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» Desperate Times

My Darkest Hour
I can honestly say, this was the most terrifying day of my life, bar none. I was sat on a train headed to a party with two of my friends who also happen to be complete bastards.

They had commenced the pre-party drinking from the first stop, but knowing the limits of my tempestuous bladder and that the train toilet was more than likely out of order, I had opted to show restraint.

I'd had my fingers burnt in the past wherein I had to drunkenly fill up a two litre strongbow bottle thanks to lack of proper facilities.

Anyway, there we all are about half way into the journey and I think 'sod it, I'll just have one' and start necking a bottle of warm Strongbow Sirrus.

Shortly after I've finished I suddenly feel a fart coming on. Nothing fancy, a wee trump, bit bubbly, but that's all. Then it's followed by another. And another.

The fear is now starting to set in, I'm getting the cold sweats and every word I say is through gritted teeth. The toilet, as predicted, is out of order and, in my desperation, I even briefly consider jumping off a stop or two early to relieve myself and then getting a taxi to the final destination.

I decide to hold fast and wait until we reach our stop then use the station toilet there.

Upon arrival at said station I vault out the train and leg it into the ticket office (taking very quick but short strides) only to be greeted by an empty ticket booth and a locked toilet door.

I franticly search for a ticketeer or whatever they're called and upon finally finding her and asking for key to the bogs am told 'no chance, son. Av got a husband to go home to.'

There isn't a night goes by that I don't hope her husband was dead when she got home.

It's zero hour now, and I am out of options. I wouldn't last the taxi journey to our party destination and I knew of no public toilets within reach. I had no choice, I was going to have to poo in a bush.

My friends sauntered off to the taxi office and told me to come get them when I was done, and with that I soldiered into the darkness to do the deed.

Without going into too much detail, the job got done relatively quickly. It was only afterwards, though, that I realised I needed something to wipe with. It was only then that I realised I had skinny jeans and converse on.

There were no ample leaves sight so my boxers seemed the only choice. This presented ANOTHER problem: Removing them without taking off my jeans, while perched over my own shit. The obvious solution was to rip them off, which all went swimmingly until I reached the elastic waistband. I wrestled with it for about five minutes before giving up and then, to my eternal shame, resorting to rubbing my bum up and down some foam stuff that was attached to one of the trees.

While engaging in this woodland poledancing, it occurred to me I could just lift the boxers up over my head, having now torn them to shreds. I pushed ahead with this plan of action only to discover I didn't need to wipe at all, which either means that foam was super absorbent or I took the perfect crap.

Mission complete, I tossed my boxers away and went to the party, where I still managed to get my end away, despite both my friends informing everyone of my little adventure. Told you they were bastards.
(Tue 20th Nov 2007, 21:27, More)

» Unexpected Nudity

Does it count if mine was the unexpected nudity?
As you'll all have noticed, we've recently been host to a wonderful heatwave.

Given that my flat is like a chuffing oven as soon as sunlight hits it, we have to keep all the windows open, which also means every fly and his dog bombs in.

My friend, having recently read a top tip on this site, was trying to hoover up all the flies when another flatmate strolled in and asked what he was doing.

"The flies are back, it's the first sign of summer' he told him.

'Christ, not the flies again.'

'I know, it won't be long til we're walking about naked again.'

'No, I don't think you'll be doing that again this year.'

After over-hearing this conversation from my room, and given that I'd woke up stark bollock, I decided to time my stroll down the hall perfectly with his damning of fancy free nudity.

This resulted in my friend falling over laughing while the other fella turned round to see me, cock out and grinning like an idiot.

I don't think we'll be missed once we move.
(Mon 1st Jun 2009, 7:24, More)

» Pathological Liars

I worked for one day
With a guy that claimed to have been in a fight with 12 chavs (or neds, depending on your neck of the woods) and that one of them had stabbed him in the neck with a screwdriver. The next day, upon requesting that he present the wound he replied 'oh no it's healed up now.'

Apparently he also swore that after being ditched on a work night out, he was picked up buy a milf who took him back to her house and rattled him while her husband and children were in the next room.

Maybe you're thinking he was just the perfect lovechild of Rambo, Bruce Willis and a bag of raw sexual energy, but I must stress the fact he was, in reality, a fat little ginger riot with a flat face.
(Thu 6th Dec 2007, 7:54, More)

» Political Correctness Gone Mad

Work in a big supermarket
And at the induction, they give us the mandatory list of things you can't call people, like mongo, midget and whatnot.

They are even kind enough to offer up a list of alternatives.

So there I am going down the list, and I get to 'blind person.' And it's on the 'Don't' list.

Instead, you are apparantly supposed to call them 'a person who is blind.'

Now I ask you, what is the point in that?

Oh yeah, I'm sure Stevie Wonder at checkout number 2 feels so much better being referred to as a person who is blind and not a blind person.

Way to strive for human rights, idiots.
(Thu 22nd Nov 2007, 18:36, More)

» Puns

You would not believe the pride that coursed through me...
When I came up with this:

George Michaels bursts into a bakers, and starts throwing a complete shitfit.

"I bought this cake here the other day, and it's bloody awful. It's all lumpy and stuff."

The head baker examines it and then says,

"Ah, I see the problem here. We've got a trainee in and he hasn't done the eggs properly."

"Aha!" Exclaims George, "what you've got here is a careless whisker."

Thank you and goodnight.
(Sat 7th Mar 2009, 17:18, More)
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