DANISH TOILET DISASTER
A few days after I got back from the Roskilde Festival, Denmark, I went to visit my parents. They met me at the train station and my mum instantly noticed something:

“What happened to your tooth, Spanky?”

Now I’d already come up with a cast iron response to this one, something that would put her mind at east. Smiling back at her, a great gap in my smile where a tooth used to sit snugly, I replied as matter-of-factly as possible:

“I got jumped by about four lads when I was over there and they beat me up.”

Yep – that really put her mind at ease... but it was better than telling her what really happened. I mean, she is a devout Catholic, and if she’d known how my wining smile had turned into something you’d expect to see on the roughest of rough council estates, she would’ve smited me on the fucking spot.

And, thinking back, I was just pleased that my mum hadn't noticed the faint but very distinct smell of shit and piss that I just didn't seem able to scrub off...

So, lets go back to earlier in the week – Roskilde Festival, Denmark. Glorious sunshine. Loads of incredibly fit Danes looking like Armarni models (the boys and the girls – I’m not gay but I have to say I’d have been honoured if one of those blue eyed, blonde haired, hard bodied young men would’ve offered to rape me up the shitpipe).

One of the big acts on is David Bowie – woo!

I’m sat round, hallucinating slightly on account of all the lovely Tuborg I’ve quaffed, when word goes round. Bowie isn’t playing!

He’s had a fucking heart attack, the selfish cunt! So, instead, at very short notice, they’ve replaced Major Tom with a similar act –
fucking Slipknot.

Fuck me!

Loads of people were pissed off but I was as happy as a pig in shit. Fucking love Slipknot, me. Eventually they come out and I start throwing myself about like a mental patient on anthetamines. My mates disowned me on the spot for being an uber-twat. Lovely. Meant I was doing the mosh thing properly.

And then, after a damnright scary rendition of Wait and Bleed, I realised I’d gotten the attention of a gorgeous young lady. So young, in fact, I thought it would be impolite to ask her age. We danced together for a bit, she told me her name was Inger and offered me a swig of her vodka. Fuck me, she’s pretty, I thought, so pretty she could be in Playboy, not the usual Razzle Readers Wives hags I usually exchange bodily fluids with.

And the gig goes on. And Inger and I dance a bit more, make small talk, and finish off the quite franky fucking HUGE bottle of vodka.

And then Inger says: “I like you – do you want to go somewhere private?” In her stilted Danish accented English.

I felt like asking her: Have you had a head injury? I mean, you could do a lot better than me, love.

But I didn’t, instead I linked her arm and we went wondering off into the night. I considered taking her back to my tent, but I knew my mates would be there, getting stoned and shouting at the natives. Inger advised me she was sharing a tent with her mum and dad (don’t ask her age, Spanky, just don’t fucking ask).

After a little more aimless wondering, trying to find a secluded spot at a music festival with 100,000 guests, we realised it just wasn’t gonna happen.

“How about in there?” I suggested, out of the vein hope of getting aquainted with Inger’s cervix - I really thought my chance had passed.

But, to my suprise, she nodded enthusastically.

And we slinked into the smelliest, dirtiest four-days-into-a-festival portaloo you could imagine. It was the last one at the end of a row of evenly spaced loos. We chose it because it was one of the few that still had a door on it, the others having had them ripped off – (on that trip I discovered the Danes just love pissing and shitting in full public view).

When we’re inside I supress the gag reflex as the smell is overpowering. My eyes start to water. But Inger takes my mind off it my unzipping my fly and juggling with my testicles. The portaloo is a bit wobbly, obviously sinking into the puddle of shit and piss beneath it, and the floors slippery with piss.

“Hmmm, you like that?” she asks.

I nod, reaching up and having a quick go on her boobies, steadying myself by grabbing the walls of the loo.

“I want you inside me,” she says, and struggles out of her pants. In the confined space she turns round and starts stroking her arse on my rising cock. Well, being an English gent, I could hardly refuse.

I slid inside her and started stroking her love tunnel from the inside with my purple-headed love truncheon. Inger braced herself against the wall with her hands and bucked onto me with repetative and violent force. Fuck me, this is gonna be a quickie, I thought. If only so I can get back outside and breath some non-shit-and-piss-flavoured air.

But it wasn’t a quickie.

We didn’t actually, techinically finish.

As Inger bucked in one direction, grinding onto me with her lovely wet fanny, I thrust in the other...

...and we didn’t notice that the loo was rocking and swaying more and more with each carnal, dirty, filthy grind and thrust.

“Oooh, that’s good,” moaned Inger, as she bucked more viiolently than before.

And the loo toppled over in a weird kind of slow motion, it hit the next loo along in the row and knocked that over too, and the next, and the next.

BONK - BONK - BONK - BONK - BONK !!!

It was like a game of giant dominoes, only involving flying shit and piss, and moaning people who’d just been thrown off the crapper, and a couple at the far end who were – up until that point – enjoying a bit of harmless random stranger related nookie.

Inger landed ontop of me, I thought she’d snapped my cock off, it hurt so much. And her head slammed into my face, knocking out my tooth in a bloody mess. And then the sudden violent motion caused the floaty and disgusting contents of the loo to splash up and douse us. It was like being christened in a really hardcore Satanic church with a shit and piss fetish.

After a few moments panting, Inger clambered off me, pulled up her pants and jeans, and gingerly stepped out of the loo. In a daze I followed –

It was like a scene out of Apocalypse Now, only all the moaning, injured people laying prostrate on the ground were covered in shit and piss.

Inger and I took one look and legged it into the night... We parted with a curt “goodbye,” and I never saw her again.

And my mates made me sleep outside when I got back to the tent, on account of the stink which just wouldn’t wash off.

And that’s when I came up with the story to tell my mum – I really think it worked better than if I told her what really happened...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 9:48, 13 replies)

*applauds*

I think this week has the makings of a classic.

Keep it up! - arf!

*click-errific*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 24 Apr 2009, 10:23, closed)

Fuck me Spank
Please let me know when your autobiography hits the shelves.
(Beelzebub's Ball Bag is pleasuring your wife on, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 10:28, closed)

eeeeeewwww
just eeeeeewwwww
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 10:45, closed)

HAHAHAHAHA!!!
Again HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Thanks, Spanks *clicks*
(Lizard King, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 11:43, closed)

Grim as fuck
and also funny as fuck.
(Grrrrr Tigers, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 11:44, closed)

Now
that's put me off my lunch - click tho anyway.
(Hotty, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 11:58, closed)

Bloody 'ell
thats magnificent!
(Save Us All !!!, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 13:37, closed)

Shudder...
This is why I won't do Festival Duties; not without a decontamination tender on site.

(Why, for the love of God; don't festivals look at how many toilets they had last year, ADD 10%, and use the new value next year; until paying guests are no longer subjected to the inevitable scenes of effluent-based horror? We've already discovered that People + [Alcohol + Dodgy food] + Outdoors * Portaloos = a mix not conducive to good aim, or good hygiene. So install enough, and for bonus points; service the damn things - no reputable organisation lets its crappers go 4 days without basic attention.)
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 24 Apr 2009, 23:09, closed)

The glasto ones
are fine, they get cleaned twice daily I think. Prudent pooers wait for the cleaners to finish, then pounce.

Also, long-drop toilets straight after a rainstorm are quite passable too.
( chart cat has an itch, Sat 25 Apr 2009, 7:31, closed)

*coughs*
prostrate
*coughs*
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Sat 25 Apr 2009, 10:41, closed)

Cheers No3L...
Damn having to write at work with all the distractions of fucking work! The bastards!
( SpankyHanky, Sat 25 Apr 2009, 11:25, closed)

No worries.
Prostate is a whole other story.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 9:24, closed)

Your turn of phrase
is masterful.

Thank you.
( Ril3y is a brit abroad.. bring on the Stella / Asahi, Sun 26 Apr 2009, 0:17, closed)