back in my younger days when I was about 19/20 I ended up in T's in Erith one night, me and a mate pull 2 birds and end up in a flat in Thamesmead somewhere, I wake up in the morning and realise I'm in desperate need to let go so have no choice but to use their facilities about 7am.
Get rid of a fine package and then go to flush and the handle literally comes off in my hand - to drunk/hungover to try and fix and with a broken toilet full up, I decide to get dressed and wake my mate up 'come on son, look lively, we need to go'........we say we're popping to the shop for a paper/breakfast etc and will be back shortly. I confess to him once we're out of there and we never went back.
A mate of mine lives with his mum not far from Chatham train station, so its a pretty easy walk home for him from rochester or chatham after a few beers. This particular night he had opted for a taxi from the station as he was bursting for a shite. Turns out one of out old mates was the driver and wanted to have a chatter with Dan as he dropped him off. All Danny wanted to do was get the hell out of the cab and back to the safety of his own pan. Our old mate was adamant the ride was free really keen to know where we drunk now and generally shoot the breeze. In the end Dan has said 'look mate, I really need a piss, gotta go' and by this time he was sweating, shaking, having contractions the lot. He's taken the six or seven paces to the front door and could go no further, how was really struggling with the keys in the lock and it became too late. He literally shat on his own doorstep. He then unlocked he door and made it safe back to back to bed.
In the morning he came downstairs for a brew to see his mum on her hands and knees scrubbing the tiles on the front yard. Dan knew this was bad, he asked what was up and she replied that some filthy bastard had left a log about a foot and a half long and she was going to call he police about it and complain to the landlord of the pub bang opposite.
Now the boozer was our local we used all the time which another mate of mine used to run, this guy is not to be messed with. So when Dan happened to be whispering he story to me in the boozer his mum, unbeknown to us had come in to give richie an absolute earful. He was as shocked as she was and promised if he caught anyone doimg anything like that again they would be barred and get the hiding of their life. Also if he heard on the grapevine anyone bragging about the atrocity he would bring them to justice.
Moral of the story is never shit on you're own doorstep
Many moons ago when I made one of first sorties in Europe, I went on a coach excursion to Lake Garda. This was back in the days before the Euro, and Italian Lire was carried about in a wheelbarrow.
Anyway, about an hour into the coach journey my brain got the message ‘you need to be sitting on a bog within the next 60 seconds’. Well, I knew we still had a fair way to go to Lake Garda so all I could do was to tighten the old trapdoor muscles, and recite a few Hail Mary’s.
Fortunately, we got off the coach without too much leakage and hurriedly made my way to the Italian public toilet. Just in the nick of time, kicked the door shut, dropped my shorts and relaxed the sphincter. Absolute bliss!
Not being a seasoned traveller in those days, of course, I expected to find a roll of Andrex’s finest, neatly turned down at the end into a dart shape, like they do in the posh hotels. Bollox!! Not even half a copy of the Gazetta Della Sport. It’s times like this, with an empty bowel that some of the best thinking is done.
All I had in my pocket was about three zillion lire in differing denominations. I’ll have to use those I thought. 900 Lire later, I was clean enough to continue my visit to Lake Garda. I subsequently worked it out that buying a toilet roll would have cost me more than that in a supermarket.
Me and the mrs were not long together and had gone on a camping holiday acoss the uk in an old scout tent I had aquired fecking huge thing but not new with segregation just a whopping great blue thing made of heavy duty cloth
It took a while for the two of us to put up and it was getting dark
We were in a campsite just outside weymouth and we had the plot closest to the boundry fence and furthest from the club house and facilities
I had been on the ciders since arrival and had bought some spag bol in a tin for about 20 p and had cooked it on the little stove thing within about 5 mins of digest it hit the cider and a volcanic style noise and erruption happend
I needed a poop quick
I grabbed some bog roll from the ford orion and bolted over the sty and into the field whilst trying to undo my jean shorts
As I landed my ankle gave way and my whole weight (fortunately I was not even 20 so was a skinny lad)
But my instep nearly hit my calf and the pain was immense the pressure in my arris was more and I just pooped the min I got my shorts off
I wiped and breathed again and to my embaressment a family of 4 had seen my deed
I appologised and asked for a shoulder as my ankle could take no weight and had turnt black very quickly
This guy helped me over the sty but I could tell he was disgusted as was his wife it was only when I hobbled to my now wife then girlfriend and showed her my ankle did she burst out laughing
And said what you got that bloke to help you with that on you
I looked rd and the offending bog roll was on my shorts and I hadn't dropped clear I also had an orangey coloured soft poop all over my shorts
Sad sad dfirst day of holiday which I spent the night in a and e where I was put in a cast
Me and the mrs were not long together and had gone on a camping holiday acoss the uk in an old scout tent I had aquired fecking huge thing but not new with segregation just a whopping great blue thing made of heavy duty cloth
It took a while for the two of us to put up and it was getting dark
We were in a campsite just outside weymouth and we had the plot closest to the boundry fence and furthest from the club house and facilities
I had been on the ciders since arrival and had bought some spag bol in a tin for about 20 p and had cooked it on the little stove thing within about 5 mins of digest it hit the cider and a volcanic style noise and erruption happend
I needed a poop quick
I grabbed some bog roll from the ford orion and bolted over the sty and into the field whilst trying to undo my jean shorts
As I landed my ankle gave way and my whole weight (fortunately I was not even 20 so was a skinny lad)
But my instep nearly hit my calf and the pain was immense the pressure in my arris was more and I just pooped the min I got my shorts off
I wiped and breathed again and to my embaressment a family of 4 had seen my deed
I appologised and asked for a shoulder as my ankle could take no weight and had turnt black very quickly
This guy helped me over the sty but I could tell he was disgusted as was his wife it was only when I hobbled to my now wife then girlfriend and showed her my ankle did she burst out laughing
And said what you got that bloke to help you with that on you
I looked rd and the offending bog roll was on my shorts and I hadn't dropped clear I also had an orangey coloured soft poop all over my shorts
Sad sad dfirst day of holiday which I spent the night in a and e where I was put in a cast
Brand new entry, straight in at number one (or should that be number 2?)
Not strictly a needing to go story but I was in Poznan in 91 to watch England in the Euro qualifiers.
I was sharing a room with 2 others (Lee G & Steve C for those who know them) Was in the hotel bar and needed a dump after 2 days of solid drinking and eating shyte. The bog in the room was one of those European ones with the ledge at the back. I put down an almost black foot long that was perfectly formed with a little twist at the end. It was a perfect dump, a no wiper and was so proud if it I left it on the ledge for my room mates to marvel upon when they returned. Strangely enough they weren't impressed!
Remembered another golf related story today. I was playing a society day at a course over Brentwood way, Bentley I think it was called. Me and my mate were admiring the quality of the decorative finish of the Gents. All marble and top quality sanitary fittings after which I have a gypsies and he heads for trap 3. The hare is running and two elderly gents bowl in. Wing commander types. Obviously members, club ties and blazers. I'm washing my hands and all of a sudden from trap 3 hear a loud groan and splash followed by "get out and walk you bastard I've carried you to long" I just shuffled out trying to look composed with that "he's not with me look" on my face.
A couple of years ago (when I was about 16) , I was very ill and sick for a few days and went to the DR to see what was the issue. My Doctor claimed that it could have been down to food poisoning and that I needed to do a stool sample.
My Doctor gave me a small tube and said to put some of my feces within it. Knowing full well that one of my logs wasn't going to fit within it, I had to seek alternative methods of getting the crap in it.
I went into one of my draws in the kitchen and saw a Haribo tub which was completely empty. Perfect....or so I thought.
So after gulping down many sugar-free sweets and 'Wheetabix', I was ready to deliver.
So I took the tub and in I went into the bathroom, crouched down over this tub which was hovering over the toilet and delivered. Much to my annoyance, this turd was one of the biggest i've ever done and it curled round the whole tub. I only needed an ounce of it for the sample, so I used the spoon they provided and whilst wearing a gas-type mask managed to spoon some out and into this tube.
Anyway, I managed to send it off and get rid of the remains whilst just about remaining conscious. I just feel for the people who had to check it out...
Many moons ago when I made one of first sorties in Europe, I went on a coach excursion to Lake Garda. This was back in the days before the Euro, and Italian Lire was carried about in a wheelbarrow.
Anyway, about an hour into the coach journey my brain got the message ‘you need to be sitting on a bog within the next 60 seconds’. Well, I knew we still had a fair way to go to Lake Garda so all I could do was to tighten the old trapdoor muscles, and recite a few Hail Mary’s.
Fortunately, we got off the coach without too much leakage and hurriedly made my way to the Italian public toilet. Just in the nick of time, kicked the door shut, dropped my shorts and relaxed the sphincter. Absolute bliss!
Not being a seasoned traveller in those days, of course, I expected to find a roll of Andrex’s finest, neatly turned down at the end into a dart shape, like they do in the posh hotels. Bollox!! Not even half a copy of the Gazetta Della Sport. It’s times like this, with an empty bowel that some of the best thinking is done.
All I had in my pocket was about three zillion lire in differing denominations. I’ll have to use those I thought. 900 Lire later, I was clean enough to continue my visit to Lake Garda. I subsequently worked it out that buying a toilet roll would have cost me more than that in a supermarket.
Having a crap anywhere in Africa is an experience,but there's one that is particularly memorable.
I had arrived at the local chief's place in a small village in Malawi and that evening went outside with my torch to use what passed as the lav.It was a wooden shack,the size of our own cubicles,with a hole slighter larger than a house-brick dug into the mud floor.
I got my trousers and pants down, squatted over the shit-splattered aperture and proceeded with my business.
Seconds after the first stool dropped,I heard a scratching sound coming from below.As I continued the scratching became a more discernible scuttling which was now sounding more urgent.And then they came;Cockroaches from the effluent below and running up my bare legs hell bent on the source of the mother-load.
I swiped the things from my thighs and shins,while making these weird whimpering noises I had never made before or have made since.The roaches made their escape and there,nestling in the seat of my pants,was a sorry-looking demi-turd.
As someone with a bowel disease I have more than my fair share of stories in this genre.
One of my particular low points was about 6 years ago. Lying in bed one morning with my then girlfriend, her behind me and snuggled up. I needed to fart. No panic but once this had been let go it quickly became clear that I had covered the bed and her entire bottom half in a fine, yet severe, spray of shite and blood.
We're married now and the Ulcerative Colitis is all under control.
There was a bloke on my course at Uni who shat everywhere other than in a bloody toilet. The worst being 0n the back seat of a bus and in the middle of a lecture theatre. Dont know how he was never caught.
A couple of months back a poor bloke on the DLR had clearly had an accident. No one could work out where the putrid smell was coming from but as he got up at Lewisham, it became very clear what it was. My stomach is turning just thinking about it. As a sufferer of IBS, I always carry immodium in my wallet just in case. To this day, I havent been caught out yet but I live in fear.
haha me too mate but I didn't make it one day, I couldn't believe where it came from? I was in the park with me dog, when suddenly this terrific urge to go and I wasn't far from toilets but too bloody late whoosh. I had to go and finish off behind some bushes, where my dog was shitting as well. I did pick his up but he said " sod that for a larf, if you think I'm picking yours up "
anyway I disposed of my soiled pants in the bin when I got to the bog, much to the distaste of the attendant.
I thought you were only meant to shit yourself when a kid but clearly not!
Back in the 90's whilst in the army, we were stationed in Kenya and went for a night out to the local nightclub. After a couple of hours of drinking dodgy beer, I had a severe case of rapid bowel movement so made my way quickly to the toilets. Once in the cubicle I realised that the toilet hadn't been cleaned (in what seemed like) 6 months. There was absolutely no way I was sitting on that. However, with no other options available, I decided to hover. After releasing a very impressive monster which probably weighed the same as a small child, I looked down to admire my "masterpiece" to see an empty bowl. I assumed it simply disappeared straight down the pipe, so went back to the bar to carry on drinking. Ten minutes later, a mate came out the bog cursing about a huge log that he'd accidently stepped in that was lying beside the pan, moaning about "how the f**k could anyone miss the toilet?". Took about half an hour for me to stop laughing...................
Many moons ago I had a paper round.As I was finishing one bright summers morning I got the uncontrollable urge to empty my plop parlour. The end of the round was close to my house so I legged it as fast as I could to mission control. There was unfortunately no stopping these inquisitive tortoise(s) and they duely filled my briefs to bursting point. Admitting defeat, I waddled to my back gate pondering how I could find salvation from the stinky mess in my undercrackers and dispose of them without detection. Everyone in the house was still asleep but I had to act fast. Wednesday was bins day. Perfect! I found an empty Tescos carried bag and carefully maneuvered the ponging pants off of my person and into the bag. A quick knot in the top and in the wheelie bin they went. Quick clean up and change and out went the bins to the front of the drive. Job done...... Or so I thought. But my tender years hadn't bargained for the arsehole of a binman who on smelling the foul stench emitting from the bin must have decided to investigate further. On discovering my giblets he then decided to pick the bag up from the bottom and without a second thought sent my rotten steaming keks across the newly block paved drive! Explaining this to my distraught mother was not something any young teen should have to do.
You have just reminded me of something that happened to me circa 2007/8
In my old bachelor pad I had some awesome neighbours, seriously brilliant people. Anyway, one of them a lady in her fifties had recently had a knee operation. It was mid summer and her dog, a loveable mongrel called Sam. He was going mad wanting to have a walkies, her two sons were not home and having returned from work early I offered to take Sam out for a stretch.
Me and Sam departed off to the sports centres fields about 400 yards away as the crow flies. I took a tennis ball with me for the dog to chase. Upon arrival at the fields I got the 60 second warning and knew there was no way I was going to be allowed in the leisure centre with the dog or shit in my drawers. Now these fields are lined by a very small belt of woodland, so I did what I thought was the best idea.
I launched he tennis ball for Sam, he took off after it, I sprinted to the woodland undoing my cargo shorts as I ran and unleashed hell. Unbeknown to me, having seen me go running off sam thought I wanted to play chase and abandoned any thoughts of continuing his pursuit of the tennis ball in favour of seeing what I was up to.
The little fucker put his snout straight in my (searching for a better description here) pat. Shit all over his nose and face. What a mess we were, me with shorts half mast trying to stop the dog eating anymore cack, dog slavering and wanting a taste of what smelled like a nappy filled with indian food and poo.
Cutting this story short before, I made the walk of shame home, took the dog covered in human shit back to me house the back way and set about trying to clean him off with a bucket of fairy liquid and my car wash sponge. I gave him back to my neighbour as clean as I could get him. I never took him out for a walk again but until he sadly died he would bark and bark like there was no tomorrow everytime he saw me leave the house.
Comments
Get rid of a fine package and then go to flush and the handle literally comes off in my hand - to drunk/hungover to try and fix and with a broken toilet full up, I decide to get dressed and wake my mate up 'come on son, look lively, we need to go'........we say we're popping to the shop for a paper/breakfast etc and will be back shortly. I confess to him once we're out of there and we never went back.
is a fine read on such a delicate subject.
A mate of mine lives with his mum not far from Chatham train station, so its a pretty easy walk home for him from rochester or chatham after a few beers. This particular night he had opted for a taxi from the station as he was bursting for a shite. Turns out one of out old mates was the driver and wanted to have a chatter with Dan as he dropped him off. All Danny wanted to do was get the hell out of the cab and back to the safety of his own pan. Our old mate was adamant the ride was free really keen to know where we drunk now and generally shoot the breeze. In the end Dan has said 'look mate, I really need a piss, gotta go' and by this time he was sweating, shaking, having contractions the lot. He's taken the six or seven paces to the front door and could go no further, how was really struggling with the keys in the lock and it became too late. He literally shat on his own doorstep. He then unlocked he door and made it safe back to back to bed.
In the morning he came downstairs for a brew to see his mum on her hands and knees scrubbing the tiles on the front yard. Dan knew this was bad, he asked what was up and she replied that some filthy bastard had left a log about a foot and a half long and she was going to call he police about it and complain to the landlord of the pub bang opposite.
Now the boozer was our local we used all the time which another mate of mine used to run, this guy is not to be messed with. So when Dan happened to be whispering he story to me in the boozer his mum, unbeknown to us had come in to give richie an absolute earful. He was as shocked as she was and promised if he caught anyone doimg anything like that again they would be barred and get the hiding of their life. Also if he heard on the grapevine anyone bragging about the atrocity he would bring them to justice.
Moral of the story is never shit on you're own doorstep
Anyway, about an hour into the coach journey my brain got the message ‘you need to be sitting on a bog within the next 60 seconds’. Well, I knew we still had a fair way to go to Lake Garda so all I could do was to tighten the old trapdoor muscles, and recite a few Hail Mary’s.
Fortunately, we got off the coach without too much leakage and hurriedly made my way to the Italian public toilet. Just in the nick of time, kicked the door shut, dropped my shorts and relaxed the sphincter. Absolute bliss!
Not being a seasoned traveller in those days, of course, I expected to find a roll of Andrex’s finest, neatly turned down at the end into a dart shape, like they do in the posh hotels. Bollox!! Not even half a copy of the Gazetta Della Sport. It’s times like this, with an empty bowel that some of the best thinking is done.
All I had in my pocket was about three zillion lire in differing denominations. I’ll have to use those I thought. 900 Lire later, I was clean enough to continue my visit to Lake Garda. I subsequently worked it out that buying a toilet roll would have cost me more than that in a supermarket.
It took a while for the two of us to put up and it was getting dark
We were in a campsite just outside weymouth and we had the plot closest to the boundry fence and furthest from the club house and facilities
I had been on the ciders since arrival and had bought some spag bol in a tin for about 20 p and had cooked it on the little stove thing within about 5 mins of digest it hit the cider and a volcanic style noise and erruption happend
I needed a poop quick
I grabbed some bog roll from the ford orion and bolted over the sty and into the field whilst trying to undo my jean shorts
As I landed my ankle gave way and my whole weight (fortunately I was not even 20 so was a skinny lad)
But my instep nearly hit my calf and the pain was immense the pressure in my arris was more and I just pooped the min I got my shorts off
I wiped and breathed again and to my embaressment a family of 4 had seen my deed
I appologised and asked for a shoulder as my ankle could take no weight and had turnt black very quickly
This guy helped me over the sty but I could tell he was disgusted as was his wife it was only when I hobbled to my now wife then girlfriend and showed her my ankle did she burst out laughing
And said what you got that bloke to help you with that on you
I looked rd and the offending bog roll was on my shorts and I hadn't dropped clear I also had an orangey coloured soft poop all over my shorts
Sad sad dfirst day of holiday which I spent the night in a and e where I was put in a cast
I was sharing a room with 2 others (Lee G & Steve C for those who know them) Was in the hotel bar and needed a dump after 2 days of solid drinking and eating shyte. The bog in the room was one of those European ones with the ledge at the back. I put down an almost black foot long that was perfectly formed with a little twist at the end. It was a perfect dump, a no wiper and was so proud if it I left it on the ledge for my room mates to marvel upon when they returned. Strangely enough they weren't impressed!
My Doctor gave me a small tube and said to put some of my feces within it. Knowing full well that one of my logs wasn't going to fit within it, I had to seek alternative methods of getting the crap in it.
I went into one of my draws in the kitchen and saw a Haribo tub which was completely empty. Perfect....or so I thought.
So after gulping down many sugar-free sweets and 'Wheetabix', I was ready to deliver.
So I took the tub and in I went into the bathroom, crouched down over this tub which was hovering over the toilet and delivered. Much to my annoyance, this turd was one of the biggest i've ever done and it curled round the whole tub. I only needed an ounce of it for the sample, so I used the spoon they provided and whilst wearing a gas-type mask managed to spoon some out and into this tube.
Anyway, I managed to send it off and get rid of the remains whilst just about remaining conscious. I just feel for the people who had to check it out...
I had arrived at the local chief's place in a small village in Malawi and that evening went outside with my torch to use what passed as the lav.It was a wooden shack,the size of our own cubicles,with a hole slighter larger than a house-brick dug into the mud floor.
I got my trousers and pants down, squatted over the shit-splattered aperture and proceeded with my business.
Seconds after the first stool dropped,I heard a scratching sound coming from below.As I continued the scratching became a more discernible scuttling which was now sounding more urgent.And then they came;Cockroaches from the effluent below and running up my bare legs hell bent on the source of the mother-load.
I swiped the things from my thighs and shins,while making these weird whimpering noises I had never made before or have made since.The roaches made their escape and there,nestling in the seat of my pants,was a sorry-looking demi-turd.
I never used a torch in that place again.
I bet that never happens in Mills & Boon books.
anyway I disposed of my soiled pants in the bin when I got to the bog, much to the distaste of the attendant.
I thought you were only meant to shit yourself when a kid but clearly not!
You have just reminded me of something that happened to me circa 2007/8
In my old bachelor pad I had some awesome neighbours, seriously brilliant people. Anyway, one of them a lady in her fifties had recently had a knee operation. It was mid summer and her dog, a loveable mongrel called Sam. He was going mad wanting to have a walkies, her two sons were not home and having returned from work early I offered to take Sam out for a stretch.
Me and Sam departed off to the sports centres fields about 400 yards away as the crow flies. I took a tennis ball with me for the dog to chase. Upon arrival at the fields I got the 60 second warning and knew there was no way I was going to be allowed in the leisure centre with the dog or shit in my drawers. Now these fields are lined by a very small belt of woodland, so I did what I thought was the best idea.
I launched he tennis ball for Sam, he took off after it, I sprinted to the woodland undoing my cargo shorts as I ran and unleashed hell. Unbeknown to me, having seen me go running off sam thought I wanted to play chase and abandoned any thoughts of continuing his pursuit of the tennis ball in favour of seeing what I was up to.
The little fucker put his snout straight in my (searching for a better description here) pat. Shit all over his nose and face. What a mess we were, me with shorts half mast trying to stop the dog eating anymore cack, dog slavering and wanting a taste of what smelled like a nappy filled with indian food and poo.
Cutting this story short before, I made the walk of shame home, took the dog covered in human shit back to me house the back way and set about trying to clean him off with a bucket of fairy liquid and my car wash sponge. I gave him back to my neighbour as clean as I could get him. I never took him out for a walk again but until he sadly died he would bark and bark like there was no tomorrow everytime he saw me leave the house.