What about this?
Apologies for not being a shit story, but people are moaning already about the QOTW so:

I mean, its all very well saying that people need to look through the suggestions and click I like this loads, but there are so many pages on there its hard to wade through. How about each week, when the new one i picked, there is a poll in the top header with a selection of like 6 from the top suggestions. Then each week when 6 top suggestions are picked out, the vast number of people who read the weekly QOTW copared to the smaller numbers that visit the suggestions baord will be able to pick out a decent one? That way no-one can moan as the regulars are picking exactly which sounds best to them?

And by putting in a poll, i don't mean a full 6 suggestions, just a 5-6 word summary with a linkto the original suggestion...

Whaddya reckon?
Click 'I like this' if you like this idea
Use the reply button to flame and make additions to the idea
( MadAdamUk was last alive on, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 18:02, 3 replies)

Not me but a story I heard on the train.
At a house party, there was a dog and drunk GirlA. There was also a plate of muffins. While in the kitchen, GirlA thought one of the muffins had dropped onto the floor, so she paused to pick it up and put it on a plate. The more sober people saw GirlA picking up a dog poo and putting it on a plate.
( Rev. Cleo still alive, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 18:02, Reply)

Toilet Zen
I am a creature of habit and every weekday morning before I toddle of to work, I invariably need to pee. This is my contemplation time and I spend 10 minutes each morning sat on the toilet, leaning against the wall and ponder my life. I love this time on my own and even my cats don't bother me as they know a kick up the bum is all they'll get if they approach me. As I reach my Zen like status I usually have to fart which signals that meditation is over and it's time to get back to everyday life.
( girlinthehole, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 18:01, 2 replies)

Loose
One morning, after getting out of the shower, I was back in my bedroom in my shared house. Nice place, I had nice new wooden floorboards in my room, quite posh for me. I was starkers, and I crouched down to get some socks from the bottom drawer, my arse and back to the slightly ajar door.

With no warning whatsoever, a smooth jet of orangey-brown shit shot out all over the floor in a matter of seconds, leaving a large pizza sized pool on the floor. I was quite stunned as I had felt almost nothing. The smell was like nothing I had smelt before.

I just had chance to turn around and look up to see my house mate Dave poke his head around the door - "are you still wanting that lif...oh." as he glanced down. The sight of my shitty orangey brown arse hovering over a pool of the same will probably stay with him for some time.

That reminds me, its been a while, I'll call him to see if he does remember. Thanks b3ta!
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:52, Reply)

Worst night ever
None but my closest of friends have ever been told this story - I'm sure you will understand why by the end.

The story begins, at Woodies Alehouse, at 11am, with my first pint of Old Speckled Hen. We were about to commence on the legendary Headingly Mile, AKA the Otley Run. It even has it's own Wikipedia entry: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Otley_Run

As you can see from the article, a LOT of beer is involved - generally about 15-16 pints on the version we do.

Back to the story - things were going nicely up until about 5pm, where the chunder started kicking in for some of the the smaller members of the group, as it does every single time. We decided to go and get some food from 'Flames' - possibly the dodgiest fast food place in Leeds. A couple of Chicken Burgers later (topped neatly up with another pint or two), everyone was feeling better, and decided to engage in a little hedge diving on the Leeds Uni campus. As the name implies, this basically involves hurling yourself into a hedge at high speed, with extra points being added for entries off roofs etc.

It was at this moment I felt a rumbling in my lower gut which was distinctly ominous. It was also the moment a security gaurd turned up, and told us to leave, or he'd be calling the Police. Being polite drunks, we wandered off, in search of a toilet. Things started to go very wrong about three minutes later. I had a five second decision - shit myself, or shit next to the tree. I chose the latter; in full view of a CCTV camera, and just as the security guard pulled up again. This caused severe stage fright, which resulted in a foul smelling and looking fire-hose like spray viciously squirting up the tree, and being chased, trousers round ankles, shit dripping from arse, by a moderately overweight security guard. Somehow, I managed to get away, and waddled into a upmarket bar/restaurant in the city centre, where I ran into the toilet, and stripped naked, and attempted to remove most of the shit from my clothes. Unfortunately for me, the bar was hosting the Christmas party for what looked like a large company who had hired the whole place out, and it appears their senior managers were not impressed by me, being naked, covered in excrement, and sufficiently drunk to not be able to stand. I was 'asked to leave' by the bouncers, which I did.

I eventually made it home for a well-deserved shower, a drink of water, and bed. At 9pm.

It's pretty much the nastiest thing I have ever done in my whole life, but it was also entirely unavoidable and unforwarned, and I literally had no other options other than the two described. I spent the next few weeks praying I wasn't about to make my first TV appearance on Crimewatch.
(Merrep, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:42, Reply)

Share The Lurrve
Now, normally I try and maintain a gentlemanly decorum about matters scatalogical. I'll crack the window open a smidge if my offering to the Gods of the Water Closet is a smidge on the whiffy side, hell I'll even warn potential users of the facilities that waiting a few minutes might not be a bad idea if they wish to retain use of their sinuses.

I will 'happily' wait until my dear lady wiff, She Who Must Be Ignored, has leisurely completed her morning routine before unleashing the Air Launched Botty Torpedo.

And then we started breeding. I'll leave aside the joys of meconium, nappies and all that. I'm not squeamish in the slightest about poo (vomit is another story) and am firmly of the opinion that with enough Dettol and kitchen roll even the worst Pampers Blowout is not a big deal.

However, the bathroom is becoming a crowded place these days. A bit like the flightpath for Heathrow, in fact, and bodies zoom in and out with the regularity and split-second timing of the Red Arrows. My haven of peace is now open access, as 2 osoklets and the Obergruppenfuhrer require scrubbing down and prepping for the day in a fairly limited timespan. In fact my colon has actually evolved to have a quick mini-dump circa 0730 and a main stoolage after arriving at work.

Now I can just about live with Osok Jnr charging in mid-download, the Mrs following hot on his heels with a cuppa. Mildly miffed at being interrupted in my Radio 4 induced trance, yes, but I will discreetly polish the ricker and flush before moving on to shave and shower.

However, and this is where I feel a tad aggrieved, my dear lady's system will demand release at one of two points. Either when I am shaving, or brushing my teeth. Every single frigging day.

The cloud of green corpse-gas drifts towards the sink where I am blearily applying Gillette to face, causing the mirror to cloud over or even crack in extreme circumstances. I can now shave while holding desperately onto one lungful of uncorrupted air.

Brushing the toofypegs can be even worse, I'll go into 'powerbrush' mode, arm moving like a rutting Jack Russell's backside, and run from the room with bleeding gums and Colgate up one nostril.

How on Earth can such a fragrant being produce such evil?

My theory is that the allegedly non-farting laydeez allow the buildup of WMD-like levels of toxic matter, whereas the greet-the-dawn-with-trumpet-solo blokes have not only warmed up the bedroom nicely but have reduced the chances of the bathroom tiles needing replacing again.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:30, 2 replies)

Filthy Scat Accountants
Now, I work in a small accounting firm, no more than 25 people. However, over the last 3 months there have been THREE incidents (in the lovely clean girls bogs!) where someone has missed the target. I don't mean leaving a brown slug mark down the pan, I mean a 9inch steamer sitting on the seat. I am currently playing detective trying to deduce who has performed these acts...so I can get her to do it on my chest - for a reasonable price of course! God I love shit.
(Ciderbob is still recovering from the rapage at..., Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:25, 3 replies)

Welcome to my Pooniverse!
I’ll make no bones about it, and I’m in no way proud of it, but I used to take an awful lot of cocaine. It started out as recreational use, and slowly escalated until the time that I met the Mad Saffa. At that point, my coke consumption went through the roof. I was living in London, out every night, and I was wholly convinced (with the conviction that can only be bought with a massive amount of that stuff) that Life Was Good.

It was in February 2006 that I went to a leaving do with my work colleagues, working our way from the Old London Tavern on Ludgate Circus down to The Cock Tavern on Fleet Street. On arrival, the consumption of far too much Vodka and Coke eventually resulted in a several deliveries being made to the pub. These little packages were quickly snaffled, and yet another delivery was made. Not long after this, tiring of people constantly asking “Got any coke? Just a wee line?” and their incessant coke-fuelled ramblings, I made the move home.

One of my then-friends and I headed towards Blackfriars together, and on the way decided to sneak down a little side street and finish off the meagre remains of the nights haul. I leant over the windowsill where we had racked up (classy, eh?), and inhaled sharply, taking the powder deep in to my nose. The familiar smell that approaches nail varnish remover filled my senses, and I got the vaguely pleasurable sensation of little drips sliding down my throat, numbing down everything on the way.

I’m not sure why it was, as I’ve never researched the physiology of it , but if I ever took too much coke it made my guts move faster than normal. Rumbling ensued. Usually, this wouldn’t be a problem as I’d be close to a loo – but this was past closing time by now and there was not a public convenience in sight. Thinking I could get away with it, I tried to let out a pressure-relieving fart.

Sadly, the only pressure I released was some fairly liquid poo. My only saving grace I can think of for that moment was I still had the strength in me to clench and stop the flow. I excused myself, and ran around the corner, in to the warren of streets that backs on to Fleet Street. Quick as a flash, I whipped off my shoes and de-robed, peeling back my boxer shorts and gingerly removing them. So now I’m stood in the middle of London, at 11.30 at night, naked from the waist down. Surveying the damage, I was thankful to realise that it was limited to the seat of my boxer shorts. I gave myself a careful wipe with a clean patch, grabbed an empty plastic bag that was mercifully lying nearby, threw them in, tied it off, and put them in a convenient bin.

While all of this was going on, the desperate need to evacuate my bowels had passed, I guess through sheer embarrassment. I put my trousers back on, slipped on my shoes, and walked away to meet my colleague.

On waking the next afternoon, remembrance came flooding back to me like a cruel and heartless mistress. I have never been (and remain to this day) so completely and utterly embarrassed. And that, dear friends, was the day that I gave up coke.

2 years, one month and 13 days clean!

Apologies for lack of funny, but that is a story that has never been told before.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:23, 6 replies)

Hairy pussies and how to clean them
This is not what you think, so get your minds out of the gutter, people...

I had a cat a few years back. Jezebel, she was called (still is – the ex got custody). Jez is a Maine Coon, which basically means she is incredibly fluffy – a bit like this:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maine_Coon

One day she got the shits big time, and sauntered through the living room followed by a horribly offensive stench. Me and the ex looked at each other and made an ‘Oh my fucking Jesus, what IS that’? face to each other. Then we noticed that Jez’s back end was awash with liquid shit.

Now cats will generally clean themselves no problem, but when something is really offensive even they can be put off. This was one such time. After several attempts of following her around with a roll of toilet paper (ever tried to wipe a cat’s arse?), and getting nowhere fast, we decided that drastic action was needed.

Cleaning the wee blighter consisted of me holding onto her above the bathroom sink, whilst wearing a thick pair of gloves, and dunking her hairy cat arse into some lukewarm water while my ex continually emptied and refilled the sink, simultaneously wiping Jez’s by now horribly matted fur with an old flannel. All the while Jez indicated that she wasn’t keen on this by clawing, biting and generally squealing in the way that only a pissed off cat can…

We got her clean, but I ended up scratched to buggery and with the taste of cat shit lingering in my mouth where Jez’s frantic squirming had caused shitty water to splash everywhere. The walls, floor, window… my mouth. Literally, everywhere.

Worst. Taste. Ever.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:22, 4 replies)

Sickness & The Quick Shits
Everyone's had it.. I was at my folks house for this tale.. I'd already got rid of what I thought was most of the contents of my stomach (yes, diced carrots were in there) and went back to bed.

Woke up, feeling like the second wave was imminent - and made it to the loo.. sat down and - oh christ, I'm going to be sick, so span round, onto the knees to chuck up when an awful feeling of something warm and sticky hit my ankle - spinning back round to try and contain it in the toilet, I promptly threw up, which arguably covered up the shit. Except for the walls.

Next time I get this sort of thing, I'm heading for the nearest kiddies playground, stripping off, getting on the roundabout, spinning it fast and making the most disgusting catherine wheel you've ever seen.

S'ppose it could be art.
(Pesky Young Scamp, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:19, Reply)

One night of Hell...
Ah, Friends...come and sit down by the camp fire, and let me regail you with this tale

It was a cold dark night back in the heady days of January 2008. They were strange times in deed.

The evening started out like any other, ma and pa were down stairs with the young'uns and my good self was upstairs taking a shower.

"Good Sire Bamaged, your food is on the solid lump of wood in the 'dining room'" Pa bellowed from the below quaters

pegging it down the 17 stairs we have in our house I joined this scene of a typical 2.4 nucular family.

Then it hit me. About 30 mins later.

My stomach hardened. Like someone had secretly set quick-dry cement mix in my stomach without telling me.

Approx. 37 seconds later after running up 1/2 a set of stairs and having to stop for the pain to subside, i'd made it to the safety of The Thrown Room.

Which is where I spent the next 12 HOURS. yes, you did read that right, TWELVE HOURS!

12 hours of heaving up my food, then bile, then dry heaving.

12 hours of solid crap, then liquid crap, then trying to avoide a protrusion.

12 hours of hell.

and just for the graphic detail, when my body decided that Vomiting wasnt enough by itself and wanted me to become terribly confused by forcing me from my bent over double psotion to expel more liquid crap at the same time, I hit upon a simple plan. Sit on the shitter and hold a bucket under my mouth...mum still had to throw the bathroom carpet away after though.

And that is the story of how I dealt with the Noro (or Winter Vomiting) Virus
(drain_bamaged, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:17, Reply)

Glycerol Explosions
If there's ever a question that calls for TMI, this is it.

Normally, I'm a reasonably regular kind of guy. No problems down there whatsoever. However, a few months ago, I had an unfortunate lack of crap for a few days, and was beginning to feel a bit... bloated and unpleasant. So, I decide to shift the crap.

Allow me to tell you the story of The Glycerol Suppositories.

Our story begins when our hero purchases a 12-pack of these from Boots, and cycles off home for dinner. He goes through all the normal motions of the evening, he eats, he showers, and then he pops two of the little buggers in, after reading the instructions.

Time = 0

Now, you're supposed to leave them in for about 15-30 minutes before you have a movement, so they have time to work on the whole area instead of just stimulating the rectum (not in that way, you filthy filthy people). Slight burn as they went in, but nothing after that. And so I waited, making sure that there was a clear path to the toilet, listening to internet radio, and generally surfing the internet.

Time = 5 minutes

At this point, feeling nothing. I'm wondering if I need to put a third one in, or whether they're just not compatible with me. This feeling of wonder continues until

Time = 6 minutes

Whoah jesus! Massive wave of pressure. Disappears as quickly as it came. Sudden sinking feeling in my stomach, realising that yes, they're working. And yes, they're working damned well. Even more sinking feeling as I realise that I've got to wait at least 10 minutes before I can go to the loo.

Time = 8 minutes

There are pirates in my arse! They're jumping around, sailing ships and shouting YARRRRRR! loudly. Not only that, they've recruited vikings too, and are trying to batter down the gates of my sphincter with a series of cannonblasts! Back and forth!

Time = 10 minutes

All conscious thought has ceased. Nicholas Parsons's melodic voice on Radio 4 does nothing to distract me from my rump. I have never been more aware of it until now. The pirates and vikings have been joined by ninjas, throwing their weight against the brown gates in waves. I believe they're composing some kind of anthem of destruction in C Major.

Time = 13 minutes

Being an atheist, I unexpectedly find religion, praying to God to let me hold out long enough to make it to the 15 minutes on the label without a rather disgusting accident. My rectum has been inspired by Transformers now, as the ninjas, pirates, vikings and newly arrived bulldozers have all joined together into one gestalt entity, named "Crapicon", who is jumping around like a 4 ft nun trying to operate a firehose

Time = 15 minutes

I've gone the time needed on the label. Now begins the short but precarious walk. I don't dare to run, no matter how desperate I am. Crapicon has brought forth the lasers and has managed to invent photon and quantum torpedoes just from my knowledge of Star Trek. One small step, followed by another small step, buttocks tightly clenched... I make it to the bathroom. Thank God there's loo paper, otherwise I would have lost my newfound religion. The door is locked... relief is in sight, the armed forces are about to make a report to head command saying "All men drowned at sea"... and then...

I fart. Long and loud, amplified by the porcelain bowl. It turns out Crapicon and his components were just bluster and hot air, no actual substance. All is well, I can go back toOHJESUSCHRISTMYARSE!

The resulting outflow of shit could have fertilised every farm in East Anglia for a year. It was loud, it was varied in texture, globule size and consistency. If there had been but a pea-sized drip more, it could have reached critical mass and gone nuclear. I'm curled up on the toilet, and whimpering like a newly sodomized yorkshire terrier, praying for it to stop. The window was open, so any passers by would have gotten an entertaining audio show, at least until the stench drifted downwards. It could have stripped the enamel off your teeth, and knocked out a small child at thirty paces.

About 2 minutes later, with intermittent blasts... it does stop. But I'm not fooled. I sit there for fifteen more minutes, waiting... patiently. I shall not be deceived. But this time, it was indeed truly done. The enemies were defeated. I lived to tell the tale, and felt much better later than evening.

Those little translucent bullet things should be shipped out to Iraq as weapons of mass destruction. They work. Oh dear god do they work. I purchased a 12-pack, it has 10 in it now, and it will remain 10 until I throw it out.

Apologies for length. And for the smell.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:17, 16 replies)

Reading Festival - As A Punter
Queueing up for the tardis bogs - long line of people first thing Sunday morning.. bogs pretty full at this point, the pyramid of shite coming out above the toilet seat.. bloke goes in, mates run up, and tip it over.. he comes out, retching, reeking with all sorts of stuff stuck to him - yuck.
(Pesky Young Scamp, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:13, Reply)

Sinking the Titanic
Right... I spent Christmas and the New Year on a ship (I'll not go into details as to why).

The toilets on this vessel worked on a vacuum system, so the first thing that they told you when you got onboard was "if you block the crapper, make sure you unblock it as soon as you can, or else the entire system won't be able to flush".

I wasn't too bothered, being more concerned with Christmas-related issues, and the fact that I had access to an HD projector for my xbox.

This story then zooms forward in time to the evening of Christmas day...

I'd eaten a mighty amount of turkey and such-like, resulting in a brimming-full digestive system.
When I retired to my cabin, I dropped the log off, and stood up before flushing, not wanting my insides to be sucked out of my sphincter by the vacuum power.

Hitting the button caused a mighty noise, and the epic beast that I'd placed there changed from laying placidly horizontal, to upending, much like the Titanic.

To my horror, the "vacuum hole" was of a smaller diameter than the turd I'd produced, leaving what can best be discribed as an obelisk of shite, proudly standing tall, head firmly rooted in the hole, tail clear of the shallow water, in the air.

I wan't really sure what to do, and started to panic as the water level in the bowl began to rise.
It stopped short of the top of the bowl however, leaving me several options:

a) Break it up by hand
b) Run and hide
c) Flush again

Option c) seemed the best course of action, but as it turned out, it wasn't, resulting in the toilet being full to the brim with water.
I decided on option b), and let the natural action of a good soaking take its course.

When I came back 2 hours later, to a powerful smell, the beast looked a little defeated, so I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth and hammered the vacuum-erator button again.

After a brief panic, it had gone, leaving me splashed with water, eyes stinging from the smell of stewed-shite, and a huge sense of relief.

Well done if you made it to the end, I know it was a shit story.
( Cawl, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:13, 4 replies)

*Repressed memory resurfaces*
I had a girlfriend many years ago, who would sit outside the bathroom as I squeezed the brown cheese, listening intently and playing with herself as I grunted out a hefty bum nugget.
Apparently she liked the sounds that men make on the toilet.

*bokes*
(tiger blood and Adonis DNA, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 17:06, 5 replies)

Chinese crapper
Many toilets in China do not have cubicles or even partitions. Just a trench where you squat down next down to others. Naturally, I never attempted to use these because of the impossibility of having to pinch one out in mixed company, but on one occasion I was forced to.

It was a long bus journey and I just couldn't hold it anymore. At some end-of-the-world rest stop I raced inside to get first place in the trench, but my turd wouldn't come. Maybe it was the stress. Shortly after, a few other Chinese wandered in.

Now, there are places in China where non-Chinese are rarely seen. When they are, the locals like to stare with yokel wonder at someone with a different nose, hair or skin. Or colon. Within minutes, the word had gone out and the toilet was crowded with about ten guys all nudging each other and watching me try to force out my recalcitrant loaf in double-quick time. They nudged each other and jabbered away as I strained. One guy even bent down to see if my anus was markedly different to his own.

And do you know, I wasn't able to do that crap for some reason. Nor for another 20 hours until I found a western-style toilet and let the reeking fossil loose with a blessed sigh of release.
(frankspencer, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:57, 1 reply)

First Glastonbury festival
1998, I think - the worst rainfall on record. The portaloos were as grim as you like, with the added bonus that the shit-pits had filled up with rainwater, overflowed, and started to infect everything within a 100 metre radius.

My friend came up with a unique solution to the lack of sanitary bogitude. Under cover of darkness, he stole a chair from outside a burger van, kicked out the seat, hung a plastic bag over the frame, and proceeded to drop a p-bomb. Note that this was in full view of every other tent in the field.

Thinking myself clever, I questioned what exactly could be done to dispose of his noxious bag of shit. Said mate looked at me for a blank moment, then, whirling it above his head like a grim slingshot, cast it as far across the field as he could. We heard the distant smack of it hitting tarpaulin, and a cry of 'FUCK!'.

We hid.
( the_other_jeff_lebowski Croutons on my tits, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:56, 1 reply)

Shit in a bag
Reading festival - due to the rankness of the toilets had to go for a shit in a carrier bag - needless to say said shit got chucked around the campsite to much peoples dissappointment
( epiphany coming live from sweden, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:55, 1 reply)

Diarrhoea
is hard to spell properly. They should change the spelling to "Dire Rear". Easier to remember, sounds the same and perfectly describes the symptoms.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:54, 1 reply)

"Paint a tree brown"
One sunny day me and my chums decided to go camping into the nearby woods.Well after setting up camp and a fire,we sat down for a jolly good drinking session.
Some time during the night a bottle of home brew was produced and a short while later it was consumed.
In a drunken state one of my aforementioned friends (lets call him J) decided to use the bushes to (as he so elegantly put it)"paint a tree brown".
Half an hour later he returned saying that he had gotten lost on the way.
Morning came and we set off to find a new campsite that wasn't covered in bottles and various bodily fluids.We left the tents because they where rather heavy.
Quite nearby we came across a storm drain ,a rather large tunnel as it where.Being the adventurous sort i ventured in,the ground quickly became rather soft and squelchy.
I turned around and fell face first into something lumpy,wet and warm.
Then the fatal words came from J "This place looks familiar"
I came out of the tunnel covered from head to foot in sticky,brown....mud.

To cut a long story short he shat up the side of my tent..well it's his now.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:53, Reply)

I can't wait for 'Mix Tapes part 2'
all of those stories will be 'shit' too
(nimchimpski, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:50, 1 reply)

has
anyone linked to ratemypoo.com yet? I don't want to because it is absolutely dreadful.
With poo - like porn - I do text, not pictures.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:42, 4 replies)

Communal shit
This happened at one of the first festivals I ever went to.

I'll never forget being woken up at 6am by my mate poking his head into my tent, brandishing a spade and beaming "GOOD MORNING! Are you coming for a shit?"
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:32, Reply)

colostomy
A good few years back in Nottingham I was approached outside a pub by a rather desperate looking individual asking for money for a bus/taxi. This was nothing strange for Nottingham, where at one point advanced training in compassion-fatigue was required just to cross the main market square with the contents of your wallet intact.

What stopped me in my tracks this time however was not the usual piss-poor and unimaginative "I need 70p to get to Loughborough/buy some crack", but the rather more attention grabbing "Please help me. My colostomy bag has burst"

He lifted up his sweater, and indeed it had. His colostomy bag had burst. His entire abdomen and the top of his trousers was covered in a shitty (and I believe also slightly nutty) diarroheic goo that was dribbling out the tube in his side.

Picture the scene: Two in the afternoon, blue sky, birds signing, and a 40 year old man stood in front of me gesticulating desperately at his own poo-encrusted belly.

I immediately gave him a tenner, and wished him luck getting to the hospital.

Two hours later, as I pass by the same point on my way home I'm approached by a man. I recognise him just as he uttered the words "Please help me. My Colostomy bag has..."

Now, over the years I've reflected a lot on this, and I firmly believe that he deserved that tenner.
( rofl harris, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:32, 3 replies)

Does anyone feel as much joy as I do
when you do such a large dump that the end is touching the water before it leaves your body. Doesn't happen often but boy it makes me proud.
(Errorist, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:27, Reply)

Festival toilet show
I love going to festival, the music, the greasy food, the atmosphere and the festival bogs!

Download festival last year i needed a piss so i went down to the portaloos and found myself an empty one. Now the reason i like festival toilets is the fun you can have having pee fights with the guy in the opposit one, I ofter wonder if the other guy is purposly trying to cross streams too or if im just odd but it entertains me.

Anyway so I take a pee and being that its early evening, i've been drinking since i woke up and have been too busy seeing the bands to take a wiz it was a long one. Not long after I start i hear the opposit toilet being occupide, the reflection is the murky waters below go dark as an arse covers the hole and then I see it, a stream of liquid shit falling 5 foot to into the pit of filth coupled by a woman sobbing, it went on longer then my piss, I considered staying til the end but I couldn't take the smell long enough. Poor girl she couldn't even tell i was aiming my piss at her chocolate waterfall
(That Random Guy, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:26, 1 reply)

For cat lovers
A friend of mine was asked to look after a cat that was known to have some bowel trouble. He found the experience so traumatic that he kept a diary (from the cat's point of view):

SUNDAY AM
I left a nice surprise for Bob: a sloppy crap so powerful that it actually emitted its own frequency, and about 4 litres of piss. He wept while he dealt with that! I must have had a bit of an upset tummy. So I did that squinty-eyed, tongue-out thing to make myself look cute.

SUNDAY PM
Tummy back to normal now and a left a firm cigar in the box. I think he’s proud of the way I always drop them right at the back, halfway up the plastic bag. Did a little wee, too.

MONDAY AM
I greeted Bob at the door today. Not personally, you understand, but via the medium of smell. He’d tried to trick me by evenly distributing the litter about the box to catch every dribble – but I defeated him! I distributed three sloppy turds: one in each back corner and one up the side. All of them missed the litter completely! Call me Catson Pollock. Oh, and I managed to leave a squit on the floor outside the box, too.

MONDAY PM
Had a little sleep and went downstairs for another back-of-the-box special. When Bob arrived (the stench of this morning’s faecal bonanza still ringing in his nostrils), he saw the food bowl and decided to bring a fresh bowl of shrimp and jelly upstairs to me. Then he tickled my ears and neck for a while and I purred like a motorbike.

TUESDAY AM
Finished all my food overnight but didn’t do a poo. That means I’ll have a monster offering waiting tonight!

TUESDAY PM
I wasn’t very impressed with today’s turd. Just a bit of a splat really – not much body to it.

WEDNESDAY AM
Ha! Managed some rectal gymnastics last night. I squirted it up the back and over the lip of the tray into the box – I think it was wind-assisted. Bob was visibly moved. As usual, he topped up my bowls with something tasty… or should I say he topped up my bowels

WEDNESDAY PM
Only a little wee. Today I washed my bum and generally gave myself a good clean.

THURSDAY AM
Just when Bob thought he had seen everything, I managed a work of scatological art: two craps one on top of the other… both of entirely different hues and textures! It was like a birthday cake for him – albeit one with a teeth-clenching stench. I also managed to scratch though the plastic so that my wee ran into the box and had to be washed out. After Bob had cleaned up, we had a nice chat – or rather, I ignored him as I ate my hake and halibut. Lovely!

THURSDAY PM
I managed to excel myself by presenting Bob with something entirely new. It looked like a desiccated turd or a mummified cocoon of some kind. It was a fur ball I’d been carrying around all week and I’m sure glad to be rid of it! (Sorry about the dribbly vomit, though.

FRIDAY AM
Feeling very affectionate this morning. I was waiting for Bob when he came through the door and I meowed constantly as he dealt with a rather unimpressive splat I’d done in the litter. Then I gambolled about his legs and cried for more cuddles – he’s a specialist with the ears. I think I’ll do a gigantic crap for him tonight! I know he likes that.

SATURDAY AM
An interesting litter tray this morning. I did the usual back-of-the-box, but also one on the right hand side for variety. He gave me a tasty stick and tickled my head for a while. He also noticed the crap dribble I seem to have made on the carpet in the corridor upstairs – sorry about that!

SATURDAY PM
I was feeling very affectionate and tried to climb on Bob for a cuddle, but he wouldn’t let me (saying my back end was too clotted with abomination).

MONDAY AM
(Did a little poo – about the size and shape of one of those brown slugs. Oh, and I washed my bum.)

MONDAY PM
A nice big crap for Bob to clear up. As he was holding his breath, he noticed the claim on the side of the litter bag that it neutralises all odours. We laughed about that one!

TUESDAY AM
Galileo revolutionised the way we see the sun. Einstein changed relativity. And today I did a perfectly formed, firm panatela at the front of the box. And I rolled it in litter a bit to kill the smell! Impressive, eh!

TUESDAY PM
Bob arrived to find my entire body surrounded by a bizarre iridescent chrysalis. Clearly, I had been co-opted in a strange alien experiment and would emerge a month later as a pterodactyl. Only joking! It was the same old story – did a shit, had some food and a stroke.
(Fothermucker, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:24, 5 replies)

Inter-railing

In 1981 or so, an interail card cost about £120 and gave you free unlimited rail travel throughout Europe. I loved them and being a loner, used to travel about by myself, staying in youth hostels and having fun.

One time I'd been travelling in Germany, Heidelburg etc, living cheaply and eating mainly bread and tinned tuna. German bread is wonderful stuff. A loaf weighs about a pound, is very dark brown, full of rye, keeps fresh for ages and tastes good too. A couple of slices is a full meal. The only problem being that as it is 99.4% roughage, it moves very slowly through the old digestive tract. In fact I went about four days without a crap though I was eating regularly.

When I'd had enough of Germany, I moved south to Italy and my first stop was Venice (ah, Venice), where I stayed at the youth hostel. I checked in, found my bunk, had a wash etc. and got chatting with a couple of nice girls from Birmingham. We all ate at the canteen that night and the food was good, cheap and plentiful...and Italian. Loads of pasta cooked with loads of olive oil and a side salad with a nice oily salad dressing. I went to bed full and contented, though feeling a little bloated.

In the morning, after a bread and coffee breakfast, we were kicked out so that they could clean the rooms. I headed for the Peggy Guggenheim museum - home to many fine works of modern art. I got there to find that it didn't open until 11am, not a problem, I wasn't in a rush. It was sunny, it was 10 o'clock; I found a bench nearby overlooking the Grand Canal, sat down, got a book out of my army surplus 'man bag' and rolled myself a cig.

As soon as I took a drag, I felt something stir. I don't think there was much mention in the '1st cig' answers of the power of tobacco to move guts, well it does. My guts moved into first gear and slowly let out the clutch. Italian oil had met German bread and, with a helpful word from Old Holborn, told it to move along please. I looked at my watch, 10.15: still 45 minutes to go. I pondered the wisdom of looking for a toilet elsewhere, but as every movement was proving hazardous, I judged it safer to wait where I was and rush to the loo as soon as the gallery opened. By 10.30 I was clenching so hard I had cramp in my buttocks. By 10.45 my vision was going blurry and I was moaning out loud....at 11 O'clock, I was first through the door - I'd got the right money ready for my ticket, almost ran from the ticket office and flew straight for the bog. There was just one toilet, one sink and a towel, I slammed the door shut, locked it and dropped my trousers and pants as I turned to drop my arse on the seat.

It was the most wonderful shit of my life. Ten pounds of well-digested German rye bread came out like an ocean liner sliding majestically down the slipway on its grand launch. It made a similar splash as it hit the water and, in all probability, you could have cracked a bottle of champagne on it. I could even hear the cheering of the crowds and see their brightly coloured flags being waved - children perched on their fathers' shoulders for a better view.

I practically floated off the bog with the lifting of the weight. There were tears in my eyes, my legs were shaky and my poor anus was slowly easing closed again, having been stretched to limits usually reserved for the poor young victims of well-endowed peados. Savouring the moment I gingerly wiped and checked for blood - nothing but Guiness-black poo. I sat back and luxuriated for a minute. That was when I heard a voice from outside the toilet say in a worried American accent:

"I don't know, I saw a young man go in a some time ago"

Feeling euphoric, I smiled broadly to myself in the mirror as I pulled up the now-loose-fitting jeans, took my time, washed my face, dried my hands and rolled myself a fresh ciggie for when I got out. I stuck the roly behind my ear and emerged smiling broadly to an audience of geriactic yanks queing up with their legs crossed.

I do like a bit of culture.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:21, 3 replies)

talking about poo
my boyfriend and I talk about poo loads. We've been together for 3.5 years and living together for 1.5. If we had never dared to fart in front of each other or discuss poo then I fear that we wouldn't be together today.

Once, in Berlin, my boyfriend nearly shat himself on the subway. He got to a toilet JUST in time.
Recently, I nearly shat myself on the way home from a party. We had to keep stopping in the street so that I could stop shaking and find the strength and courage to hold it in and make it home.
It's things like this that make us love each other more because we understand that we're only HUMAN. In the beginning, obviously wanting to make a good impression, I held my farts in and suffered horrible stomach aches as a result. But it just became too much to handle so now my guffs are free to fly (but because I'm a girl they don't smell, yay!) and my boyfriend loves me more than ever.
(although maybe that's because I'm a sexy girl, my boobs are perfect, i cook him dinner and sex him enough to keep him happy...who knows.)
(saf, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:16, 1 reply)

Terry Nappies
Terry nappies have a tendency to make the little baby poos into small balls, and because they don't have elasticated sides the poos can sometimes leave the nappy.

Apparently when I was a baby one of my poos had dropped out the nappy onto the floor and with a unhappy coincidence joined some recently spilled Maltesers the upshot being my uncle ate my poo.

He doesn't like Maltesers any more
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 27 Mar 2008, 16:16, 1 reply)