Was about this time last year...
I'd just got out of hospital after having a plate screwed to my ankle after breaking it in a New Year's Eve fracas.

So there I was, hobbling around on crutches when I realised I needed to take a dump. So off to the (downstairs) loo I go.

Got myself sat comfortably and it was only after several minutes with internal pain starting to build up that I realised I was constipated.

I sat there a while longer - wondering at the pain constipation gives, then decided as nothing was forthcoming, I might as well get myself upstairs to the slightly more luxorious bathroom.

Well, the effects of me hopping up the stairs seemed to unplug the blockage, I sat down and gave birth to (what seemed) The Perfect Poo - if somewhat wider than the orifice it emerged from (bought tears to my eyes).

Oh, my cat left me a lovely runny egg on the kitchen floor yesterday...
( snee held his breath since, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 10:00, Reply)

shocking AND amusing
I'm sure I am alone when I say that I sometimes go to the toilet and do a poo. Sometimes, it's really smelly. Other times it's of different consistencies: like rabbit plop or diarrhoea. That's really funny isn't it? Some synonyms of diarrhoea are: "the shits", "the runs", "the squits", "Delhi belly" and "funny tummy" - all of which are really hilarious. Sometimes my poos are really big! That's clever, isn't it? I wonder if anyone else has the same experience. No - I guess it's just me who has bodily functions

Other things I do that are utterly unique and really funny:

- burp
- use swear words
- get drunk and do silly things
- do things I'm not supposed to do (don't tell mum!)
(frankspencer, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 9:52, 3 replies)

sorry about the floor mum.
im actually kinda embarassed to admit this but....

Last week i had one of the explosive stomach bugs. The one that ties you in knots on the bed sweating, then without warning the room starts to spin and you know vomit is imminent.

Well my mum being the amazing woman she is whisked me back to her house one evening to take care of me. I was lying on the couch alternating between sweating, crying and freezing when the room started to do a little dance. I got up staggered to the bathroom and knelt by her nice shiney loo. And all hell broke loose. The vomit was brown with bits of rice in, how ill never know as i hadnt eaten anything brown. Mum comes running over hearing my weak cries for help and then my stomach lurched out more vomit with such violent force a peed all over her floor at the same time!!!. I just managed to hold back the diahorrea luckily.

Oh the shame.
(Serbitar Has a furry shit canon called Whitey., Fri 28 Mar 2008, 9:18, Reply)

satans shitter
A few years back when i worked as a sparks mate we were on a job at broadgate circus in london. It was a big refurbishment for a big investment firm.

Typically us mere manual workers were deemed not suitable to use the staff toilets so we had to make do with portaloos in the loading dock in the basement.
Make no mistake these were the foulest toilets in london , they stank worse than a tramps y-fronts. They were a disgrace and an insult in every way and yet these were our "welfare facilities".

They were barable for the quickest of pisses but if you wanted to build a log cabin forget it. The foreman atcually gave us permission to walk to liverpool st station and use the toilets there if we had to drop off the kids.

One day someone new to the site started he was just told " The toilets are in the loading bay"
later on he went down to hang a rat for the first time. Obviously he had no idea how grin the "welfare facilities " were.

Remember i said the portaloos were in the loading dock? Well the inevitable happened and a delivery arrived on an artic. The driver backed down the ramp sorted out his paperwork , went for a sandwich and a cup of tea etc.

Unfortuantly the truck was a bit close to the toilet door and portaloo doors open outwards.

Nobody heard his shouts because of the forklift. Nobody knew because he was new and it was lunch time anyway.

Eventually the driver returned and drove away. By this time the guy was literally gasping for air because of the fumes . Not a plesant scene and some doubts as to the drivers parentage.

End result new boy never seen on site again and walks to liverpool st for a jimmy riddle from then on.





legnth??? about an hour in hades back entry
(welgar, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 9:01, Reply)

Shelves
Toilets on the continent sometimes have a shelf in the basin (think Antarctic shelf rather than Scandinavian flat-pack).

This apparently exists so after a bowel motion your poo can be inspected with an analytical eye e.g. for signs of blood.

Unfortunately it seems to some that the pristine white interior of a toilet resembles a fashionable art gallery. The shelf within being the perfect place to exhibit a turd one is particularly proud of.
( monkeybananaraffle, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 8:55, 1 reply)

with a rucksack on my back
I partook in a study which involved collecting stool samples on a daily basis for 8 weeks, which was rather strange to begin with having to poo in a bag and take it back to the lab at regular intervals. But i got used to this and got a bit of cash to help my student funds.
One weekend my friend asked if i fancied going camping and fishing so i said yeah nice one and off we went. I took along the collection bags and filled them up daily, although as you can imagine that carrying your own shit in a bag for 3 days in the height of summer is rather disgusting. Each day my friend would walk a little further ahead of me and I thought I was going slow untill the wind changed direction and I realised i smelt like a walking cesspit.
This did not stop me from catching a few fish, so all in all a good trip.
( Dont point it at your face up the ass, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 8:20, Reply)

Green apple splatters
Well, Mrs Neighbour of the beast decided to have some rancid slop for her friday night dinner, nothing untoward for a weekend meal, for she will eat anything in the fridge provided it doesn't contain mould or spiders. Fast forward to me arriving home from work saturday arvo with a gleam in my eye and a mood for debauchery. Opening the front door I am met with an olfactory punch along the lines of a rotten sea lion basted in baby shite. Hmmm methinks, something is definately wrong in denmark. Upon further investigation I find the Mrs. in bed surrounded by an interesting paint job in brown and dead to the world.
It seems she had decided to have a couple of bottles of red for breakfast (no complaints there)but then had a tsunami of bad food react unkindly to her choice of inebriant. Hence she apparently woke earlier to the dreaded rumblings of her tortured bowels, arose from the bed (naked) and let rip with a fart that would shame wind tunnel fans. Unfortunately the inevitable follow through occurred and the bedroom was covered in a patina of foul smelling excrement including sheets, walls, floor, etc. Oh God she thinks and tries in her drunken stupor to clean the abomination her arse has just created. So she tries to go to the ensuite bathroom to grab some sort of wiping device only to slip in her own foul mess and further spread its abhorrent stench. To this day, 8 Months later I still find flecks of her offerings on various pieces of furniture that resided in the room on that fateful day.... Nothing like a pertinent reminder to harrass a loved one. Shit Flecks, but she can't get evil on me for pissing on her one night in my sleep walking adventures anymore..
(neighbour of the beast 668 has watched you in secret on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 7:53, Reply)

repost - ask the same question, get the same answer
I took one summer whilst at uni and fucked off to Florida with it. Six weeks of sun, sand, booze and the most successful period of pulling I have ever experienced. Ever.

My friend and I started off in New Orleans (this was in 2001, so I didn't need to bring any wellies) and then decided to travel to Clearwater in Florida on a Greyhound bus. I'd say the trip was about 8 hours long, all in. Which wasn't too bad, really. Until we got to Mobile, Louisiana.

Then a big fat man got on. With a tshirt that he'd cut off above his gut so it wobbled about in plain view. The rest of his shirt was already dark with rancid sweat. As soon as he got on, the smell was overpowering. But that wasn't the worst thing about him, oh dearie me, no.

The worst thing was the clear plastic bag perched on top of his gut. It was half full of a greeny-brown, viscous substance. It was a colostomy bag. A half-full colostomy bag.

We were a little revolted by it, but at that point it was night, the air conditioning was on and we were far more concerned about the BO. Then, as we approached Jacksonville, at about the halfway point of our trip, the sun came up.

An interesting thing about colostomy bags is that unless changed regularly, they don't really deal with heat particularly well. All the urine and excrement and whatever else inside it starts to pong a touch. This was August. In Florida.

An interesting thing about the human nose is that it will filter out its own body smell, no matter how repellant, if it is a constant.

An interesting thing about Greyhound buses is that they make rest stops pretty frequently. They also stop to pick up more passengers.

An interesting thing about air conditioning in vehicles is that when the engine stops, so does the A/C.

The heat climbed and climbed with the sun. The stench got worse and worse. The air conditioning started to struggle to keep the temperature down. My face was starting to turn green. Everybody had gone quiet, clearly trying to control their breathing. The man got up and started to walk down the coach towards us. We realised with horror that we were sat just forward of the toilets.

He walked past and the smell was...unreal. I may have fainted. It stuck in my throat, it got in my eyes, I was retching openly along with everybody else within a two row range. It stuck to my clothes, it was in my mouth.

He didn't change the bag. He came back out with it still on him. We had to put up with it for a further three hours as the clock slowly moved towards noon. It was awful. Utterly awful.
( Kroney, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 7:44, 1 reply)

Can someone answer this one?
Me and my girlfriend like a little bit of role reversal occasionally, chiefly whereby she takes me up the wrong 'un with a length of synthetic vibrating man-meat slotted in to her fresh and fragrant lady parts, strapped on to her waist and then rammed home up my jacksie.

What I want to know is why my turds alays come out flat for about a day after, even if I went to the toilet just 5 minutes before? (including a thorough clean with the shower!)
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 7:43, 1 reply)

The best part...
...about having the runs is when you are recovering and you find yourself able to fart again.

I find that the most satisfying flatulence ever.
(Bluffboy South Africa! World Champions!!!, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 6:20, Reply)

piles of it
Picture this: a teenager who had body issues. Body issues so bad that he overdid the weight-building majorly. So bad that he completely misunderstood the low weights, high reps mantra of muscle building. It was me...

Being young and naive I overdid it, and after a year or two of getting no results (ectomorphic body structure), I began to feel slightly... stretched in the 'anular' regions.

It didn't help that at that particular point in time I got food poisoning. Liquid acid pouring out your severely hampered rectum from bad pea soup is one of the most soul and ass destroying things to ever happen to a guy.

It went on for what seemed like aeons, possibly due to the fact that I ended up having what seemed like gastroenteritis (it probably was).

The only thing was, this anal hell was only just beginning. For three to four years it continued. Being stoic and uncomfortable with discussing my bowels... OK let's say I was extremely embarrassed, I didn't tell *anybody* what I was going through.

I have no idea how bad the piles were, but they were wretched and caused normal crap to become pencil thin
crap. Painfully. Drawn out. Took 20 excruciating minutes every time.

This wasn't the end, oh no. I became completely withdrawn, refusing to get close to girls because I felt dirty from the piles, and because it was so bad it bled and I had leakage... and because it hurt to stand up or sit down. I was constantly moving around and trying to pretend I was fine...

A few years down the track I had gastro again and this time it was just as bad, though it didn't last very long. I went out to the paddock next door, and just bawled my eyes out. I normally held my tears back but my tabasco drainpipe was too much for me. I didn't want to be inside on the toilet when this happened otherwise people I knew would start asking questions...

This happened so long ago now it feels like a dream. A terrible, waking nightmare that went on and on. I felt as if God was punishing me for all my teenage/human vices (y'know, touching yourself, etc. etc.). It was so bad I desperately tried to control my bowel movements so they wouldn't happen. Terrible, and completely wrong (it just makes it worse), but I didn't know, again out of embarrassment - I thought it might get better, kept hoping that the longer I went without a bowel movement the more my piles had a chance to clear out. But I was oh so very wrong.

I know now that it was probably due to a combination of not drinking enough water, reverse situps, and crunches. Something I have since rectified, and ever since then I've been completely fine.

I can remember the exact moment it didn't feel like the fires of hell were reaching into me from the toilet... when the hounds of satan weren't grabbing hold with all their might (I can go on but you get the point). I remember letting out the most satisfied groan and was instantly transported into the blissful no-pain life of the spoilt haemorrhoid-free human.


No sugar coating this one. I have *NEVER* told anyone about this particular stage of my life (or rather, what was going on behind the scenes, so to speak). It is incredibly personal to me, so yeah, feel privileged. Or disgusted. I don't care :P

Oh, and I no longer have body issues, despite having thinning/receding hair. I just no longer give a crap (pardon the pun).

No apologies for length, though I do apologize for the quality of my story-telling. It's obviously still an emotional subject for me, I guess :(
(satellite blows, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 5:51, 2 replies)

The Horror
Seeing that my better half is a doctor, I thought I'd enlighten you with a couple of shit diagnoses - but not in the way you think.

The first one I want to introduce you to is COPREMISIS

Copre, meaning shit and misis, meaning the little rodents that Mr Jeeves chases. (OK - it probably means vomiting...). The actual definition is:

The vomiting of fecal matter that has been drawn into the stomach from the intestine by spasmodic contractions of the gastric muscles. Also called copremesis, stercoraceous vomiting

Now I want you to think about this for a couple of seconds. There's a medical condition that makes you vomit shit. How disgusting is that? If it were me that suffered from this I'd take a bullet in the head after the first bout. There's no way on this Earth I could cope with that...

And the second one I want to introduce you to is CAECOVAGINAL FISTULA

It comes from CAECO, meaning cac or poo ,VAGINAL, meaning lady bits and FISTULA meaning what caused the tissue to tear in the first place, i.e. FISTING.

Now Rob keeps going on about if he could shit out of his cock. Well, for the ladies, this is a fairly common condition where they actually shit out of their vagina (or FRONT BOTTOM as it's known in medical jargon). It's caused by a tear between the caecum (shitpipe) and vagina which allows the passage of shit between the two systems. Medically, this is known as Sewer and Playground Syndrome.

So there you have it. Who says that B3ta doesn't educate?

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 4:21, 5 replies)

Ninja Poo
.
One of my mates suffers from IBS to such an extent that it has taken over his world. He plans his life around ready access to decent shithouses. (His favourite is the disabled toilets where he works which he's dubbed his cripple-crapper.)

So one afternoon I was quietly reading at home when I heard the front door open, footsteps across the kitchen, through the hall and then the toilet door open.

"Hmm. Flatmate must have taken the day off work I thought"

Then I heard the toilet flush and receding footsteps and the cheery call:

"Thanks Legless"

Followed by the front door closing.

It had been my mate. Caught short near my house he decided to drop by and, err, drop one. When I pulled him up about it (he could have at least poked his head in the front room and said hi..) he answered:

"You should feel fucking privileged. I'm very particular where I crap. It means I trust you."

Err. Right.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 3:34, 1 reply)

The relationship between poo & cheese.
You know if you leave half a block of cheese exposed and the other half covered in a fridge, the one half becomes crusted while the other is fresh and juicy?
Always do them types of poo's after a night out. Picture the scene:
Have your dinner before a good old session, 'Embryo Poo' (the very start of the poo) is exposed to air etc making it hard and crusty while the 'Later Comers Poo' (the bit left in your bowels) get's mixed with cheap alcohol & kebab thus being less viscous than water.
Result?
Atomic powered shit explosion where you strain to get the crust out but then is followed by a firemans hose powered stream of liquid shit.

Oh yes, Do you ever poo above the bit where the water comes out? not sure of the scientific word for it, the porcelain between where the water comes out & the toilet seat?
Always quite a '11th hour' speed shit to do that, bravo.
(PassTheKhat, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 3:15, 1 reply)

Shits, no giggles
I was living in the North East of England, in a shared house. My housemate was in no way a charmer. He was an ignorant, fat, racist scumbag thief. He was also a very dirty human being. Ex: He'd use my soap as foam to shave with, directly applying it to his chin, leaving stubble and skin flakes. Then he'd leave his shave in the sink. Sickening.

However, one day he excelled himself in the hygiene stakes. Coming back pissed one night, he sat his flabby shanks on the toilet. He was a very tubby individual (20 stone plus, all lard), and must have misplaced his weight as he sat down. The toilet seat was ripped from its housing, and he'd evacuated on the floor. The carpeted bathroom floor, situated above the always hot kitchen of the flat below. Our flat reeked of fecal matter from that point onwards.

He'd put the main bulk of the turds in the pan, but had left a rich brown tapestry on the carpet. Woken up by the ungodly smell in the morning, after inspecting the massacre in the bathroom, I totally lost it.

"You filthy fucking ANIMAL!!!"
"You've shit on the floor, you fucking BEAST!!!" I yelled as I hammered on his door.

His timid, feeble reply came croaking back. 'I had an accident...'

He never cleaned it up properly, and I moved out a fortnight later. Looking back, it's a superb way to force someone to move out. He later became a University lecturer. We don't stay in touch, although I did managed to involuntarily yell out 'CUNT!!!' at him from a coach window when I was going through Twickenham.
(teepee_uk sniggers whenever anyone uses the word 'period', Fri 28 Mar 2008, 3:14, Reply)

Kylie Minogue's excrement...
A bloke in a pub sold me a turd that came from the anus of the delightful Kylie Minogue. You can tell it's genuine because it has rainbow glitter on it.

I will never brush my teeth again.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 2:55, Reply)

I have ulcerative colitis
That means my colon bleeds and I get uncontrollable diarrhoea when it flares up. But I don't have any good stories for you just now.

Click "I like this!" if you want me to go off my medication for a week and see what happens.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 2:34, Reply)

Shitty shitty patient...
My ambulance was sent to a woman complaining of abdominal pain. No one mentioned the reason why…
My partner (nickname of Fabio) and I walked into the residence and I can handle a lot of gross smells but this smelled like the patient had done a shit, vomited into said shit, let it ferment in piss for week, added a heaped tablespoon of vinegar flavoured rat cum and then re-ingested the lot and shat it out again. There was shit on the sofa, shit in the carpet, shitty handprints on the walls, shit all over the patient (who had passed out and was laying in the shitty shit) and there was shit in the shit.

Fortunately, my partner was patient care officer on this job thus enabling me to tread shit whilst alternately making fake dry retching noises and laughing at his genuine retching.

The patient came round and my partner started to clean her up – we’d normally wrap such a patient in some blankets but she really did need to lose a few kilos of the shit which encased her.
In the end, I felt sorry for my partner so I swam over and helped him clean up the patient.

About a week later we received a thank-you card from the patient which surprisingly did not smell of shit. She was very embarrassed by the whole situation and was profusely apologetic.
Before my partner saw the card I forged an extra line of writing which said:
“Fabio, did your thumb slip up my arse because of the shit or was that just a way of stopping me doing any more? Either way, it was nice. Call me.”
I added a couple of brown thumb prints to the card courtesy of Cadburys.

He actually dry retched on reading the card, which was nice.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 2:27, 2 replies)

green parcel of wonder
You can probably see where this is going.

A friend of mine enjoys making 'cocktails' while under the influence of an assortment of drugs. One stupid night i agreed to try a selection of his 'masterpieces'. Surprisingly enough, they did not taste too bad. "I'll have a few more", I thought to myself. So, the night finally came to an end, along with the 5 spirit bottles which now lay flat on the side.

The night was ok but nothing compared to what currently awaited me in my small intestine. As I awoke with a vicious arse cramp, I felt my stomach and sauntered to the shitter for my morning drop off. "Im actually ok" I thought. And I was, I really really was. I squatted down on the throne and quick as anything, set down anchor. As I turned to review my effort, its strange colour caught my eye. It was green, not just green, bright green. As i stared in amazement and took stock of what i had produced, I was overcome with a sense of satisfaction the size of the dump which resided in the grimey bog. Then, as quickly as it had been created, it was gone. Flushed by a strange looking girl who had unwisely decided to sleep in the bath...next to the toilet.

"You're disgusting you"

bitch

The weird thing was, the cocktails drank were blue.

Appologies for length but not for width, the green goblin was fucking wedged in the bowl.
(hipflask, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 1:50, Reply)

This week
The plumber came to fix our heating. Being the only one in the house i had to deal with it. My sister made a pretty dodgy chilli the night before, but i thought it would be ok. I woke up with a pain in my gut and tried (and failed) for an hour to poo. Of course the second the plumber turned up and turned the water off, i felt the rumble of inevitability. There was no way i could last for more than 2 hours. I had little choice to make up a toilet out of a bin and some black bin bags and shit in my room, then sheepishly dispose of the bags whilst trying to waft the smell of shit out of my bedroom. The rest of the day was spent hanging my head in shame and getting ripped off by the plumber. Not a good day
(jlkgjsfhoj, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 1:22, Reply)

With friends like these ...
Part 1. We were 16, waiting at the bus stop to go to the Metro Centre. One of us farted, we all laughed in the way that only 16 year old boys can laugh at farts. Eventually the chatter moves on to higher matters, and the fartee sneaks over to me. "PaulieG", he says, "I think I've followed through, I'm going to go home to change my trousers, don't say anything to anyone, I'm going to pretend I need to go back to get some cash."

"Okay" says I. So the fartee makes his excuses and leaves. As he crosses the road, I blurt out "He's not going for money, he's shat hisself". He looks back hurt, then runs home with the run of one trying not to encourage more liquid out of their pants. Everyone else nearly cacks it from laughing so hard.

Now, the fartee would never have told me if he knew about ...

2. Five years previously. A beautiful summers day, me and a friend are playing in the local woods. He disappears behind a bush complaining of needing the toilet. Minutes pass, he comes out looking abashed. "It was a poo" he says, but the yellow-ish matter dribbling down his legs from his shorts tell me all I need to know. We head home, me keeping watch for anyone getting too close to notice the mishap, my friend hiding in the suburban gardens between the wood and the new pants awaiting him at home. We manage to get close to his house with no-one noticing, but the final, tortuous leg of the journey still remains.

There is a grassy area near my friends house where on a hot summers day the locals, both parents and children, were prone to gather to take in the rays. We cower at the corner, my friend beseeching me to see if the coast is clear. I peer round, and spot what can only be described as summer suburban bliss. Couples sunbathing, dogs panting, children playing. Certainly, the coast was anything but clear. "There's no-one there, you'll be fine" I say, shoving my friend around the corner. He stumbles into the crowd and teeters on the brink ... does he turn and hide and wait 'til darkness, or run the gauntlet now. He runs, and as I wipe the tears of laughter from my eye I'm sure I see a spray of yellowy liquid following his path.

Its odd really, I'd like to think I'm actually a very honest, trustworthy person. There's just something about poo-based accidents that makes me toss my moral compass into the copper coils of madness. The moral of this story: if you've had an unfortunate defecatory incident, whatever you do, don't tell me.
( paulieg La, la, la, not listening, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 1:19, Reply)

WeeWitch's story
about the Edinburgh Lewis's has reminded me.

I work in an establishment where members of Her Majesty's Great British General Public have access to toilets. This means we staff have to do frequent "toilet checks", which usually involves walking in, making sure the toilet rolls are stocked up, and changing them if not. Occasionally, someone's jammed two 20p coins in the condom machine, or pissed on the floor and it needs mopping up.. nothing much disgusting.

But- and it was obvious there'd be a but- there was one horrid incident.

A member of the aforementioned Great British Public approached me, and explained that someone hadn't flushed the toilet.

"No problem", thought I, "it's not difficult to flush a toilet". So, in I marched, into the cubicle, and pushed the button to flush it. For a few seconds, there was nothing. Then it filled with water. And I mean filled, with water coming to about 2cm short of the rim of the bowl.

I realised it was blocked, and I needed to unblock it.

I donned my thick pink rubber gloves, rolled up my sleeves, and inserted my arm into the water, aiming to find the source of this blockage. I didn't need to search for long. Easily above the "normal" water level, there it was, the soft substance. There is something especially horrible about feeling the texture of another man's poo.

Nonetheless, I soldiered on. I pushed it aside, and poked in further, trying to make a small tunnel in the shit for the water to drain through. This was not easy. Bits of log started to float in the water, mere centimetres from my nose, as I was now beyond elbow-depth in the shitty water, and I was starting to heave, and my eyes were starting to water. My hand was now in a scoop shape, literally digging through this gentleman's soft shit. The water was not draining. Then, finally, I reached the U-bend. I dug up through it, and the water drained out. I was crying. I vomited a horrible, putrid, bile-vomit into the bowl.

I removed my gloves, went to get some more, and a bucket.

I scooped the shit out of the bowl and into the bucket. When most of it was gone, I flushed.

The bucket, the 15-litre version, was half-full. Somehow, someone had managed to shit out at least 7 litres of solids. I would have been impressed, and curious about the weight, but at the time, I was more interested in getting rid of it. I double-black-binbagged it, threw it out as hazardous waste, and then washed my hands for about 15 minutes, before rinsing my still foul-tasting mouth out with Coke, water and mints.

I'd apologise for length, but it wasn't even me.
( Thinker, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 1:17, 2 replies)

Piles anyone?
I think I have piles - to be honest I know I have piles - but I haven't checked properly. I think that looking at your arse hole and checking your action man scar are things that should be best left to adolescence. I should probably buy some cream - but, its all fine when I’m pissed and all fine when I lie on my back - its only when I lie on my side when I'm sober that I remember that there's a problem (and that doesn't happen very often).

Oh - and of course when I take a shite.

Those little pebbles spread it all over me arse cheeks. Just when I've thought it’s all clean - I'll rub the paper to the right and its like I've got a whole new arse hole. Much paper ensues.

I should get some cream or something.

And my piss stinks as well
(devasa, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 0:57, 5 replies)

Catapult
A cat belonging to a friend of mine had been indulging in a pastime many cats are fond of - bin-diving. On this particular occasion the cat had retrieved and devoured the elasticky string stuff that my friend's Sunday roast had been wrapped up with. She was a bit concerned, as this pork-flavoured, but fundamentally indigestible bit of string could have dire consequences for the cat's internal organs, but she was relieved when the cat managed to pass the string a day or two later.

However, the cat had managed to drop a fair proportion of the string, but was struggling to eject the entire thing; so after watching the poor creature strain for a while, she fetched a rubber glove, and attempted to help the cat extricate the remainder.

The cat was understandably panicked by the sensation of tension and legged it - still with half the elastic up its bum. The elastic stretched until some critical tension was achieved, then TWANG-SPLAT - friend was liberally pebbledashed.

Length etc... seven or eight feet, apparently.
(Photon wasting your time since, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 0:46, 1 reply)

There's an irregular poster on here...
who does nothing BUT post shit stories...

Unfortunately, they are literally just shit stories, not actually comical (or even vaguely humorous) tales about shit. And his responses to answers usually consist of his telling somebody that they are a cunt, mostly without constructing a decent argument or providing evidence that demonstrates his point of view. Or, if there is an argument provided, it's generally badly constructed and written as if English is his third language.

Everyone has their own opinions about what is and isn't funny/well written/thought provoking, and I certainly ain't knocking that freedom to choose what someone likes or doesn't like. You don't like someone's stuff - fine, put them on ignore; and if you have something to say to them then say it, as long as it is thought through and you can actually provide a well constructed argument. But don't resort to idle name calling and abuse because (a) it really shouldn't upset you so much, and (b) the chances are that you don't know what that person is really like.

Each to their own I suppose, but I'm certain the rules of the various boards state that if users don't like something, then they should just ignore the post/poster, rather than direct ignorant vitriol towards them for no readily apparent reason.

Rant over. Sorry. I've stopped smoking you know, cut me some slack...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 28 Mar 2008, 0:44, 4 replies)

They Repeat The Questions, We Repeat The Answers
*Repost*

Barium Shits.
Years ago I was diagnosed with a stomach ulcer and had to go for hospital for tests, the main one being a Barium Meal.

Now this is a process where you drink a polystyrene beaker of sludge and they X-ray you to find out what your insides look like as Barium is opaque to x-rays. So they strapped me on the table (the table moves and swivels as well) and gave a this beaker of "Strawberry Flavoured" barium sludge. I nearly broke my wrist! It was a bout a pint of barium sludge and it weighed a fucking ton. It felt as if the beaker was filled with lead. And drinking it was like pouring slow-setting concrete down my throat. Not nice.

Anyway, tests over I headed for home. The next day I awoke bright and early and went for my usual morning dump. But something was wrong. I could feel immense pressure in my guts, but strain as I might, nothing was moving. Refusing to be beaten by a turd, I gathered my will and went for a knuckle-biting strain and Glory Be! I felt the obstruction start to move. Now once this fucker was on it's way, nothing was going to stop it. It was with a feeling of horror that I felt my poor arsehole stretching to dimensions it was never designed for. I was actually moaning softly now. The Turd Of Gods continued to force it's way out of my and eventually crashed into the waiting bowl with the power and majesty of the launching of the Titanic. The noise was deafening - a bit like hearing a torpedo being launched.

Now rid of my burden, I wiped and stood up (and to borrow a line off Stutz79) weak and shaken like a freshly raped dog. I peered into the bowl for the cause of my discomfort and gazed upon an enormous, bright pink turd. It was a thing of awe. About 10 inches long and about 4 inches thick, it lay there at the bottom of my toilet bowl like decomposing shark. I was impressed!

After a while of looking at my handiwork I thought I'd better flush and get on with the day. So I did. And looked and there it was. The flushing hadn't even moved it a millimetre. So I tried again, and again. Still the fucker wouldn't move. Eventually I gave up and went downstairs for a carrier bag which I put over my arm and reached in to grasp the offender and lift it out of the bog. I swear the bugger weighed about 5 pounds. It truly was the Turd of The Gods.

I disposed of it, well wrapped up, into the dustbin but, looking back, I really wish I'd taken a picture of the bugger.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 0:31, 3 replies)

my little sister
leaves floaters, massive chunky floaters...

So, on her first overnight stay at her boyfriends, you may have thought she'd just hold it in. But no. She left one.

There it was, staring up at her. The rest of her boyfs family were all in the sitting room, so she knew they would all know it was her.

Normal people would perhaps break it up with a loo brush and continue flushing until the little blighter went on its merry way to poo-heaven. Again, no. She fished it out of the loo, wrapped in in toilet paper and put it in the bathroom bin.

Classy.

The next morning.
She, her boyf and the rest of the family are sitting round having breakfast and the boyf's mother comes out of the bathroom...

"Who wrapped up a turd and put it in the bathroom bin?" she enquires.

Without hesitating or even looking her way, her boyfriend (bless him) says "Oh, sorry mum, it was me, thought it would be funny"

That's love. Taking the wrap for something like that and for knowing her that well that he knew it was her.

Methinks he's a keeper. Doubt Sparrow Dodger would do that for me!
(Ryfelwr can't stop here... this is bat country, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 0:21, 3 replies)

Freckles
There's lots of Army stories dealing with poo but my favourite is Freckles.

Freckles is a drinking game. One squaddy goes to the bog an craps on a plate. Then he brings his freshly steaming prize back to the table and the rest of the players bring their noses close to the edge of the plate and close their eyes. Then the ref then slams another plate down on top of the turd.

The one with with the most freckles buys the next round.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 28 Mar 2008, 0:20, 5 replies)