ToiletsToilets are weird half public/half private spaces. All sorts of stuff goes on in them. They are devious entrances and exits from venues, places to have sex, to snort drugs or even, get this, to defecate. Tell us your favourite toilet stories.
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chthonic, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 11:11)
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Being a fan of the curryage...And having a fair resistance to capsicin, I got a curry from one of Darkest Darlington's better curry houses. Having had several meals there previously, and knowing their Madras to be somewhat on the medium side, I elected to go for the vindaloo.
Don't get me wrong, I've had the curry of potatoes at a number of places. Tried the legendary phal a couple of times without noticable ill effects. As this particular restaurant seemed to err on the side of caution, I could perhaps have been forgiven for thinking the Vindaloo would be warming but not overly malignant.
I was wrong.
I had a number of days excreting nothing more solid than week-old milk, infused with a poisonous reek of rancid garlic and stomach acid, with visits every bloody time peristalsis yanked things up another notch. The frequent, incendiary flatulence helped not one iota.
Worst bit, without a doubt, was my arsehole becoming rubbed raw with constant applications of bog roll. It got so bad that walking was pure, undiluted, teeth-clenching agony for the lower midsection.
By day five, when I managed to crimp off a parsimonious, wrinkled, turd; one that the cat would have looked on with disdain; one that (in the words of Maddox) I wouldn't have fed to my kids; that was actually solidish; I practically wept for joy that the intestinal devastation was finally over.
I still visit the curry house, oddly enough.
(, Fri 2 Sep 2005, 23:23, Reply)
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