Shitting in the bidet
On a school ski trip to Italy last year, I was in the company of seven other people from my year, all of whom I would consider friends. We were in four rooms of two. They all had ensuite bathrooms, complete with bidet, although I can't begin to fathom the sort of person who would actually use such a device. I had the questionable fortune of sharing a room and, this being Europe, bed, with a friend who managed to do a grand total of nine shits in three days, four of them being on our first full day. And these were properly big and ones, too, with all the smell that is associated with such grand bowel movements.

But while our friends were impressed, as no doubt you are too, that was not the main toilet event that single-handedly made the trip worthwhile. No. One of my friends has something of a friendly vendetta against one of my other friends, the latter of whom is almost universally known as 'Egg'. They were sleeping in different rooms, and so for the first four days of the trip, friend number one almost constantly threatened: "Egg, I'm going to shit in your bidet."

Friend number one then had a dilemma. He was not going to back out of such a brilliant idea that could yield such hilarious results, but on the other hand he knew if he went through with it then he would be the one who would have to clear it up, as everyone would know that it was him that did it. So, on the fifth day, he devised a plan.

When everyone else had hit the town (translation: gone to buy illicit and umfeasibly cheap beer), the deed was done. Egg returned to the hotel to cries of "Egg, Egg, look what I've done in your bidet!"

Egg dashed upstairs, followed shortly by the rest of us ready for a bit of toilet related amusement, to be greeted with the sight of a slimy, sticky, runny brown mess staring up at him smugly from the porcelain bowl. Much mirth ensued, except on the part of Egg and his roommate who were understandably fairly pissed off. To add to this, the guilty party flatly refused to get rid of the offending article. Egg then took matters into his own hands and went and told our history teacher, the man in charge of the trip.

It may seem to you at this point that bidet besmircher was in for a bollocking and shitty hands. But no. You see, what he had done, instead of actually do a shit, was thouroughly chew up a kit kat (or possibly two. You know, for effect) and spit the gunky mess into the bidet. Ingenious. So, after being so unceremoniously grassed up, he went to our history teacher and explained this.

It should be said, at this point, that our history teacher is a real man's man, with more broken fingers than unbroken ones, a 6' frame, an immobile wrist from when the glass smashed after an undefined number of tequila slammers, and still has the dents in the roof of his car from when he turned it over on the school drive.

So, the history teacher, now in on the joke, commanded, with more than a slight smile on his face, that Egg should be the one to clear up the mess. Sadly, I can't remember how the story concluded, as I was laughing too hard at my friend's misfortune.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Mon 5 Sep 2005, 13:40, Reply)