brown velvet
for everyone who gaz'd asking for more bedshitter stories (and apologies to frankspencer who begged for no more of them!):

i could wax very lyrical about just how much of a stranger to personal hygiene my ex was. the very fact that his nickname is "the bedshitter" is, of course, not something to aspire to. examples include not brushing his mossy yellow teeth all weekend unless i begged (i'm obsessive about personal hygiene!); a toilet that was rejected by the props dept of trainspotting for being too grim and, not helped by a rather unhealthy relationship with his good friend charles, cuffs that looked like velvet on most of his clothes.

one particularly grim occasion, he was staying with me at my parents' house. my bedroom there has its own bathroom so i'd gone downstairs and left him to it. he took ages. we were going out for lunch and dad (who hated him, as you would) was getting quite irritable over his newspaper when the bedshitter lurched in. he sidled up to me and muttered something.

"what?" i said. he mumbled a bit louder, casting furtive glances at my dad. "WHAT?" i said again. eventually, he hissed loudly,

"do you have a toilet brush?" i stared at him blankly.

"can't it wait? we need to go." at which point the bedshitter shook his head and said the immortal words...

"experience has taught me it's best not to let it dry."

fucking fucking hell. apologies for length of skid.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 14:00, Reply)

Alex....
At uni, I knew a guy called Alex- who can only be described as being unique at the best of times.

A welsh lad, his personal hygiene did nothing to improve the image of the welsh (only joking, they are very nice people...no i'm not be sarcastic...)

lets start with his room:- If I know I was going to pop up to Alex's room I would try my best to wear old t-shirts, y'know the stuff you dont mind getting ruined, dont mind throwing away, that sorta thing. His room had a unique smell about it, somewhere between BO, and dog hair (even though you arent allowed dogs in halls...)in the summer, you could also add in the potent smell of stilton.

Now as far as i'm aware, Alex did not have any bottles with a piss/jizz mixture (thank God) His bed covers seem to support a life form all of its own. Every day new stains of different kinds would appear (I kid you not), the floor of his room looked like the local tip, with old take-away boxes etc... MARKED UNDIES (ugh) socks that look like they have been worn for more then two weeks at a time. He did have a dirty clothes bin, but I think that got lost under the clothes. The rest of us were to afraid to try and move anything to find it.

He had dishes on the floor with mould growing on them, glasses that looked green, etc...

His toothbrush- He NEVER and I mean NEVER brushed his teeth. Not that it would matter if he did, his toothbrush looked older then Jesus. It was yellow, and looked a little thin on bristles- and you can forget mouthwash.

On the odd occassion (and I do mean odd) that Alex came around to our flat, I would make sure that as SOON as he left, I would dis-infect any/all surfaces he touched- and then some just to make sure I got all the germs.

If he sat on my bed, I would resist the urge to throw him out of my room. The bed sheets would be changed, and the plastic matress (God bless Uni Halls) would be dis-infected again.

I will never forget the time I walked into his room , and under a grug induced haze he smiled at me with his yellow teeth. The smell that day was other-worldly.

Last I heard, He transfered uni (to leeds!) and still has the same bad habits.
(drain_bamaged, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 13:52, Reply)

sort of on topic
when i went to the leeds festival a couple of years ago i didnt fancy the idea of using the public showers and for some reason i thought it would be fun to not bother changing my clothes either

i was quite pleased when i finally got back to sheffield and had a shower id say however that my sister was less than pleased when she rang me to ask how it had went (she went to the reading festival that year) and i gave her a quite enthusiastic and graphic description of how great it felt to have clean balls, trust me its the best feeling in the world

the ladies come for the length but they stay for the girth
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 13:19, Reply)

Hose down
My last job involved working as a carer for teenagers (aged about 14-17), there was a fairly high turnover of staff and kids, as either the kids moved on or the staff had enough and quit. Or if like me they just got fed up of having to give the kids a "normal life" and yet had to cook every meal from scratch rather than just buy a frozen pizza!

Anyway, about 2 months before I quit, a new kid arrives. He was a smearer and a storer, which means he didn't flush, but kept all his shit and piss in jars for us to find, when he wasn't smearing the shit all over the walls. Admittedly he had deep seated mental issues which caused him to do it, but you never had to help clean it up. He also has a phobia of showers, and apparently washing machines.

This kid stank, and I mean proper permeating fetid stench of a thousand days unwashed stank. Your nose would crinkle involuntarily, your stomach would churn, eyes water. All of which isn't helpful when you're trying to drive. Seriously! Even the air around this kid felt oily.

This probably come from his unwashedness combined with his fetish for spicy food (he only ate things that contain a ton of chili - he even put chili flakes on cornflakes in the morning ala Dave Lister) mean that he had a significant stink factor.

After about 2 weeks we finally convinced him to start having a bath every other day, but have to put *dettol* in the water.

Despite all this he still wouldn't wash, he'd just sit in the water for 10 minutes then come out and announce that he was clean.

So he'd sit around moping in his grungy "leave me alone" way, stinking up the place, and we'd have to drive him places - trust me you do not want to be stuck in a hot car with that boy, even having the windows down doesn't help - and constantly try to steal his clothes to wash them while he was at college etc. Eventually I had enough and told my manager that when he got back I was going to get him to gut his room, wash all his clothes, then the firehose and clean him with that. The other kids thought this was a great idea, but apparently it comes under the child protection act or something daft like that.

So I got the other kids to do it instead mwahahaha.
(Andari, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 13:14, Reply)

Not really involuntary lack of hygiene, but disgusting none the less
There was a boy at my school in the year below me who was and, quite likely, still is, a complete knob. Sometimes funny, but only second hand. This, dear reader, is how I present him to you.

He once wrenched the top off the soap dispenser, had an unfeasibly runny shit into it whilst standing on the sink, and, having finished, put the top back on and walked off as though nothing had happened.

No one noticed, because that area of the changing room ALWAYS smelt like shit.

So, some weeks later, some poor soul, I forget who, washed his hands like the good, conscientious boy he no doubt was only to decant a dollop of months-old shit onto his hands.

Nice.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 12:21, Reply)

Bookshop bog bowel bomb.
You'd expect the customers of a bookshop to be fairly civilised, right?
Nope.
I walked into a cubicle in the gents to see the entire thing coated in something brown and crusty. Floor, walls, crapper, the lot.
It was even on the ceiling.
How?
(Big D, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 11:44, Reply)

Traveling on the bus this one time...
This rather overweight guy stepped on and took the seat directly in front of me and my friend.
Then I breathed in.
Big mistake.
I later described it to said friend (when the guy had got off of course) as a mixture of feet, BO, old carpets and gone off chocolate dessert. I was actually begging him to get off in my head after two minutes of nasal endurance.
Of course, all this is going upon the assumption that the odor was hygiene based (although I'm reallly not sure what else could cause it).
( Green Spanner and his magical lack of activity, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 10:10, Reply)

Working with pigs
it's inevitable that one's clothes absorb some of the delightful spectrum of odours related to swine.Without the visual clues of overalls and wellies, I take delight in standing in a Tesco checkout queue and surreptitiously observing the wrinkling of noses. When I get home, change and wash I am, of course, magically transformed into a delightfully fragrant person.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 10:02, Reply)

Western toilets
There's a toilet at my university gymnasium women's changeroom that I absolutely refuse to use, even though I know it's been cleaned and disinfected and this happened at least 12 months ago. We have many international students at our school, and some are used to squat toilets. There's a lot to be said for squat toilets - it's supposed to be healthier, somehow - and having tried to use them, I can appreciate how going from that to trying to use a Western toilet would be like trying to shit standing up. I don't even like shitting in a toilet that's "too tall" for me (I'm 5' 0"), so I know how they feel.

Even so, was it necessary, after squatting on the toilet seat to replicate that at-home feeling, to leave a great huge Bondi cigar on the seat? Would it have killed you to grab a huge wad of toilet paper and wipe it into the bowl? Or are you some kind of freak who gets her jollies from pooing on public toilet seats?

You know who you are, hellbitch.
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 6:02, Reply)

fellow employees
at a past job I had a while back, there was a fellow employee who claimed he'd only shower once a week and didn't wear antiperspirant because he "didn't need it." He said he had no BO...... therefor, since he thought he didn't smell, why shower if he doesn't need it?

........ uh huh........... right

My mom told me of an employee she worked with years ago who would eat SOOO much garlic it would come through his pores and he'd smell like it.
(Sebowe Aphex says I have a killer pout, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 5:26, Reply)

Why Girls?
What is the crack with girls and burstable spots? They effin love getting you on your back and disposing of all of them, I had a girlfriend who just couldn't help doing it, and it was always after sex as well, I think they just love to cause us men-folk pain. Frankly there is nothing less romantic...
(Manontheedge Are you MANontheEDGE-ing Ok?, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 4:58, Reply)

Bar accomodation
is fantastic, as you have to share a room with whom so ever your boss sees fit, which leads to a whole raft of wrong-un related anecdotes.

This one relates to a certain fellow from yorkshire, who i'll lovingly refer to as yorkie, and my brother, with whom i worked, who i'll refer to as, oh, you'll figure it out!

Yorkie liked drinking very, very much. When he was pissed he looked like he had down's syndrome, despite his possession of a degree in spanish. He also had a friend with a remarkably high personal best in the how-many-weetabix-can-you-eat-in-one-sitting departmant.

Yorkie liked a challenge, so he tried to break it. Even though he ate nought save the 'bix all day, he still failed, but notched up a highly respectable score of about 15. After finishing work that day, he fancied getting drunk. On Guinness.

Bruv was his roommate at this time. At about the wee small hours of the morning he was awoken by the sound of a retarded-looking fat northerner shuffling around it the dark. Not lifting his head he saw Yorkie's bumbling silhouette stagger across the room bogwards. Then there followed what sounded like a buffoon falling to the floor. Followed by some groaning. Then a noise that words cannot describe. Then more groaning. Then someone getting up and leaving the room.

Bruv was curious as to the appalling sound he had heard. He rose from his bed, turned on the light, and discovered what happens when you force about 15 weetabix and 8 pints of guiness through a man's empty digestive tract. The result was a dustbin-lid sized, laid-in cowpat.

Hearing Yorkie stumbling back down the stairs armed with bin liners and other stuff, bruv turned the light off and lay in his bed, motionless, sniggering a little. Across the room a man with bin-liner coated hands shovelled excrement into another bin liner, here vomiting into the rancid mess of his anus, there falling in it again, and so on. Then, the carpet de-shitted, he disappeared upstairs, but did not return.

The next morning Yorkie was back in his bed, awoke, and warned about the damp carpet due to spillage. When laughed at, he confessed all, even that after he had left the room, he had hosed himself off it the shower, then ran a bath. He fell asleep in the bath. Then he shit the bath. He woke up shortly afterwards in a bath full of shit.

And the moral of this tale is that this man now works for the government.
(cs1ca, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 4:21, Reply)

Halitosis and Travel
I once did a temp job and was assigned to be trained by a lady who obviously had some sort of severe stomach disorder, because her breath stank like what I can only describe as a field full of freshly-spread shit mixed with rotting silage. Anyone who has driven through the English countryside on a hot summer's day will be familiar with that smell. Now imagine that coming from a small aperture on a wire-thin, five-foot tall woman. It was so bad that I couldn't face my lunch, and started looking even more emaciated than usual.

My personal hygiene is almost excessive, so you can imagine how I felt after a near-non-stop coach trip from South Texas to Central Ohio in the middle of summer, for a work conference. (Fair enough - it was a non-profit company, so I wasn't expecting business class travel.) I showered about an hour before I got on the coach. Upon arrival, my hair and beard were matted like Mazola-drenched pubes, my heavily antiperspirant-clad armpits had broken into a sweat worthy of a rapists' convention, and my teeth were covered in more film than the shelves at Jessop's. I was scratching my skin like an unmedicated schizophrenic with eczema.

No matter, though - the chemical toilet at the back of the bus was full and causing people to gag, so no one noticed.
(Nardis, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 4:06, Reply)

Another girl-poo tale
A few years ago I was, along with another guy Mick, left in charge of my local pub while the managers were on holiday. It was Wednesday night which meant the place was teaming with students getting stupidly drunk on BOGOF triple vodkas (really). Near the end of the night a girl approched the bar and rather sheepishly suggested we take a look in the Ladies. There were no female staff on that night so after ensuring there were no customers still inside we ventured in.

We approched the center cubicle, easing the door open with noses clamped tightly shut and stomachs already trembling. To this day I've got no idea how it's possible to shit, not just all over the seat and floor, but half way up the walls as well. There was vomit too. The combined output of both ends of some pretty young thing had mixed on the floor and was encroaching on the neighbouring cubicles. We got out of there fast.

We were now faced with a predicament. Although we were technically in charge, there's no we could demand another staff member clean it up and it slowly dawned on us that we were going to have to bite the bullet and sort it out. I've worked in a few bars and got used to cleaning up mess left by guys but girly poo is something else altogether. But then I had a brain wave. One of the guys who worked there at the time was known for always being skint. We offered him a tenner to clean it up and he practically chewed our arms off.

Best fiver I've ever spent.

Hi by the way.
(orukusaki actually fucking posted something for a change, on, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 3:15, Reply)

Like 2 weeks in the bush
Some of these stories have me gagging.
I can't really compete but here goes. I lived in darkest Africa for a few years and occassionaly had to go bush for a few weeks. Going bush meant sleeping in a hammock covered with mosquito nets, cooking over a camp fire and unable to wash.
After a week you could literally smell yourself rotting away and if you had a cock and ball scratch when you pulled your hands out your shorts you could smell that unmistakeable toe jam smell in the air. Freakin awful.

Anyway returned to civilisation and before I could get a shower at my flat the girlfriend appeared and wanted a bit there and then. She started to give me a blow job and I lost the hard on as I could imagine what it looked like never mind tasted like down there.

She was more than a litle disappointed and said she loved the taste it made her feel really slutty. Hard on back again and off she goes, slurp, slurp, slurp.

So everytime I went bush I'd really look forward to getting back to civilisation but even today I cringe whenever I think about her sucking on my sweaty stinky cheesy dick.

Hey if you recognise this story Anne send me an email, love to see you again,
(Jimmyinnz was sprung at work on b3ta on, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 2:06, Reply)

Headphones
Never lend your nice £70 Technics headphones, which give such a beautiful sound it could almost a grown man cry and are the best things you've ever listened to music through after spending a week breaking them in, to the skankest bloke you know.

When I got them back they where covered in so much ear wax it made me wretch at the though of ever wearing them again, they sat on my floor unused for a month before I could bare to throw them away. Thanks Mike.
(DrBob, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 2:01, Reply)

Can't resist telling this story
Someone at my Dad's work had a bit of a BO issue. My Dad was his manager so, one day, one of Mr Smelly's colleagues went to report the issue to my Dad.

My Dad took his comments on board but had to ask how the guy was affected because, working on the UK (as opposed to the worldwide) team, he didn't sit that near to Mr Smelly.

To which the guy replied "oh it wasn't me that complained. It was the rest of the world. They just elected me as spokesperson".

To everyone in the office, it made perfect sense - there being 2 teams (UK and Rest Of World) but to me (aged 11 or so) it sounded like the funniest thing ever!
( Mrs Trouser is probably annoying Dave just by being here on, Sun 25 Mar 2007, 0:59, Reply)

Although come to think of it...
I've also worked on more than a couple of jobs as a sub-contractor for Yorkshire Water (I'm a multi-talented chap) repairing water works, sewers, storm drains, etc.

Cleanliest bunch of chaps with whom you could ever wish to work.

Fat hairy blokes who scratch themselves, belch, read the Daily Star and crawl around in semi-liquid fecal matter for a living but at least wash comprehensively, - 1
Spotty teenage oiks who's voices haven't yet broken that smell like sweaty crotch-rot, - 0
(28:06:42:12, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 23:51, Reply)

Toy soldiers
I worked for Games Workshop for a number of years, and thought I'd smelt it all.

Then they had a model wargames fair in the lobby of our university. This lobby consists of a very large atrium.

Several hundred of them all packed into what is effectively a giant green house in their "Han Shot First" t-shirts, getting excited because their cavalry were just about execute a textbook flank charge?

Me fuckin' eyes watered, mate.



I felt most sorry for the lass who's Dad was running a stall at the very back of the hall and had obviously dragged her along. Must have been about 16 or 17, hot as you like, with an expression like a kicked puppy who's learned resentment. I'd have rescued her if I could, but she was glaring holes in every nerd who walked past the stall and tried to give her The Eye (if it's possible to give someone The Eye when you look like a fat version of Sloth from the Goonies in fishbowl spectacles) with a balefull gaze that made every ounce of seething hatred a teenage girl can muster (which, as it turns out, is quite a lot) palpable.

Poor, poor thing... -.-
(28:06:42:12, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 23:37, Reply)

The FIRST Mrs. Kite
Now the current Mrs Kite is a fragrant, clean creature but her predecessor was a stinky whore. She never showered, bathed once a week (but bizarely shaved her arms every other day ?!). But the worst was one day we were getting amorous and I decided to "go down" on her...so im about to get intimate and I get a rich, cheesy whiff from her biffer, look closesly and (without being too graphic or FrankSpencerish here) the gap between her Labia Majora (look on Wikipedia) and her inner thigh was FULL of smeg - about the size of a Dairylea triangle !

*shudders*
(kitescreech still here, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 22:55, Reply)

Clean it up boy...
1st year at uni, 15 years ago (I've mentally aged at least 15 months since then) I lived in a house with 4 other randoms; one of whom turned out to be my best friend, but I digress...
Come the barmy summer months after the first year exams we found ourselves bored, sober, and in a ratty, rented property we didn't give a shit about... cue INDOOR WATER FIGHTS! Ah yes, the return to childish pursuits (drunken puking is excluded from that catergory)..

For a couple of days the war escalated from cups of water and empty washing up liquid bottles (AHHH AAAHHH my eyes you twat... you're supposed to wash it out first!)to pans and buckets of water... indoors... if anyone have had been creative enough to bring in a box of watercress seeds we could have had our own new Wembley within a week... we all took to squishing about in shorts and no shoes.

One chap went home every weekend, and although a decent but chinless type, had never offended or interested the rest of us. During one particularly gibberingly childish spat my best mate took refuge from my pan full of lethal H2O in the fella's room... diving under the bed covers screaming that it wasn't appropriate to soil hit sheets 'you wankers'... how ironic this turned out to be.

When a truce was agreed i.e. he'll get one foot out of the room and three of us, dressed only in shorts, will throw our liquid all over him (it was only later when telling this story in front of a group of blokes Irealised the homo erotic connotations of this whole picture and chose not to tell it again unless only in print) Ade throws the covers back and stands up, ready to leap like a gazelle...

The speed of a gazelle was only matched by the squealing speed of the rest of us leaping back in abject horror. Ade had had is naked sodden skin against something truly horrible... The bloke who owned the room had apparently not washed his sheets all year (which is bad enough, and I empathise with the other story tellers with 'shrouds of Turin' horrors) but this was further sullied with certain.. well... fluids...

Most of us keep the obvious 'I blow my nose with it' toilet role by the bed or keep additional white 'sport socks' for er.. clean ups. Chappie had chosen to lie in his... all year. It was roughly a circle about two foot in diameter and several eigths of an inch thick (it was hard like a paper plate... we investigated in purpose bought rubber gloves and long sleaved attire at a later, and suitably drunken, date... we used sticks too)... and was also matted with random pubes... truly.. truly... TRULY RANK!

Ade washed with bleach (which in all fairness was probably only the second time our bathroom had seen bleach that year as we well all still waiting for our mums to come and clean up after us). He still spent the last few weeks slumbering in his own come and we watched him move out in fascination... the last thing he took out... rolled under his arm.. crunchy sheet... probably asked his mum to clean it too.

I also have to admit that I moved to London last summer and we had a weekend without power... so I sat in my shorts (this isn't a theme it was just that remarkably hot end of June week and my beer belly now negates any homo erotic imagary) and read and drank cider for two days... my flatmate returned and remarked 'dude, you stink1'... it's been a long time since I have been that embarrassed... and I often follow through due to IBS! I'm sure you're all pleased to know that.
(Pachen9, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 22:24, Reply)

Laminated Hair
When she was 16 I noticed my (deaf, autistic) cousin's hair was starting to look a little, well, scuzzy. Bit too shiny. But she always had a shower every day and blow-dried her hair so I thought it was just too much serum or whatever. Then one day she asked me to trim off the split ends after she'd washed her hair. As I tried to get a comb through her hair I was overcome by the whiff of months-old oiliness and great big clumps of dandruff. I asked her how the hell she was washing her hair and she pulled out a copy of Cosmopolitan , pointing out the bit that said "Use only a small amount of shampoo, the size of a 10p piece. Anything more is a waste." After much (crappily signed) explanation from me regarding how Cosmopolitan is about as trustworthy as a paedo in Adams I had a go at washing EIGHTEEN MONTHS worth of grease and skin flakes out. It took almost 2/3rds of the Head and Shoulders bottle to finally rinse it all out.
(bonjelafiend, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 22:24, Reply)

Oh dear, this story is about me
When my grandmother died we inherited a lovely but very remote old building, with no working running water apart from one garden tap, because the pipes into the house are f*cked and the oil heater that was supposed to heat the water is so old we're too terrified to turn it on.

I was down there on my own a few summers ago doing work on the house and frankly, washing was a hassle, what with drawing water in a watering can, taking it to the kitchen heating it up on the stove and the using a washing up bowl as an ineffective, makeshift bath.

There was no-one around to smell me so I started to not bother very much.

After three days I noticed that wherever I went there were little flies buzzing around, indoors or out. The next day there were more, my own little fly companions.

About that time I set up a Heath-Robinson hosepipe contraption so that washing didn't take so many hours. No flies on me now.
(sticks Errol flynn in female form, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 21:03, Reply)

the black fingernail
i work on oil refineries, chemical plants, etc so i can get pretty filthy(which isn't so bad, you can be a bit of a scruffy fucker for a couple of days and no one really notices)but this one dirty bastard has not changed his overalls since september and that was only because he had ripped the others.

he won't wash his hands and has got a fucking tide mark on his neck. i think he's got some sort of fungal infection because his nails are yellow and cracked except the ends where the usual industrial grime has collected hence the name "the black fingernail".

needless to say this walking cesspit is made to have his breaks in the tool cabin(not a clever name, it's where we keep the tools)
(studdley ruffrod no crack too slack, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 20:48, Reply)

Another good friend...
...had a really horrid experience.

Richard is a really nice guy- we went to college together and were pretty much inseparable the whole time. I'm 16 years older than he is, so he kinda looks upon me as a big brother. As he had been very sheltered while growing up, he needed me to prod him now and then into taking more risks and having some sort of adventure in his life beyond driving his Camaro.

While I was in college with him I divorced, and began dating again- no, not college girls, thanks, but women my own age. So he saw me getting laid a fair amount- while he was getting none.

Enter the Maggot.

Her real name is Margot. She's ginger as ginger can be, freckles and pasty skin and all, with a somewhat annoying voice, glasses, and she never, ever, ever shuts up. She's constantly chattering away about the most mundane drivel in this nasal voice, peering myopically through her steel-rimmed glasses, oblivious to the expressions of agonized boredom around her. After meeting her a couple of times, I observed to Richard that her name was really one letter off, and the nickname has stuck ever since.

So you can imagine my reaction when he informed me that she was now his fuck-buddy.

Okay, I'm not one to judge based merely on appearance- I've had some girlfriends who were very heavy, and not what would typically turn a guy's head. But they had other redeeming characteristics, like being pleasant company. So while I was rather horrified, at least he wasn't considering her to be a girlfriend- just a casual sex partner.

Then one day as we were having lunch together he went to eat his sandwich and got a strange look on his face and excused himself. He returned from the bathroom a few minutes later with an expression between laughter and revulsion and said, "I can still smell her on my fingers."

I looked blankly at him. "What do you mean?"

"I was messing around with the Maggot last night, and I can still smell her on my fingers."

I stared at him. "But- you showered this morning, right?"

"Yes. And I just spent the past five minutes scrubbing my hands. The smell won't go away."

This problem persisted for two days.

Now, I have no idea what sort of weapon-grade mutant odiferous life forms were living in that girl's minge, but I do know that he stopped messing around with her shortly after that- although she still keeps after him to this day, despite both of them being married to other people. All I can tell you is that even now all I have to do is mention her and he shudders.

She earned a secondary nickname after that- STP. Sewage Treatment Plant? Severely Tainted Pussy? Stinking To Putrescence? Take your pick- she's worthy of all of them.

And she has a sister who became infatuated with me at one point.

I think I need to go shower now...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sat 24 Mar 2007, 20:37, Reply)

I'm dodgy
I have eyebrow dandruff that I can't stop picking at. I can scratch and have a rain of dandruff but sometimes I pick at it and it comes off in large flaky scales. How large? I've had many of them be at least pea size across.

Nothing says sexy like having your lover pick off eyebrow dandruff after sex.

There's something deeply satisying about picking at my eyebrows at work and creating a little pile of eyebrow dandruff. Ahh.


Also, I lived for 5 years without running water. I stayed in a pikey mobile without much in services while I was going to school. It was cheap so thats why. One time, I had run out of money but that would be fixed the day after school started at UNI. It was summer and going through my clothes to pick out the least smelly fleece shorts was rough. Cue people saying whats that smell on the first day of class. Yeah. Got the clothes washed soon as I could which was the next day.
(armednuclearterrorist, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 20:30, Reply)

The Phantom Crapper....
As a callow yoof, some time in the mid seventies (definitely pre-CCTV) I had a clerk's job one summer holiday in Tesco's head offices just north of London. At tea-break discussion turned to the identity of "The Phantom Crapper". Each Thursday was Turd-day. In one of the two dozen male staff toilets in this massive block (covering about 2 acres and with eight floors) would appear a humungous almost-black turd 12" - 18" long and as thick as a beercan filling the entire pan and absolutely resistant to flushing away.... evidently an entire week's worth saved up. Each week the cleaning staff were called to deal with it. I left before the Phantom Crapper was unmasked but my guess is that a Thursday pm ringpiece check for all male staff would have soon identified the culprit.
(Roger Darce sold his birthright for a mess of pottage, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 20:30, Reply)

Me tits hurt
I have one for you all. A mate of mine is a real, honest-to-dog doctor. At the beginning of his career, he acted as a locum doctor in Gloucester for several surgeries. One night, after such a locumage, I went around to visit him and he wasn't his usual chirpy self. Over a beer, the story came out.

He was holding court in a doctor's office, and being a locum, didn't enjoy the services of a nice nurse to get the next person in from the waiting room. About four patients in, with a full waiting room, he went out to ask for "next please" and became aware of an odour. In the waiting room.

Over the next hour or so, the number of patients waiting seemed to shrink, while the stench grew and grew. As he put it "it stank of corpse".

Eventually, he called the next patient, and the stench came in with this somewhat worn-looking woman. He surreptitiously sprang to the window and flung it open, subtly hanging his head outside in the pouring rain gasping huge lungfuls of air.

When he'd controlled his gag reflex, he asked the lady what seemed to be the problem. Opening her topcoat (which proved to be the only item of clothing she was wearing, bar only shoes) she claimed "Me tits hurt. And me cunt, too".

He asked her to move to the examination table (little point in asking her to disrobe behind the curtain) while he smeared Vicks under his nose, and put on two pairs of rubber gloves. Using a tongue depressor, he began the examination. Starting with the lady's boobs, he lifted one of the sagging, pendulous dugs to discover advanced gangrene underneath. The other was the same.

Investigating her lady parts, and talking to her at the same time, it turned out that she'd been a lady of the evening for some three years, didn't believe in condoms, and hadn't washed since her new business venture.

There was crusty cum and other deposits all around her floppy catflap, turning green and mouldy. She had gangrene in her taint. She had public lice (so much that he could see her pubes seethe). The same lice were in her armpits and probably her head hair, too.

By this time, my mate was gipping - the Vicks not being particularly efficacious against this WMD onslaught. He referred her to the hospital, and called an ambulance to take her there.

The ambulance crew later posted him a dog turd to thank him for this kindness.

The stench was so bad in the doctor's office that they couldn't use the room until the carpet had been replaced.

He said that the combination of sights and smells, along with the wet squelching sounds as he manipulated various parts of her body were the most disgusting thing he'd ever had to endure. He hurled, periodically, for three days afterwards because the smell had coated the inside of his nose and he occasionally smelled it.
(lustfish, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 20:28, Reply)

The missus again...
Regular theme for this QOTW for me? Anyway, she's known for having an arse like the breath of the devil at the best of times. Her most pungent, rancid, vile and eye-wateringly nasty air-burst left me with chemical burns in my nostrils and a twitch.
(Give me the cheese you cocksucker No board sig in protest., Sat 24 Mar 2007, 20:03, Reply)

Two weeks in The Alps
Packing my rucksack for the mighty high lever walk the Haute Route from Chamonix to Zermatt, I realised I would have to carry everything - and I mean everything - on my back across Europe's biggest mountain range.

So everything unnecessary had to be got rid of to save weight. So bye-bye wash kit, toothbrush, deodorant, spare underwear, spare socks, extra clothing.

Yes - two weeks in one set of clothes. Which were all waterproof mountaineering kit and in which I sweatily climbed mountains.

No wonder we got all the back rows to ourselves on the bus back to Blighty.
( splorp ®, Sat 24 Mar 2007, 19:52, Reply)