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» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

Nerve Induced Hyper-Excretion
Now, there are few things in my life thus far that rival the nervousness I inevitably suffer at exam periods.

Why, many is the time that I’ve sat down in front of a maths paper, and wished with all my very being that I had had the foresight to take a preparation dump, as the contents of my writhing intestines make repetitive escape attempts, via my puckered balloon knot.

It is all I can do to hold my focus on the exam paper, tense my buns and pray that the hour or so to come will pass swiftly, and without incident.

It was earlier this week, that I was scheduled to sit a French Oral exam, and was, as they say, “bricking it”. On the morning of the exam, my waking thought was, that if I was indeed destined to fail at French, at least I wouldn’t shit myself.

My thinking was that as a preventative method, I would flush my system entirely of any perpetrating turds that may pose a threat to the integrity of my underpants. And flush it I did!

I had gathered but never put into practice, that concentrated roughage is the best way to purge ones self of nastiness lurking in the digestive system, and short of colonic irrigation, I was willing to try anything. So the night before the day of reckoning saw me sitting at the kitchen table, munching my way through a box of Kellogg’s finest Bran Flakes and off to bed nice early.

The morning arrived with undue haste, and the nerves began to set in. I was practically shaking as I sat down again to finish off the Bran Flakes, which I duly did. I am usually a fairly regular visitor of the toilet bowl, but to my slight unease, I did not feel the customary morning urge to curl one in.

My appointment with the executio-- I mean examiner, was to take place at 3.00, which gave me precious time to do some last minute cramming, which was spent instead watching the clock, and counting the minutes to my impending doom.

It was shortly before 3.00, when I was finally graced with the urge to empty my bowels, and I meandered feverishly towards the bathroom. People have many words for occasions like this. Some would call it an epiphany, a brain wave, but I like to think I found god in that cubicle, and I was truly blessed as I gave life to an undeniably splendid poo.

So splendid in fact that it deemed itself above the laws of mere mortals, and refused to flush. It lodged itself in the bowl and subsequently caused a large blockage. As the water was close to overflowing, my thoughts went out to the cleaner, who would fatefully have to dislodge this symbol of mans ability to achieve greatness, this beacon of hope, this massive turd which I was frankly astounded I had passed myself.

With a strong feeling of triumph, I made my way to the sink, to consecrate this holy deed. But, no sooner had I turned the tap than I felt the earth itself tremor. My stomach lurched, and in realisation, I made a dash for the second cubicle.

This time I dropped several dollops of somewhat less consistent godliness, which conspired to form what I can only describe as a grating over the exit pipe of the toilet, blocking the escape of the paper, and causing a second blockage.

Surprised by myself, I chuckled and made my way once more to the sink. This time, I didn’t even reach it before I was overcome by the dramatic shifting taking place inside me. I made for the third and last cubicle in the bathroom, and just managed to place myself over the bowl before all hell was let lose.


Whilst sitting in contemplation, it occurred to me how despite being full of all manner of poos, my insides were in almost perfect balance. Like yin and yang, whilst upon occasion performing spectacularly, I was also capable of great evil.


The shear amount of bog roll involved in the wiping of a poo such as this was more than enough to block the third successive toilet.

I tentatively immerged into the room, feeling several kilograms lighter; I looked back to admire my work, and take in the strong sent of my endeavours. I was careful to wash my hands well, and in so doing, noticed the time! It was 3.00! Shit!

In the end I got an A. It was the cherry on the cake, which was the most successful day of my life to date. The day when I blocked every toilet in the college bathrooms.

Length – the ordeal lasted no less than half an hour.
(Thu 27th Mar 2008, 23:03, More)

» Guilty Pleasures, part 2

Doesn't matter to me if anybody else is around...
I take great pleasure in crushing the shit out of all the kinder surprise eggs in the shop. Sometimes takes more than one pass at the isle, if the shop assistant is looking. But on a good day you can just fuckin’ pwn the whole lot at once.

And guess what time of year it is..?

Easter Eggs anyone?

This year i've set myself the task of a minor massacre at my local supermarket. The destruction of an entire stock of Easter Eggs could be considered a big ask, but by god, I’ll crush them or be kicked out trying.

Length – sell-by / life expectancy marginally reduced.
(Thu 13th Mar 2008, 14:45, More)

» Tightwads

Another anecdote from days on tour
As a band, we've been described as 'tighter than a virgin with pelvic cramps'. To be fair, we were pretty strapped for cash too. (Oooh snap!)

When calculating our expenses, we decided we could save some pennies by living on Asda Smart Price food. We all lost a lot of weight. And not the good losing weight some of you may be imagining. Think malnutrition.

But food wasn't all we were going to need. In terms of sleeping arrangements, we reasoned that some of us could 'van it', and the rest would sleep in tents wherever we managed to set them up. In theory this was fine, and even in practice, finding a place to set up camp was not the issue.

What we did was simply to drive away from any light we could see, houses or streetlights, and then keep going until everything was dark and tomtom no longer recognised where we were.

The problem arose a few nights into the tour, as we began to penetrate Wales. We found that other than some good festivals, all there really is in Wales is sheep... and rain.

So i wake up in my tent, located in a field somewhere, and it takes me a moment or two to understand the patterns of the rain drops all over the roof. It takes a further few moments for me to make sense of the rain drops still falling onto me. And i slowly realise why i am quite so cold.

It transpired that the tents had also been purchased in Asda, and as such were in no way waterproof. Clothes, shoes, sleeping bag, pillow and self, completely drenched. And it wasn't as if we could get new ones, or even dry ourselves or our belongings.

The tents, of which we bought 3, cost us about £5 each. The utterly shameful part was that we couldn't afford to replace them. So each night we said a small prayer, and climbed back into the sodden things, only to wake again the next day, in a large puddle.

"Shotgun van!"
(Thu 23rd Oct 2008, 19:44, More)

» Food sabotage

Oh Ben, What a mess.
I'm in a little known, highly talented ska band which recently got off tour from around the UK. Naturally, with a bunch of 18 year olds on their first real road trip, there was tomfoolery aplenty.

For many of us, having come from private school with very little life experience, living on a budget was proving to be quite a task. But we soon learned how to feed 7 starving mouths with next to no cash, with the help of our little friend Asda "Smart Price", whose aisles were full of wondrously cheap delights, none of which were quite as they first appeared.

It soon became our ritual to locate our closest miracle factory with the aid of our tomtom, troop in with no more than £20 between us, and buy just enough food to survive the next day or so. A favourite of ours was to buy 4 large unsliced loaves of bread, along with 4 whole cooked chickens and then whatever we could manage in terms of cheese or mayo, totalling around £20.

Outside, we'd set up by our van, hollow out the loaves of bread, pull the chickens apart and stuff them in. And there you would have a mass of food at least several times the size of your stomach, which would hopefully last a full day.

Naturally, a meal this size would not be consumed in a single sitting, especially taking into account our shrunken stomachs, so a sizable remainder was always wrapped up and saved for later. I can tell you there were few things on tour nicer than discovering your left over sandwich, when you are cold and hungry, facing another night under the stars.

So one evening, having played a good show at a small venue somewhere in the northern reaches of England, we retired to our van to formulate a plan for the night. Ben [I intend to use his real name as I know he reads b3ta] felt the urge to go back inside for a shit. While he was gone we discovered our left over sandwiches and began to happily munch away. His, in his absence was left untouched, and it was felt an unmissable opportunity to single him out and make him feel stupid.

To first make clear exactly how bad the following really is, I’ll ask you to take into account that on tour, we did not have the luxury of frequent showers. We had the odd opportunity, but they were few and far between. Consequently, we smelled pretty fuckin’ awful.

It was decided that the appropriate course of action was to pass Ben’s sandwich around the group, each touch our arse with it, and pass it on. After one circuit there were six arses effectively IN the sandwich, but this was not enough. When it found its way back to the hands of the original instigator of the sabotage, a questionable character by the name of PM, a challenge was issued from the group for PM to “touch it with his knob”. PM Went one better and fully penetrated the sandwich, with a moan.

When Ben immerged from the building, post-shite, he suspected nothing. The sandwich had been neatly repackaged, and we did our best not to piss ourselves with stifled sniggers as it was offered to him. He took it, and walked slowly about the van as he ate. By the last few bites, we were no longer doing a good job of covering up the hilarity of the situation, and even as we fell about laughing right in front of him, Ben would not be deterred from his delicious sandwich.

With the damage done, there was nothing for it but to tell poor Ben what had been so funny.
There does in fact exist a poorly filmed, dimly lit video in which Ben can be seen still holding the plastic bag from whence the sandwich had come, being informed of his misfortune. The dialogue is something to this effect:

[PM]: [out of shot] So, Ben. You’ve just had a shit. How was it?
[Ben]: Mm, satisfying.
[PM]: And you also just had your sandwich. How was that?
[Ben]: Mm, also satisfying.
[PM]: It tasted good then?
[Ben]: Mm, yes.
[PM]: It didn’t taste at all of cock?
[Ben] *Spaks out and runs about in road*

When he’d finished almost being killed by cars, Ben returns to the still running camera and says something along the lines of:

[Ben]: So what you’re telling me is I’ve practically sucked your cock?
[PM]: That’s right Ben.
[Ben]: Mm. Third base – Score!
(Mon 22nd Sep 2008, 13:09, More)

» Stalked

Man Meets Girl
Man marries girl, buys house with/for girl, has 2 children with girl, spends 16 years with girl, gets bored, kicks girl+kids out of house, sells house, sells girls life insurance (despite the fact that girl has breast cancer), buys new house 100 odd miles away, leaves girl+ kids with nothing and goes on holiday for a month while new house under construction.

Girl obsesses over man, goes slightly insane, has breasts removed (on account of the cancer) and descends into deep depression. Kids have to change to crappy state school, grades suffer, kids start to disappear for days at a time and are frequently discovered unconscious in fields with empty vodka bottles.

Construction of new house completed. Girl+kids moves in (!?!), girl changes entire decorating plan and pretends nothing ever happened.

Man arrives at new home, discovers girl, charges of assault and GBH ensue and man winds up in jail.

And they all lived happily ever after… no, wait--
(Mon 4th Feb 2008, 9:48, More)
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