the gleaming white radiator in front of him was the gent's urinal. Which he proceeded to use. Cue mum coming in in the morning "Why is the floor all wet here?" "Er, oh, I spilt some tea..."
( shavedchimp something something oranges something, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:17, Reply)

17 years old...
...had just moved to Dublin from the arse end of hell and met up with a friend of mine in a pub called Grogans. Having procured a wrap of speed, we retired to the only cubicle in the toilets to ingest our goodies. When we came out, there was a old guy (at least 75) at the urinal, who turned around and said to us in a really broad Dublin accent "Ahhhh shure... Ya can't beat an auld sniff". After that, it turned into one of the craziest nights of my life.
(PsiPhi, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:15, Reply)

another one i've been told
by my boyfriend. One of these nice gig bogs related ones: me, my bofriend and some mates of ours went to see a gig last July in the National Bowl, Milton Keynes. In the afternoon everybody was very keen on going to the public toilets provided, but as time went on, after a fair amount of lagers we HAD to drink not to die of thirst - we were actually roasting - nobody could be arsed walking all the way up then down the hill surrounding the Bowl, to the loos that were on the other side of the hill. So we all started going in the wood - even the ladies - on top of the hill.
It was a pretty clean job to do in the beginning, but you could soon feel, almost see the wee-steam after a couple of hours.
You had to be careful not to stand in a turd either, which was quite tricky on that slipery slope.
So my bf went for a slash and came back laughing his arse off because he'd seen some poor bloke tripping over a tree root and slipping all the way down the slope head and hands first.
( liverbird, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:08, Reply)

I used to work in a bar...
and being the lowest of the low, have the dubious honour of often being sent in to clean the toilets after people had puked and missed, pissed and missed, or worse.
One night the Ladies toilets got blocked. Two of the girls went in and refused to touch it. The manager, desperate to keep the toilets open, found the two youngest members of staff (me and one of the Glass Collectors) and sent us in.
I'd seen the Men's toilets in a fair few states, Bank Holidays tend to bring the worst out in people and leave you with eyes looking like you've just had CS Gas sprayed in them, but this was a totally new level.
There was about quarter of an inch of water on the floor coming from the overflowing toilet, girls had CONTINUED to use it, obviously long after it had been blocked up. There were Tampons and the like thrown against the wall and various messages written on the mirrors in Lipstick (what can I say, we bred them classy in Whitley Bay).
We eventually managed to clean the place up, but the toilet was still blocked. The usual culprit (a broken glass) wasn't there, letting us conclude the blockage was futher along the pipe somewhere. So we went out to the back yard and lifted the Manhole cover.
The stench was the worst thing you can imagine, a whole days worth of drunk geordie effulent building up rapidly.
Our manager, being a tightarse, didn't want to call Dynorod out, as it would cost a fortune (this being a Bank Holiday and all). So had the bright idea of trying to blow the blockage clear using CO2 from one of the Gas Bottles.
We managed to jerry-rig a hose onto a nozzle and thrust it into the brown soup. He turned it on and a fierce bubbling came up from the cocktail of crap, starting to spray it around and out of the manhole, giving a few people brown trouser legs. He then decided we needed to hold it in place, to stop the end moving round. CO2 is cold stuff, so several people ended up getting freezer burns to their hands, as well as shitty trouserlegs.
Apart from stirring up the contents of the drain, exposing smells and sights no person should ever see, the gas did nothing. Our manager then suggested shoveling out some of the drain so we could rod it ourselves. Strangely no-one would do this, so he gave in and got the professionals out. It cost 300 quid and he tried to claim he couldn't buy us all a drink at the end of a 16 hour day because of this. Could still afford several for himself though...
God I hated that place. Thanks for bringing up a long-recessed memory, bastards.
(James_Doc, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:06, Reply)

Born slippy
Travelling in Thailand on an overnight bus from Bangkok to Chang Mai. I gently tried to wake my girlfriend from a valium induced sleep....cue violent shaking and her waking up in a very bad mood to storm off to the toilet after a blazing row. Came back looking very sheepish with piss and poos all over her leg after she slipped over in a squattie and landed fair in her own waste! Cue more arguing cos I could not stop the giggles!!!
(essbeenz there done that, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:04, Reply)

Coolest toilet
Dix Hut above Arolla in Switzerland. Nothing quite like a bog that consists of a hole in a piece of wood with a 1000 foot drop below it.
(Bids How much is that window in the doggy?, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 15:04, Reply)

Leeds festival
i went into one of the cubicles for a wee wee (this was my pre-peeing outside days. I am such a lady) to find that someone had smeared shit on the inner door handle so you HAD to touch it to get out. Thank fuck i'd brought toilet paper with me.
( eponymous Oh!, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 14:59, Reply)

another... this one mine
in a toilet, in paris, very very drunk (although i have tried since i have never actually had alchohol poisening since... think i may have made myself imune). by the dawn i had that acid cleansed throat, still throwing up too and dear god it hurt like nothing i have ever suffered, until later, and needed milk or something to ease it. cue drinking small jug milk beside morning coffee... which was from the morining before (cleaners forgot or something) and it was actually cream. i am dairy intolerant to both cream or sour milk and they make my throat close and i am usually sick as well. sour cream of 24 hours? acid throat now a tiny hole so evil sour belly cream acid just hitting the ulcerated swollen ruin of flesh and going back down again. repeatedly. for hours.
lesson? never drink alchohol that ends in 'o' and always sniff the milk...

length? i edited this twice.. missed the bit about that evening... ow
(unlawful odour i dunno..., Fri 2 Sep 2005, 14:58, Reply)

Ahhh Reading Festival
I forget exactly which year it was, but it was my second time at Reading.

Anyway, I was already used to the vile sights and pure filth on the morning after the last night. I gathered from stories and the previous years experience that the burining porta loos and pushed over cubicles were normal.

However on leaving the camping area our group came accross a confused looking AA car recovery man. He was standing in front of a car which someone, somehow, had smashed a portaloo through the windscreen and it is was filled just below the window level with with a nasty looking and worse smelling brown sludge.

We took a moment to take in the sight, then walked off laughing, thinking about the nice clean cars which various parents were picking us up in. Parents are great.

My first post so length and girth surprisingly good to firm.
(amishvanhelden, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 14:55, Reply)

.
The middle cubicle in the ground floor gents toilets in the Anglessea building at the university of Portsmouth contains a bidet. None of the other cubicles do. Nobody to my knowledge has ever been able to figure out why.
(Ash Oops, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 14:45, Reply)

Money money money
Having a rather drunken night out while at Uni my friend and i went to the loo together (as girls do) and heard some strange noises coming from the cubicle next door. A quick peek under the door alerted us to the fact there was 2 pairs of feet, and they were facing different directions. Hump away we thought, and after my mate'd had a waz i noticed there was a £50 note lying on the floor poking into our cubicle, perfectly rolled up like a cigarette. For what reason I cannot imagine.... So i grabded it and we did a runner for the door. Taxi home, 3 bottles of wine from the dodgy after hours offie, 40 fags and some illegal substances later we were pretty much partied out, and still had some pocket change the next day! Aaah those were the days.
(Jonny Briggs' dog Razzle, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 14:41, Reply)