More arse capers...
I was hanging around Toronto a few years ago, and one morning we were due to meet some friends at an out of town mall. I breakfasted on what I thought was a Herta type hotdog, cold from the fridge as you do, only do discover on the packet as I licked my fingers that they were not pre-cooked. Ah-well, what harm could that possibly do me?

Driving on the motorway a few tremendoud farts were followed by that ominous gurgling noise, and I realised that i'd need to toilet soon or there were going to be problems. The closer we got to this mall the worse my bowels boiled and turned. We entered the mall and I was immediately off in search of the shitter - eventually, and with seconds to spare, I saw the Gents - never a happier sight have I seen, I darted in and saw about a dozen cubicles, but to my horror they were all occupied with bastards trumping away to their heart's content.

Except the last stall, the blessed disabled cubicle. In I went, sparkling clean, plenty of bum fodder, I whipped down the kegs and with nary a second to spare voided my noxious guts, adding to the farty cacophany of the room.

Upon exiting, there was a small, crusty looking man, squatting on the edge of the sink opposite holding empty plastic bags. As soon as I vacated the cubicle he was in, and proceeded to fish about in the pan. He was saddened by the fact that i'd flushed, and I walked away shaking my head, but with a certain spring in my step.
(Jay Tea, Tue 6 Sep 2005, 11:51, Reply)