My dad
Quite a tenuous link…

Before he retired my dad was a carpenter. He worked on building and construction sites.

Being a shortish, portly fellow who likes his cheese, beer and other flatulence-inducing goods, he used to produce farts on demand, the type that stick to the back of your throat and make your eyes water.

He’d often clear an area of the workshop, especially if he was ‘upwind’ of his unsuspecting comrades.

However, after a hernia operation on his stomach, his sphincter control lessened somewhat and he had to be much more careful with his impromptu bowel orchestra.

So it was that on two occasions he managed to shit himself at work and had to go home after throwing caution to the ‘wind’.

The second time my mum was called in to pick him up and arrived with a Tesco’s bag carefully laid on the front car seat. Much to the amusement of his fellow workmates.

So, I think my dad would be the wrong man for the job to teach toilet training.

Length? More like shooting mud through a leather gun than a solid Snickers-esque turd no doubt.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Thu 6 Sep 2012, 14:08, 2 replies)

Clicked for office lols
Particularly the overly familiar concept of a fart that sticks to the back of your throat, which I've never seen or heard articulated before.

My GF spent years teaching in Africa and must have picked up some exotic gut flora, because we can eat the same food and while I'll fart standard issue comedy parps of vaguely smelly gas, she'll turn it into some kind of primitive miasmic nerve toxin. She clears whole postcodes on a bad day.
( shinyshinyscalp less a man, more a way of life, Fri 7 Sep 2012, 11:20, closed)

Just don't
Waft the duvet. Keep it trapped until it's soaked up by the covers for the love of god man!
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 7 Sep 2012, 13:09, closed)