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» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

Travels on the sleeper bus
When I travelled in China in 1996, I had the chance to ride on one of the sleeper buses that runs through China. These are buses stripped of all their seats with narrow double bunks installed inside. The entire trip was spent lying down next to someone. The bunks on top were close enough to the ceiling that sitting up straight would cause you to slam your head, and the bottom ones were similar, though you could lean into the narrow rubber floored aisle. Obviously this bus had no toilet, so when the bus made a rare stop you took the opportunity. All bunks were shared, so I grabbed Mark, the smallest amongst our group, as my bunkmate.

The trip was interesting, I could lay on my side and watch the scenery slide past. As is typical, people were smoking, and noisily coughing up gouts of phlegm which would then be spat onto the floor, sometimes smeared with a foot to help it dry quickly.

As the night wore on things began to quieten. I managed to find a semi comfortable sleeping position that afforded me a view from the window. A couple of hours from the city we reached the roadworks between our destinations, and from there the road became a pitted stretch of dirt, which rocked the bus violently, and lead to such a slow speed that I almost could have walked alongside. Nevertheless, I managed to sleep for a while.

That is, until I woke needing to go to the toilet. Something I had eaten was not agreeing with me, and I clenched my buttocks shut, wondering if temporary denial of access for the broiling mass within me would perhaps change it's mind. I swallowed one of my anti-diarrhoea tablets, and waited to see if it would have an effect. No such luck. With deft efficiency born of desperation I grabbed my shoes and my precious roll of toilet paper, which I crammed into my left shoe. I crawled slowly over Mark, waking him first to make sure he wouldn't think he was about to be molested.

I dropped lightly into the aisle, not waking anyone, and stood up straight. I made my way to the driver, and said `Cesuo', meaning `Toilet'. He said something I didn't understand, and then gestured for me to get back. I tried again but he looked angry, and my knowledge of Chinese didn't cover such emergencies. I stood back, and began to clench in an attempt to prevent myself from making a real mess. I knew that if I `Broke the seal' I would be unable to stop myself. I clenched my jaw and waited, and waited. Several millenia passed, and I looked at my watch. It had been 10 minutes. Our arrival would be around 6 am, approximately 3 hours from now. There was no possible way I could hold it in. Just as this thought arrived, I noticed with delight that the urgency was waning! My body had finally received the message! Feeling substantially better, I climbed back into the bed.

I knew immediately I had made a serious error in judgement. The wave had not receded, it had merely fallen back and waited for reinforcements, like the ocean receding before the tsunami arrives.

The second I lay back down I was assaulted from within with renewed vigour. I climbed back over Mark in a hurry, and jumped into the aisle, stepping heavily on my tour leader's leg. She woke up for about 5 seconds and swore, then fell immediately back asleep. I began the process of clenching my jaw and anus once again, but realised fairly quickly that I had no chance. My options within the next minute were to get off the bus and relieve myself or stay on the bus and relieve myself.

With a confidence born of desperation, I stepped to the drivers side and said, loudly, `CESUO'. He looked at me, obviously pissed off at the long nose bastard, and muttered `Cesuo?'. `Dui, Cesuo!' I said, managing to retain a sweaty sort of composure. `Kwai, kwai (quick!)' he said angrily, and pulled over, opening the door. In a head slapping moment of insight some time later, I realised that I should have simply bribed him to stop when I first asked him.

I looked out into the wet sand that made the side of the road, and turned to get my shoes and toilet paper. One shoe had disappeared! It was nowhere in sight!

Can you guess which shoe it was, friends and neighbours?

That's right! The shoe with the toilet paper!

I was about to spend time looking when a muscle spasm caused me to nearly befoul myself. I leapt from the door, praying the driver would not take off, and looked about for somewhere to conceal myself. As I stood with my socks sinking slowly into the damp coarse sand, I realised there was absolutely nowhere to hide. We were hemmed in by a ridge of sand which was being used to make the road better, and was about half the height of the bus. This was to be my first squat in a very long time. Without much hesitation I dropped trousers in plain view of any awake passengers on my side of the bus who cared to look, and unleashed a great steaming pile of liquid shit.

Now, I know that there are heights of pleasure rarely accomplished without pharmaceuticals or years of meditation. If the overwhelming sensation of relief that I discovered at that moment could be bottled, I would be well and truly rich. I gasped in delight as waves of relief flushed through my body, and finished up. I looked down, and to my surprise realised I had not soiled my pants, legs or feet one bit! In the heat of the moment I had paid little attention to the direction of the spray of either my starfish or dick, and it seems that only luck prevented what would have been one of the messier experiences of my life.

Pleasure then turned to a sense of mild despair. I realised that I had no toilet paper of any form, and unless I chose to wipe with my socks, I was probably going back onto a bus, unwiped, in close quarters with my travelling companions. Thinking quickly I exercised the option that I considered to be most valid, I extended my index finger and wiped, once for each buttock. I then flicked my finger, scrubbed it with sand, and returned to the bus, where I sterilised with rubbing alcohol. I suppose I could have played a game of `smell my finger' with my bunkmate, but I'm not that evil (and I know that I must sleep at some point).

My shoe, with toilet paper, was found the next morning under a bunk. Other members of the group expressed disgust that I had walked on the floor in bare socks. I never had the heart to tell them about the high tech wipe. High tech? Yeah, it was digital.
(Thu 3rd Apr 2008, 1:16, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

Poo Prose
Here, let me regale you
With a tale now not long past
Of a dump I took that cracked the bowl
And nearly tore my arse

My stomach felt all backed up
And my bowels were feeling mean
Till I dropped the biggest borry
That the world had ever seen

The splash it made on impact
Would have drowned a thousand mice
It left my buttocks sodden and
it felt as cold as ice

The stench that followed after
Left me struggling to breathe
A mushroom cloud of deadly stink
That made my balls recede

Then with a snap, the porcelain
that made this stinking seat
Split right in two, a mighty splash
Foul water soaked my feet!

The moral of this story folks?
`Be careful on the can'
Stay away from spicy foods
And eat a lot more bran


I wrote this many years ago, it's probably out there online somewhere still.
(Sat 29th Mar 2008, 5:54, More)

» Evil Pranks

That's not funny...
This isn't something I did, but something that was done to me.

Back around '99 I was involved with a group of people, some friends, some strangers, in running a Live Action Roleplaying game at a convention. Yep, label me Mr Geeky. I played a doctor in a frontier western town, the frontier of the known galaxy that is. Think of it as a bit like Firefly, some years before the actual show aired.

The game went on, all was good, nothing weird happened there.

Some weeks later I had the chance to go the USA for business. One of my friends from the game and I were having an email back and forth about various things, and I mentioned the trip. He asked why I was going, and apparently I failed to respond in a timely enough fashion to his question.

His response to this was to email everyone who had been involved in the game (15 or more people, many of them people I barely knew) with a message saying

`Remember Tomble, the guy who played the doctor in our game? Unforunately he's been diagnosed with renal cancer and is off to the U.S. for treatment next week. Drop him a line to let him know you're thinking of him'.

So, I got a few messages, and a message from my `friend' saying `Enjoy the prank? heh heh'.

The worst message I got was from a girl at the game who said `I was diagnosed with MS last year, so I know you must be feeling pretty down. Let me know if you want to chat'.

I emailed her back and let her know that it had been a `prank', and she was a bit stunned. Emailed back and forth a bit more, and we've been together for 8 years now.

A few years later I was reintroduced to someone from the game and they furrowed their brow and asked `didn't you have chemotherapy or something shortly after that?'.

I pranked him back a bit later with a `fake format' program that loaded at startup on his PC, which had never been backed up and contained everything he had written for the previous few years. He nearly had a stroke right there as he clicked `cancel' and it started thrashing the hard drive and displaying a progress bar.

Apologies for penis. I mean length.
(Fri 14th Dec 2007, 0:35, More)

» Get Rich Quick

Ahhh, love. Blind, ignorant love.
My dad was on the phone to an associate of his two days ago - the conversation turned my brain into porridge (he put the phone on speaker so I could hear).

So, it seems that his friend, (who is a gun owning, fundamentalist christian, numerologist guy who tells weird tales about things that he has supposedly done), has met a girl online!

They are in love, and soon to be married.

A good thing too, because after the sudden death of her parents recently, she stands to inherit a great sum of money, but only after she is married.

Where is she from? Oh, Nigeria originally, but now she is living in London.

So anyway, they are in love, and soon to be wed! All she needs is $20,000 in order to pay for the processing fees and legal bills on the funds transfer. He's sent $3500 already (this guy is broke, I hate to think that he borrowed the cash), and now he just needs to raise another $16,500. (hint hint)

Yes.. So... He just needs the extra money (hint) and can get a huge sum in return. Just needs... that extra money. (hint hint hint).

Dad told him that he should talk to a bank about getting a loan, surely with the security of the $8,000,000 he would have no problem securing the money from a bank.

I was pretty much in shock after hearing this. Dad tried to tell him `it's a scam.. It's the Nigerian money scam'. But was repeatedly ignored.

Someone is getting rich quick off this. How could he not know about the Nigerian scams? You type `nigeria money' into google and it's everywhere.
(Fri 1st Aug 2008, 3:56, More)

» Your first cigarette

So there I was...
I don't smoke. Never liked it, had a minor nicotine addiction as a child thanks to my dad's habit (after he quit, I found myself standing downwind of smokers, enjoying the scent). Moderate asthma gave me an insight into what it might be like to have awful lung ailments.


It was December, 1992, school was finished for good, and along with a group of friends we rented a holiday house close to the beach for about a week. Being in the southern hemisphere, this meant it was warm and sunny, of course.

Much drinking was done by all, and on the second night or so I was sitting happily in the crappy 70's style kitchen, admiring the slices of awful orange processed cheese that we had managed to stick to the ceiling. The funky meat cleaver we had found in the drawer was half buried in the kitchen table. I had earlier blown a hole in the flywire door (yes, metal mesh DOES burn when you blast it with a fly spray flamethrower).

Amazingly, we got our security deposit back at the end of the stay, thanks to a day of plastering, mesh replacement and wood putty.

But I digress.

As I said, I have never smoked, and never really liked it, but I was happily drunk and in a more accepting frame of mind. `Why not just try it?' I wondered, and accepted a smoke from my friend.

I sucked that smoke down like it was some sort of competition. I felt pretty good! Kind of weird, too, a bit light headed! Look at me, the big smokin' man! I wasn't completely gone, but certainly too far gone to refuse the second fucking cigarette my fucking friend offered me. Fucker.

By the time I was done with it, I was DONE. I sat in the chair for about a thousand years, reeling. Everyone else finally headed to bed.

`Are you okay?'
`Did you smoke both of those?'
`I'm off to bed'

I stared at the ground for another thousand years. My head felt horribly light, my skin felt clammy. I felt almost entirely disconnected from my senses, but somewhere in my head an alarm was going off.

I knew with crystal clarity that if I stood up, I was going to puke. With this knowledge, I did the only thing I could - I stayed in the chair and puuuuuuuked.

So long alcohol, farewell hamburger, adieu, greasy chips. All fell from my gaping maw like a tsunami of bad food and butyric acid.

Within seconds I felt fine. Not just fine, but GREAT! I was awake, I was sober, the awful feelings coursing through me mere moments ago were now slopped across the floor, externalised.

I found the most ridiculously shitty mop I've ever seen, and pushed the pile of goo around the floor until it was all gone. Being my own puke, it didn't worry me at all.

I woke up early the next morning, sober and hungry. Was it a positive experience? Well, it was an educational experience, and that's really all that matters in this case I guess.

Now, I have had alcohol more than once, and it doesn't make me sick. I've smoked tobacco again since, it was mixed with some other smokeables, and I ended up dry retching for 20 minutes.

Tobacco = my stomach's worst enemy.
(Thu 27th Mar 2008, 6:49, More)
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