Brent was right...

[Hove Seagull]

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.
“Turd delivery” he says as the friendly face notices a strong smell, he hands the delivery note and makes a hasty retreat from the porch.

That's more like it!

 

[Hiney]

I f***ing LOVE NSC

Quality tale El Pres although I need to work hard to get some of those images out of my head

 

[Mellotron]

I HAVE NEVER SHIT MY PANTS SINCE....

Any story with THIS as the final line is going to be qualla.

 

[FranktheTank]

This is my first post and it seems an appropriate time to bring out an excellent poo story that my mate told me about.

On a ski trip to France, they stopped or a customary comfort stop. One of his pals felt the urge to send Mr Brown off to the coast. Being presented with a 'squat' which is basically a hole in the ground, he crouched down and went about his business (he thought) proffesionally and accurately. It was only upon his return to the coach he realised that something was awry. It turned out that upon exit the turd had hit the inside of his raincoat and slid all the way down the inner lining, before falling in the squat. The stench was so bad it lead to one person being sick all over themselves.

 

[Box of Frogs]

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.

Actually LOL'd at this - thankfully most of the other occupants of the office have already left the building!

 

[The Large One]

Our toilets at work are about as badly designed as you could get.

For one, we're in a big house, not a purpose-built office. The women's toilet is upstairs next to my office.

The shame - for that's what it is - of being able to see not only who is queuing up to flop the female faecal matter (the queue is in my natural eyeline), but then realising, a few minutes later that you can work out who it was that turned the air yellow is truly horrendous. The rule of thumb is the more prim and pretty, the more revolting the stench. I would have assumed it was the eighteen-stone dumptrucks who laid the lurid eggs, but no, it's the quiet ones.

However, the true shame is that one time, I was happily sitting on the college bowl in the gents', waiting to drop the kids off at the pool when I realised I hadn't bolted the door properly. Close, but no cigar-snip. The problem was that the door was not within arm's reach. So I had this issue of 'divebomb' or 'door' / 'divebomb' or 'door'... What I didn't do was - as we're told in Layer Cake - choose a plan and stick to it, and part through fear and part through necessity, I did both - divebomb and door.

But I didn't time it right and lo and behold, the first little brown puppy sat there a-wagging its tail on the floor 'twixt potty and door. I'm sure it winked at me.

Next time - be careful about making a bolt for the door.

 

[Lady Whistledown]

Glad it's not just me that feels creeping horror at the thought of someone being in the next trap as I open bomb doors. If I hear someone enter next door I have to cease operations, sit very still and put my fingers in my ears to blot out the sound of the neighbours strains, parps and plops. Only when I'm sure they've completed business and exited the john can I then continue.
I've always thought my plopaphobia was wierd and somehow I was weird for feeling it but thanks to NSC I feel normal and able to hold my head up in public (toilets).
Thank you NSC, you are a friend indeed.

You're certainly not alone. Didn't you hear Gus Poyet's post-Watford press conference? Apparently he was narked off because he'd heard a load of supporters pooing at half time.

 

[NMH]

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.

This.

I mean...winnah. She sounds like a classy piece.

I like the sig by the way - is it credited to anyone for having said it?
I was trying to make that point on a youtube vid about Charles Manson the other day, and that seems particularly poignant to it.

 

[folkestonesgull]

In my office the nearest toilets, on the floor above are grim, known as "the bunker" 2 traps and two often leaking urinals. The second floor is home to a number of men and therefore by the end of the day it can often resemble a sunday night at a festival. Whats worse, the lack of windows means that if you are trying to keep quiet whilst unloading there is a very real risk of the lights being turned off by some ecowarrior or prankster, leaving you in complete darkness to go about your business. A mobile phone is therefore essential to provide much needed auxillery light.

 

[El Presidente]

This.

I mean...winnah. She sounds like a classy piece.

I like the sig by the way - is it credited to anyone for having said it?
I was trying to make that point on a youtube vid about Charles Manson the other day, and that seems particularly poignant to it.

Think Ann Widdicombe's face on Lisa Riley's body and you have a rough idea of what she looked like.

The signature is from Voltaire!

 

[Vatican Citys No.2 Keeper]

Absolute gem this thread! Haven't stopped laughing since page one.

As it happens I have my own story regarding the brown matter. Last New Years Eve me and a couple of mates stayed in drinking till the early hours. In our student house we have two lavatories, however one is unusable for taking a dump due to a lack of water pressure/a blockage which we believe to be a housemate's blackberry phone. We have always made house guests aware of this, even going to the trouble of putting a post-it-note on the door saying "No Shitting in This Toilet".

4am arrives, and one guest decides to head up to the spare room to go to sleep after having had a little too much to drink. About five minutes later I also head up to my room, and on the way I popped my head into said bathroom, and to my horror discover that not only is the bowl filled with unflushable faecal matter, but that the same culprit had also left a slimy, wet turd, on the bathroom floor

The expletives that left my mouth due to this discovery, were followed by our house guest deciding that he had changed his mind about staying over the night, making a very sheepish goodbye and quick exit that bared the hallmarks of a guilty man, leaving me and my housemates in hysterics.

Needless to say the bowl and turd were cleaned up in the morning, and the culprit apologised soon after. And now, in any conversation in which his name is mentioned, someone will make a comment along the lines of "as long as he doesn't shit on the bathroom floor again"!

 

[Questions]

Toilets are like ones bed IMO.
No obviously you don't crap in your own bed but it's not the same when you have to use public ones. I like a good read when I,m on the throne as well so I need to relax totally when I,m strangling a darky.

 

[NMH]

Whilst walking to the underground station in the Stockholm city centre about 5 weeks ago, I noticed a strong stench of fresh turd around the top of the elevator.
Having spotted a rather lovely couple of bints standing in their tall heels just around the corner, I swivelled my head and spotted in the corner of my eye....in the doorway entrance of the NK department store, an alchy (she had to have been! It was too bloody bizarre) woman just getting off her haunches and pulling up her tights from laying a few dark-brown eggs by a pillar.
I did NOT hang about for a second glance, or a second whiff.

 

[Madam Cholet]

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.

I laughed so hard at this, I frightened the dog.

 

[Insel affe]

I have stories both from Thailand and both the same night where myself, the wife and our young one and a half year old daughter at the time went on Holiday only last year. We stayed at the Dewa Phuket Hotel, Nai Yang Beach, which had private walled villas with gates to your own villa, small plunge pool, decking chairs and table somewhere to sit outside in private after we put the little onw to bed with an outside shower and bath all very nice.


We went for a meal away from the hotel one afternoon early evening along the beach front were little shacks selling authentic Thai food which we had tried before with no ill effects. As people will know with small children you try and fit meal times and nap/bedtimes around them, so we ordered our food at about 4pm and during the time it took to order and the meal arriving little daughter decided it was time to poop. You can tell when this is going to happen as she sqauts and goes bright red, as every parent is aware you have a time limit from the finish of the poop and them then suddenly running and sitting down somewhere which results in a big old splat to clean up and a change of clothes maybe called for. So anyway she had finished and as people may know in Thailand toilets let alone baby changing areas are few and far between, so we ran with the dude to a long beach deck chair and proceeded to change our daughter we thought a joint operation was the best tatic to resolve this matter with speed. Anyway the wife was standing to the side undoing the nappy and I in my wisdom knelt on the deck chair tipping it down towards the sand just as the wife had undone the nappy releasing a solid (they do occur) baseball sized poo which then rolled down the deck chair and continued down the sloped beach past horrified sunbathers and into the sea with my wife shouting "Freakout stop the shit freakout stop the shit". i had to wade into the sea and collect the poop with a nappy bag appoligising to people.

We cleaned up and went back to the beach shack by which time our authentic Thai curries had arrived and rice and chicken for the daughter, We had drink and ice cream laughed and joked with a few people at the restaurant that had seen what happend and all was well. Until I started to feel rumblings down in my gut. You know when things are not right and action is going to be required. I weighed up my options I could not recall seeing a toilet close by and outside dumping is not my thing, It was only a 10 min walk back to the villa I could make that no worries. Our daughter was getting tired and I used her as an excuse to take her back as the wife had just ordered another cocktail. Ok no worries you settle up and come back when you finished I will get the wine out the fidge etc. So off I go mincing all the way you know that walk that keeps your butt cheeks together teeth grinding holding my daughter who falls asleep past the stray mangey dogs and getting closer to the villa, I smile at the guard at the complex gates I pick up pace as I see the villa gates in site. Phew I am here I reach into my pocket to get the key for the gate whilst holding a sleeping child and fumble and drop the key Oh f*** !

I bend down to pick the key up Oh f*** the flood gates opened...............

Its happend now its panic stations, who saw that look around ....... No one phew, open the gate rush in, put my daughter down on the outside sunlounger take shorts off jump under outside shower wash shorts as fast as I can and T-Shirt, put new shorts on, T-Shirt etc rush to gate pour water over stains and wash away into the garden bedding any offending articles.... looking good, lock gate. rush back to daughter change daughter and put bed (lucky she was tired and this took no time) washed daughters clothes and hung them up with mine on clothes stand. scouted round anything id missed nope, phew. opened wine and waited for wife to return.

Gate opens wife walks in
wife "you ok"
me "yeah"
wife "dude ok"
me "yeah apart she had a little accident on the way home and shit herself again"
me the ever dutiful husband "its ok though I cleaned up after her"


Only me and NSC know that story, keep it under your hat will ya.

 

[GoldWithFalmer]

Women "fact" stink more than the average man-their lower intestines produce more odour of a nature that is most unpleasant,to that compared to men-i tell my missus of this when we have duvet competitions of an evening,mine can linger,she has to lift the cover to let hers go..

 

[Jimmy Grimble]

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.

Definitely the best anecdote so far

 

[clapham_gull]

Sure I've posted this before, but in a previous job someone laid a turd outside my office in the corridor in the middle of the day.

I was alerted to it by a visiting client. It was during a period of random "dirty protests" including the infamous Turin Shroud incident.

There was a toliet (next door to my office) where someone had wiped their arse on one of those roll down cloth towels that have hopefully been banned for heath and safety reasons.

On discovering the lack of toilet paper someone had obviously yanked the thing so hard to break it, so the device could be used to wipe ones arse without the use of a small step ladder.

There it was, draped from wall to floor it's entire four foot glory and I remember remarking at the time it resembled the Turin shroud, but of course a Turin Shroud that has been painted in shit.

I can't impress enough on the readers of NSC tonight that there was a story being told, a narrative with a conclusion. It was literally the Bayeux Bog Roll.

There was a general theme of generally fading faecal matter, but there were a few twists and turns, the odd unexpected sub plot.

I was particular fascinated by the faint brown spot at the end with a finger sized indentation still present on the toweling.

The last moment of finger tip clag nut removal, quite literary frozen in time.

 

[The Large One]

A shitty story from NSC 2006...

We have a school in our house. Got woken up this morning by my partner's secretary yelling. 'Al, the dog's had an accident...'

Got quickly dressed to see this enormous pile of semi-diarrhoetic shitpile by the front door. The stench was something utterly unspeakable, let alone breatheable. There was the dog, Kelly, 15 years-old (that's 105 in dog years), sitting there with a smug indignant look on her face adding a lake of piss next to the cack swamp.

I managed to find the crappiest towel that we didn't mind throwing away, threw it over the shit, and legged it out of the front door just in time to throw up down the front path. What a wuss, but then I hate indoor dogshit.

Needless to say, the missus cleared it up.

f***ing dog. (That's Kelly, not the missus)

 

[Benny Seagull]

this thread has single-handedly restored all faith in NSC. absolute gold.