Brent was right...

[Tom Hark Preston Park]

I could have beckoned over the hearing dog and trodden on his paw, I guess.

You do realise that a dog's sense of smell is about a thousand times more highly developed that that of a human? Poor doggie must have been plunged into the very bowels, as it were, of dog smell hell.

 

[Simster]

Just to let you all know, don't EVER try to crimp out a fat one while suffering from a bad back. Not from the obvious danger of some kind of rupture as you reach the anal equivalent of the vinegar strokes, but from the potential collateral damage.

A couple of years ago I was suffering from a back SPASM and felt the need to drain my colon. The previous nights chicken tikka mahani was duly dispatched to a better place and I was then confronted with the need to mop up. I then realised that due to my back I couldn't reach round to administer the buffing up so had to call on Mrs Hiney to assist. She wasn't happy but after some gentle persuading, she agreed to wield the paper and help me out.

By this time, the toilet smelt like kicking out time at the black hole of Calcutta, so she was struggling a bit. She took a deep breath and, holding her wad of Andrex infused with aloe Vera, she plunged behind me and moved towards the crime scene. At this time, she inadvertently took a breath and immediately spewed forth a stream of bile, carrots and assorted chunks straight down my back. I was now sitting there with a rapidly drying crust of decaying curry circling my ring, with a stream of vomit drizzling into my arse crack. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Somehow we managed to clear up and agreed that we should never speak of it again.



Oh.

Oh. My. f***ing. Days.

 

[Simon Morgan]

I had an invite to our new £80 million office today, although its official opening date is a few months away thought I would christen the cistern.

Imagine my dismay when I got to the building, having baked one all morning, when I was asked to give a 30 minute presentation to a bunch of colleagues about the new AV equipment that has been installed.

I was hopping from foot to foot for the last dozen slides, and then after a somewhat strangled "Are there any questions" I bombed out of the room before anyone could raise a hand.

Further panic ensued when I realised that I didn't actually KNOW where the bogs were, and as the building is not yet complete, they have not yet put the toilet signs on the rooms. I was diving in and out of offices, stationery cupboards and God knows what until eventually I found a bog (not sure if it was male or female), sat down to unleash a logjam, which was now so old it had FUR growing on it. Felt suitably proud of myself, and then realised that because the building is not officially open there was no BOGROLL.

It was a suitably uncomfortable journey home, as there are a few winnits clinging on to my hairy Irish arse, and as soon as I got home I put my undercrackers straight into the washing machine on a BOIL wash, to remove the crocodile skiis that are lining my Calvin Kleins.

I am sure there is a moral to this tale, but not sure what it is.

Well done to all contributors so far, but the above is top drawer

 

[TWOCHOICEStom]

I've had to stop reading this thread as I'm laughing so much people are looking at me in the office... I'll come back at lunch.. mmmm...

 

[JBizzleBeard]

Oh man this is bringing back bad memories of the 'shoe poo' that I witnessed swimming down the toilet of the ladies bogs where I work (I'm a caretaker btw). Seriously, it was about a size ten and needed beating with a stick. My job is really, pardon the pun, shit sometimes

I do like to let a ripper (fart not poo poo) out in the shower most mornings, I love the dolby high def surround sound you get in there. Also the day I stop laughing at the sound of a fart is the day I have officially stopped living.

 

[Withdean and I]

French Trap Hell

Travelling on the French motorway network en route to Switzerland a few years back I had a very unfortunate experience in a 'trap' in more ways than one would care to encounter.

Usually the act of driving, and henceforth being sat down, is enough to dull the desire to need to find a trap at all. However on this particular occasion I could sense a growing urge to dispense a rather weighty load of faecal matter within a rapidly decreasing time frame.

The joy of seeing the signs for a service station was however soon turned to anguish when I saw that the mens toilets were closed because of building works and that there was a queue half a mile long of both men and women who were having to share the womens toilets.

After a wait of increasing desperation I eventually found myself at the doorway to the toilets and soon realised that people were only using three out of the four available traps.

With still quite a few people until my turn, I was now so close to soiling my undercrackers that I just dived into the trap that no one was using - it was then that my real hell started.

Upon closing the door behind me I realised why no one had been using the trap I had entered. Someone's filthy derriere had seemingly exploded all over the floor, walls and even ceiling of this hell-trap. It was like something out of a horror film and the stench was so vile I didn't know what I was going to do first, vomit or stool?

Now I don't like lumping people together, let alone a whole nation, but I think our cousins across the English Channel have enough of a history of being fairly liberal and free with where they choose to do 'their daily business'. To be honest I'm amazed that they even have toilets at all over there. It seems that the general populace are only just getting 'potty trained' and I seemed to have entered the training ground for the 'potty training retards'.

Anyway I pulled my tee shirt and jumper over my nose and mouth to try and lessen the noxious fumes and, whilst realising that my trainers were also squelching in brown custard, I applied myself to the task in hand of bowel emptying. Whilst releasing the 'matter of the day' it dawned on me that my bigger problem was yet to be faced - leaving the trap and facing the next incumbent to my throne.

Before that however I was faced with my next problem - no bog roll......by some stroke of good fortune (although good fortune was rather thin on the ground at that point) I managed to dig out an old hankie and attempt a 'clean up' operation with varying degrees of success.

Then the moment had arrived where I had to make some kind of exit from the hell in which I had found myself. I gathered myself and opened the door and before I had a chance to fully exit, someone else was right there ready to enter, and the rest of the people in the queue were looking at me.

I looked back at the person readying themselves to enter 'hell trap' - they looked back at me in utter disgust and they obviously thought that I was the 'toilet monster' responsible for such a gross scene. Stupidly I looked at them and the rest of the people in the queue and in my best 'Frenglish' said "It wasn't me" which with hindsight I realise made me look even more like the culprit. I walked out with poo footprints trailing behind me, feeling like 'pigpen' from Charlie Brown with peole just staring at me and shaking their heads.

Not the best of times I think its fair to say.

 

[Hiney]

TREMENDOUS(ly repulsive) story.

French 'toilets' are as close to faecal HELL as is possible. They don't seem to have ANY scruples at all when it comes to emptying their bowels.

 

[brightn'ove]

I feel like I must contribute to the theory of the pure vulgarity of vegetarian excrement, however this tale is not of solids.. but of liquids.

In my university halls of residence my hallway consists of 20 rooms and there is one unisex toilet which consists of 3 traps (rule of thumb, never go in the middle.) To my delight, I was presented with 3 empty traps so I went for the far left, which has treated me well in this past year in both clenliness and bog roll supply.

So the story is set, there I was, happily going about my business when somebody enters the trap next to me (the middle one of all...) But this person was not there to stool, oh no. Instead this person let out the most almighty of pisses, so powerful that it was audible above my headphones and so powerful that the splashback off of the bowl went over the wall into my trap...

So after unwillingly receiving a golden shower while taking a dump, I hurriedly wiped and left my stool to jump into the shower, and who else was standing there washing their hands but the only vegitarian female in our corridor, desperately trying to avoid eye contact. She could obviously feel my piss-sprinkled eyes burn through the back of her head as I waited to wash my hands as she hasn't spoken to me since the incident occurred.

Seriously, eat some meat people, if not for yourself, for those that have to suffer your disgusting bodily ejections.

 

[Cappers]

This is sheer poerty at its best, and by far the most constructive thread this season.
I would love to contribute, but I cant compete with this. Suffice to say whilst reading these posts I was laughing so much I started to lay the foundations to my log cabin, without even making it to either trap 1 or 2 on the landing between floors 3 and 4.

 

[Box of Frogs]

This is sheer poerty at its best, and by far the most constructive thread this season.
I would love to contribute, but I cant compete with this. Suffice to say whilst reading these posts I was laughing so much I started to lay the foundations to my log cabin, without even making it to either trap 1 or 2 on the landing between floors 3 and 4.

I'll be giving that area a miss this afternoon then!

 

[Lurker]

A few years back the Sales team I belonged to were invited on a factory tour at Fort Dunlop.
We used it as a bonding session, usual stuff ... tour of factory, followed by enormous piss up in the evening, overnight stop in hotel, back to the factory offices the following morning to take advantage of our host's facilities and conduct a sales meeting before all buggering off home that afternoon.

I normally avoid public dumping at all costs.
I'll wait cross eyed, cross legged, crossed everything ... even walk like a penguin to avoid visiting any toilet that isn't at home, but after a night on the beers and curry, things were desperate.
The comfort break in the meeting finally arrived and I rushed to the nearest trap I could find.
I think they must have been the Director's loos, because they were absolutely pristine.
I settled down on the seat with much relief and only at that point started to take notice of my surroundings.
When I say the toilets were pristine, I mean REALLY pristine.
The floors had been polished to a mirror like finish ... and I mean a MIRROR like finish.

I heard a funny noise from next door, and I glanced at the floor, and in the trap next to me, clear as you like, I could see the reflection of a guy standing up with his trousers around his ankles trying quietly to bang one out for all he was worth!
Unfortunately the angle of reflection was such that i couldn't see beyond waist high, so I couldn't see his face and therefore identify him, but I could certainly see the fist shaped piston rod sliding back and forth at an ever increasing rate of knots.
It was 10.30am for christ's sake ... in an office environment!
What the f*** could have excited him that much at that time of the morning, there wasn't even one woman in our meeting?

Unfortunately he finished before I did, so he exited the room before I had a chance to find out who the dirty little bastard was and blackmail him!

It must have been a hell of a shock when I came and sat in the trap next to him, but fair play, it didn't put him off his stroke .....

 

[Durlston]

I was talking about this thread in the bookies and I said it's an unwritten rule that women never fart. It's always the cat. Then I was told that Maria trumps a lot and I fancy her like mad.

 

[SK1NT]

One of the most embarrassing moments on my life occurred when i was 11 on a holiday to Istanbul Turkey. My parents had bought me a new pair of shorts for the holiday. We weren't well off as kids so we were taught to look after our stuff.

After living off Kebabs for the holiday i remember walking up the stairs to the hotel room needing a big fart. Never having experienced the whole follow through experience (i had heard about it but thought it was a myth or just used for unreal comedy sketches) So i let rip and forced this fart out which was followed by the foulest smell and pair of new shorts covered in shit..really covered.

I walked to the hotel room like John Wayne wondering what the hell am i going to do with these dam shorts. We weren’t at home so i couldn’t just sneak these into the wash basket and i could hardly store these stinking shit filled shorts in a small one bedroom hotel until the end of the holiday and then pack them into my luggage only to have customers become curious about the smell of my bag expecting to find a rotting skunk.

So decided it was my job to sort this unfortunate situation. I went into my parents bedroom which overlooked a little garden wooded area and I threw my shorts out of the hotel window aiming them strategically in the trees... However of course it wouldn’t be this easy. They didn’t land where they couldn’t be seen but on top of a garage roof.

A few hours later my dam step mum noticed them and asked if they were my shorts and i denied they were... she asked me about 10 times and i denied every time. She then gave up asking me. I thought i had got away with it... but oh noooo It was only an hour or so later my mum confronted me holding these shit filled shorts asking if i was ok...

She only got the hotel care taker the climb on to the top of these garages to get my shit filled shorts... She honestly thought i was going mad... To this day i can’t remember if i ever did wear those shorts again (when clean)... I also learnt to test the waters before wholeheartedly just letting a big fart off coz you never have can tell until it too late...

I HAVE NEVER SHIT MY PANTS SINCE....

 

[Mellotron]

I do like to let a ripper (fart not poo poo) out in the shower most mornings, I love the dolby high def surround sound you get in there. Also the day I stop laughing at the sound of a fart is the day I have officially stopped living.

Completely agreed. I always seem to have one TNT-grade parp per morning shower, and as you say, the acoustics are superb for such a trumpetfest.

 

[El Presidente]

When I used to be an insolvency accountant I ran a nightclub in Blackpool called had gone bust. It was very rough, had a very dodgy clientele, and I didn't trust the management, so I had to do the cash check every Friday and Saturday night and lock up to stop them nicking too much booze.

One Saturday I had just put the takings in the safe, and heard a noise from the toilets. Armed with a baseball bat, as we had suffered a few break ins, I quietly made my way towards where I had heard the noise.

In the first trap a bouncer was shagging an absolute MUNTER up the arse, she had her arms and head on the cistern, and he was going at it like a dog eating a pork chop.

I coughed politely, as did not want to disturb the disgraceful act, she yelled out in alarm, he pulled out of her and I was faced with the frightening sight of her recently ravaged arsehole, which in the immediate aftermath of being rogered, was wide open and resembled my nan with her teeth out.

She then, in a fit of panic, let loose a FLURRY of semi- loose stools which resembled a colony of brown bats leaving a belfry. Such was the velocity of her motion that they peppered the bouncer's trousers, covering him in a dusting of soft turds the size of cherry tomatoes.

 

[Hove Seagull]

covering him in a dusting of soft turds the size of cherry tomatoes.

Just spat coffee all over my keyboard for laughing. Wasn't expecting that!

 

[Smirko]

He who said the rhyme, did the crime!

The one who denied it, supplied it!

 

[The Large One]

Just to let you all know, don't EVER try to crimp out a fat one while suffering from a bad back. Not from the obvious danger of some kind of rupture as you reach the anal equivalent of the vinegar strokes, but from the potential collateral damage.

A couple of years ago I was suffering from a back SPASM and felt the need to drain my colon. The previous nights chicken tikka mahani was duly dispatched to a better place and I was then confronted with the need to mop up. I then realised that due to my back I couldn't reach round to administer the buffing up so had to call on Mrs Hiney to assist. She wasn't happy but after some gentle persuading, she agreed to wield the paper and help me out.

By this time, the toilet smelt like kicking out time at the black hole of Calcutta, so she was struggling a bit. She took a deep breath and, holding her wad of Andrex infused with aloe Vera, she plunged behind me and moved towards the crime scene. At this time, she inadvertently took a breath and immediately spewed forth a stream of bile, carrots and assorted chunks straight down my back. I was now sitting there with a rapidly drying crust of decaying curry circling my ring, with a stream of vomit drizzling into my arse crack. I wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. Somehow we managed to clear up and agreed that we should never speak of it again.



Oh.

Ahhh, a dump-wiping duet.

And they say romance is dead.

 

[cardboard]

This is a true story from a friend a few years ago. He was a turf delivery man and set about his rounds as usual. It gets towards lunchtime and he’s becoming desperate to get rid of last night’s dinner. He has one more delivery before he goes back to pick up more rolls of turf but he is becoming increasingly anxious to let Mr Brown have a swim.
He opens the porch and knocks on the door, no answer, he tries the side passage, it opens so he takes the goods and delivers. Still no sign of anyone and by this time he can hardly walk through the pain. He goes in the porch and finds a freebie paper, lays half of it on the floor and keeps half for the clear up. He’s half way through and suddenly he can hear voices coming from the hallway. In one motion he finishes, scoops up the paper, rolls it up and puts it under his arm just as the door opens.
“Turf delivery” he says as the friendly face notices a strong smell, he hands the delivery note and makes a hasty retreat from the porch.

 

[The Large One]

When I used to be an insolvency accountant I ran a nightclub in Blackpool called had gone bust. It was very rough, had a very dodgy clientele, and I didn't trust the management, so I had to do the cash check every Friday and Saturday night and lock up to stop them nicking too much booze.

One Saturday I had just put the takings in the safe, and heard a noise from the toilets. Armed with a baseball bat, as we had suffered a few break ins, I quietly made my way towards where I had heard the noise.

In the first trap a bouncer was shagging an absolute MUNTER up the arse, she had her arms and head on the cistern, and he was going at it like a dog eating a pork chop.

I coughed politely, as did not want to disturb the disgraceful act, she yelled out in alarm, he pulled out of her and I was faced with the frightening sight of her recently ravaged arsehole, which in the immediate aftermath of being rogered, was wide open and resembled my nan with her teeth out.

She then, in a fit of panic, let loose a FLURRY of semi- loose stools which resembled a colony of brown bats leaving a belfry. Such was the velocity of her motion that they peppered the bouncer's trousers, covering him in a dusting of soft turds the size of cherry tomatoes.

Ahhh, a dump-wiping duet.

And they say romance is dead.