All washed up
I have a mate, who we'll call John, because that's his name. John used to live in a second floor "flatlet" where you had to go down two flights of stairs to get to the bog. They were steep, so to be avoided if you were drunk.

One day, he came into the pub and related his tale of the previous night (you may later wonder why anyone would actually admit to this).

Seems he'd drunk so much beer, that by the time he got up to his front room, he felt very full and a little ill. So he did what anyone would do. He gave the precipitous stairs a miss and threw up on his sofa. Then he realised a number one was required. Stairs this time? Nope. He urinated all over his carpet.

At this point, he felt the urge for number twos.

Did this finally force him to brave the stairs?

Not our heroic Johnny. He went to the kitchen and had a shit in the sink. On the dishes.

At this point in the tale, I jumped in with "Bet the washing up was no fun this morning!"

I'll never forget his answer :

"I couldn't face it, so I've left it for later."
( finnbar has officially retired, Tue 1 Apr 2008, 19:18, Reply)