Feedback loops.
I was once in a group of people who were in the habit of stopping off at a moto-X course for a weekend, and driving little cars around off-road and generally having a real hoot. This used to be a "Blokey" thing, with only a few hard-core lasses turning up... and then women started to come, and then people bought frikking landrovers and caravans instead of tents.. and it all started to go tits-up.

Before too long, it had become an event that needed to be "organised" and a porta-toilet was ordered at great expense. No longer was taking the shovel up the field a valid option, and sooner or later, it became frowned upon.

One morning after spending the night on the ale my guts and body were't feeling too good. Long after sunrise and desperately in need of letting a serious cludgie go, I exited my foul-smelling methane-rich tent and swayed off to the porta-toilet which - by this time - had spent 3 days in the sun. I opened the door to a smell and fly-swarm that MUST have been piped in from the cup-girls set, and I wretched. No way was I going to manage to keep my guts from exploding at both ends...

I toddled off into the morning with a small roll of bog-roll clutched tightly in one sweating hand, and vainly attempted to walk smoothly lest I should upset the growling beast that was my bowel. About half way up the hill I realised that what I needed most was a drink of water... momentarily I stopped and considered the re-percussions of returning to camp, but carried on pottering towards the woods when my sphincter was nearly overcome by a wave of hot pressure.

A few minutes after I was deep in the woods, surveying the area and getting pissed at myself for not bringing a spade... The day was still, the woods were warm, and the buzz of insects held the promise of a horribly frustrating crap.

After a deeply agonising moment, weighing up the known blast-radius that my arse was capable of, the lack of hole and blast wall (didn't have a spade) and the predicted consistency of what was to follow.... I decided to squat on a slope, hoping that my loudly barking spider would be brought closer to the ground, thus narrowing the blast-zone.

I squatted.... but after another brief moment of thought, I decided to remove my boxers, trousers and boots.. working on the theory that it was easier to clean crap off my legs.

So.. Squatting on a slope in the woods, wearing only a T-Shirt and a hung-over grimmace, I closed my eyes, concentrated on the buzzing of the insects and tried to relax my sphincter "in a clam and controlled manner"... I jumped as a fly landed on my ring-piece.. calmed my nerves and tried again.

The next 5 minutes are etched into my mind as a "what not to do" tutorial for the future.

The resulting flow of man-slurry exited fast. It flowed downhill at speed, and my "handy" placement of the bog-roll (infront of me) suddenly seemed less than smart. Then the smell hit me. Bouyed up by it's own heat the stench floated upwards in the still and humid air and assaulted me. Suddenly I was wretching again - this time to full effect - and on an empty stomach I produced only bile. The violent convulsions caused my arse to sputter wildly, and Gasping for breath resulted in large nasal inhalations, and more wretching... for the second time of my life I was in a disasterous shit-induced positive-feedback loop. Morbid curiosity forced me to look as green bile surfed a torrent of shit, only to realise with horror what I was looking at - and the cycle would start again.

I moved - Sideways - like a shitty crab. Clutching a trees for much-needed stability I evaded the stench and rode out the rest of my bodily convulsions in relative comfort: even the flies trying to munch my ass were pleasant by comparison.

I returned to camp wearing only my shorts: The clean-up operation had been Wardrobe-intensive.

The next night I drank only water.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Fri 8 Jan 2010, 19:52, 3 replies)

Pearost?
But still fucking funny!

How's Chewie?
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sun 10 Jan 2010, 12:48, closed)

oh aye.
Yep Mr Carrot... definately a pearoast. While there are no new questions, there shall be no new answers. :o)

Chewie's rocking.... as is Shere. They dragged in a pheasant's head and 12" of spine in.. I can only assume that if we'd not taken it from them that they'd have polished it up and hung it in a display case á la Predator.

but still... to separate spine from pheasant... that takes some doing!
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Sun 10 Jan 2010, 13:05, closed)

Ahh
Cats eh? They do disembowel the funniest things.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sun 10 Jan 2010, 22:52, closed)