Back in about 1993 I was walking up from Eltham Station towards the High Street, was very late probably around midnight.
I had been drinking/currying up town and was pissed but not paraletic, halfway towards the High Street my bowels sent a message saying "No Option But Now" but I was nowhere near any conveniences.
Looking to my left (it was pitch black) I sensed a gap or sort of laneway between two houses so quickly darted in there and did the deed.
Next morning walking down to the station I realized to my horror that the 'laneway' was actually somebody's brand new 'mosaic' garden path.
Not often I wake up feeling glum, but yesterday was an exception. By the time I had read these up until lunchtime, the gloom had disppeared and I was nearly wetting myself laughing.
Nothing like a bit of lavatory humour to brighten the day.
On a slightly different tack. I spend a couple of weeks a year camping and climbing in the wilds of Scotland. I've got used to `going' just about anywhere but always discreetly, in some trees or behind a rock but my Scottish mate will just stop anywhere and just `do it' and carry on the conversation. Very disconcerting!
My cousin was on a building site in the city a few years ago doing a fit out. Now here is a man that only just makes it to the karzy as soon as his foot touches the floor every morning when he gets out of bed.
So he feels another shite coming on, which gives him around 60 seconds max to find a loo on site. He bangs through the toilet door and runs into the cubicle, as he is backing up to the lavy, he drops his strides and throwing his arse down on the toilet, he empties the dump truck.
It wasn't till he went to wipe his arse did he realise in his haste to sit down whilst pulling down his Jeans and Y fronts in one swift movement, they had caught the toilet lid and brought it down and closed it. He got up to see a 'snow angel' in the shape of his arse cheeks on the toilet seat with the shite all over the cubicle.
He blamed it on the non speaking Europeans on the job!
On a slightly different tack. I spend a couple of weeks a year camping and climbing in the wilds of Scotland. I've got used to `going' just about anywhere but always discreetly, in some trees or behind a rock but my Scottish mate will just stop anywhere and just `do it' and carry on the conversation. Very disconcerting!
Brings to mind a Scottish mate who joined our crowd on holiday in Majorca. He laid a prodigious log overnight on a flat rock on the beach just below the hotel entrance but the tide-less Mediterranean failed to dispose of it, of course, and we had the pleasure of watching this monstrosity baking for days afterwards.
He always swore that in his home town the public convenience bore a totally official-looking notice on the lines of "Bye-Laws : all turds weighing in excess of 6 lbs shall be lowered and not dropped. By Order."
Tears running down my face reading this thread. Superb.
Many years ago, I was working for Barclays and sent to work in the branch just up the road (9 Gracechurch Street, which is now The Crosse Keys pub for those who know it).
This was a huge building, all ornate decor and with a massive banking hall and tills in the middle of the room. The various departments all sat round the hall, open floor style so customers were walking past all the time.
The toilets were at the back of the building and down in the basement.
I worked towards the back of the floor with a lad - Glyn - whose best mate Paul was an absolute beast. We could all drink, but Paul used to just down pint after pint, eat all sorts of crap food and more often than not turned up the next day in the same clothes reeking of booze and curry.
One afternoon, Paul made one of his regular trips to the bog and had to walk past Glyn and me to get there. On the way back, some time later, Paul went strolling past through the middle of the banking hall and I had to kick Glyn under the table to look up.
He had a long trail of bog roll hanging out the back of his trousers and the customers in the packed banking hall were all staring. Instead of calling his best mate and pulling him to one side, Glyn picked up the phone to one of the lads on Paul's team at the very front of the building and had them all on alert to when he got back.
When it was finally pointed out, the whole team screamed "noooooooo", when the silly tw@t went to pull the bog roll from the back of his trousers...christ knows what state the "hidden end" of it was in. All the while the rest of us and customers at the tills wetting themselves at this freakin' animal.
Now I had the dilemma this morning of my body giving me a hint that it was 'time' so early on this morning about half five I sat on the can and waited for nature. I had waited long enough so started to squeeze a bit but still nothing so I jumped in the shower got dressed and got in my car to go to work. My body then decided that 'time' was actually at 6:30 on the a2 near shorne. There is no where to stop between shorne and my place of work.
I nearly shit myself on the local traffic lane of the a2 at falconwood and enforced my belief that those who abuse that lane should be birched. Managed to hang my arse over a porcelain bowl with milliseconds to spare upon arrival at the yard.
I hate having my routine disrupted and for the next few days my ten o clock shite will be scattered at times inconvenient to me.
Now I had the dilemma this morning of my body giving me a hint that it was 'time' so early on this morning about half five I sat on the can and waited for nature. I had waited long enough so started to squeeze a bit but still nothing so I jumped in the shower got dressed and got in my car to go to work. My body then decided that 'time' was actually at 6:30 on the a2 near shorne. There is no where to stop between shorne and my place of work.
I nearly shit myself on the local traffic lane of the a2 at falconwood and enforced my belief that those who abuse that lane should be birched. Managed to hang my arse over a porcelain bowl with milliseconds to spare upon arrival at the yard.
I hate having my routine disrupted and for the next few days my ten o clock shite will be scattered at times inconvenient to me.
Nothing worse than being stuck in a car when nature calls, pure torture.
Cold, panicky sweats. I was twitching too and timing my own contractions
The thing is that in a car on a motorway you just have no options.
On the train/plane/boat you can use the facilities but on the motorway your only choice is to pull over and have a dump behind a bush or whatever, but its bloody dangerous and it'll be just your luck that the Old Bill turn up.
All too true, I had total sympathy for Alex Ferguson when he was arrested for leathering it along the hard shoulder so as not to do a dirty protest in his Mercedes
Cold, panicky sweats. I was twitching too and timing my own contractions
The thing is that in a car on a motorway you just have no options.
On the train/plane/boat you can use the facilities but on the motorway your only choice is to pull over and have a dump behind a bush or whatever, but its bloody dangerous and it'll be just your luck that the Old Bill turn up.
Nightmare.
been there, done that !! About 8 years ago, I played golf somewhere outside Coventry before we played B'ham away. I think the combination of exercise & a McDonalds set me off. The problem was that my car broke down on the motorway on the way to the game and had to hang around for the AA......they took over an hour to arrive and the need got so bad I had to go behind some bushes on the hard shoulder. lucky there was a bit of a slope so I was hidden from view, but I did leave quite a mess behind.
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...................
We were on an exercise in Germany and our Brigade HQ was in a big farm complex. There must have been over a hundred of us there. Normally we dug holes and buried our waste but if we had done that in the farmyard we would have probably contaminated the water course for a few centuries so the Army laid on portaloos.
Unfortunately there were only four of them and they didn't get changed everyday. The sight and smell was awful and made me gag so I took to nipping in at night to avoid the temptation of looking into the bucket and hovered over the top to do my business.
One of my lads said that he hadn't been for 3 days because he couldn't stand the sight of the bogs. So he took my advice and went in after dark and hovered above but couldn't get enough thrust so he lowered himself a bit further to get some more power, unfortunately the portaloo was full above the seat line and he parked his arse into a mountain of crap! His scream was something I'll never forget.
Basically I've been working with this big bloke from the west country who is referred to as 'the fresian' I hadn't known why and it didn't strike me as particularly unusual until I discovered.
We went to do a site visit and he disappeared off saying he was going to use the bog. Unbeknown to me he had used the ladies toilet at a small business in Swanley. The only lady who worked at this place was the beautiful receptionist who had been nothing but nice to me and fresian amd made us a delightful cup of Earl Grey and got the foxes biscuits out.
She'd even pointed to where the blokes bogs were.
Now fresian had gone and laid what can only be described as a pat so large it would have filled a dustbin lid. It also stank like a kids nappy filled with rancid meat and Indian food.
How do I know this you ask?
Well this turd had blocked up the bog. The ladies bog that only our vision of a receptionist would use. She went for number ones in there and came out and ripped into this poor bloke sat innocently at a desk about how she was going to complain to the director the next time he destroyed her toilet and to come and look at what he had done. Understandably this innocent man denied all knowledge of this and said he didn't know what she was talking about blah, blah, blah. So they both decided it must have been the forklift driver and off they went to confront him. This is when fresian nudged me and dragged me to the can to show me what he'd done.
I decided that today wasn't the day to do a quality check on that particular job, made our excuses and jogged on with fresian in tow. The last thing I remember acknowledging is the lady from reception and the man from the office quite loudly bollocking the forklift driver as we drove out of the yard. He now has the sole use of a separate toilet whenever he is on site and is unbelievably proud of this.
Had an "experience" the other day and instantly thought of this thread. One that I am wary of putting on here because I know my girlfriend reads this site (very occasionally)... And knows about this thread, and I haven't confessed fully yet what actually happened, saying "you can't prove anything"
Girlfriend and I went for a dinner to celebrate the end of the bank holiday weekend, we had had a great one. A fantastic Chinese called Saikei by the way, that I can recommend (although this story might change your mind).
I'd had a fair few beers throughout the day and had a couple more whilst there, and we decided we wanted everything to be spicy, which they were more than happy to do, and gave us a little bowl of chilli oil each which I have to say was brilliant.
The food comes, it's fantastic and we eat a lot of it. Before we leave I realise I need a number 2 but it's a fair bit of the way on the horizon. I've got a lot of time and I live a 20 minute stroll away. We then leave the restaurant and gradually and slowly I start letting out a bit of gas to relieve the tension, luckily Its pretty windy so no one is any the wiser, and again, as I walk across the car park in front of the odeon, im not worried and assume actually it was just gas all along.
The gas stops, but the feeling in the stomach doesn't, just as we get to the Sainsbury's petrol station (the finishing line is westcombe park train station) I start to realise it's getting a tad more worrying and I let the girlfriend know. Not a problem we are open about these things and both grownups after all.
Coming up to the Angerstein it's starting to become apparent its going to be a biggie, but at this point I can't be more than 500 metres away, was considering going into the pub but again, I wasn't really all that concerned at this point, and anyway, the pub is shut (it's only like 10.30?!, Lucky him)
About 100 metres further down the road my stomach takes a turn for the worse and I realise Im now in a desperate situation. I turn to the girlfriend and tell her I'm going to run, but after 20 metres I realise that running is going to make it worse. I then clench the cheeks and decide to do a bit of a shuffle. That's when the realisation comes that the chances of me making it home are slim to none and I start having to make an alternative plan. I don't want to (who does) but I realise this might have to be a pavement log.
This is a residential street in leafy south east London and I realise it's not going to be easy, and yup, 2 women are talking in the street in their dressing gowns, maybe by the station I think, and at that point I decide it's best to get my girlfriend to flee ground zero and tell her to run ahead to get the front door open (smart to not let her know too much).
By this point I am in absolute agony, but I am by a train station on Bank holiday Monday and terrified people will appear and see me in my weakest position of all time, but then the decision is taken away from me when a man is slowly walking his dog, waiting for me to walk by because there's not enough space for both of us. I grab my leg feigning an injury and ask him to go first, and that's when it starts to happen.
A shit about half way between the size of a tennis ball and a table tennis ball comes out, praise the lord I was wearing one of my few pairs of boxers where they cut off at the leg rather than being loose enough for stuff to fall through or the jeans would be ruined too.
At this point I have to say I am relieved but know the battle is still ahead of me to minimise the damage, I manage to make it to the flat without any more of an issue, but very slowly, luckily not bumping into neighbours. I get into my flat and scream at my girlfriend to go to the bedroom and stay in there until I give the all clear. Fillled the bowl completely, but not before the previously mentioned shit had dropped out of my boxers and onto the front of the toilet seat (luckily I avoided it), but had to look at it in shame for a while I did the deed.
Saikei, 5 out of 5 on the way in, 0 out of 5 on the way out.
And to my darling girlfriend, if you're reading this, please just pretend you haven't.
Had an "experience" the other day and instantly thought of this thread. One that I am wary of putting on here because I know my girlfriend reads this site (very occasionally)... And knows about this thread, and I haven't confessed fully yet what actually happened, saying "you can't prove anything"
Girlfriend and I went for a dinner to celebrate the end of the bank holiday weekend, we had had a great one. A fantastic Chinese called Saikei by the way, that I can recommend (although this story might change your mind).
I'd had a fair few beers throughout the day and had a couple more whilst there, and we decided we wanted everything to be spicy, which they were more than happy to do, and gave us a little bowl of chilli oil each which I have to say was brilliant.
The food comes, it's fantastic and we eat a lot of it. Before we leave I realise I need a number 2 but it's a fair bit of the way on the horizon. I've got a lot of time and I live a 20 minute stroll away. We then leave the restaurant and gradually and slowly I start letting out a bit of gas to relieve the tension, luckily Its pretty windy so no one is any the wiser, and again, as I walk across the car park in front of the odeon, im not worried and assume actually it was just gas all along.
The gas stops, but the feeling in the stomach doesn't, just as we get to the Sainsbury's petrol station (the finishing line is westcombe park train station) I start to realise it's getting a tad more worrying and I let the girlfriend know. Not a problem we are open about these things and both grownups after all.
Coming up to the Angerstein it's starting to become apparent its going to be a biggie, but at this point I can't be more than 500 metres away, was considering going into the pub but again, I wasn't really all that concerned at this point, and anyway, the pub is shut (it's only like 10.30?!, Lucky him)
About 100 metres further down the road my stomach takes a turn for the worse and I realise Im now in a desperate situation. I turn to the girlfriend and tell her I'm going to run, but after 20 metres I realise that running is going to make it worse. I then clench the cheeks and decide to do a bit of a shuffle. That's when the realisation comes that the chances of me making it home are slim to none and I start having to make an alternative plan. I don't want to (who does) but I realise this might have to be a pavement log.
This is a residential street in leafy south east London and I realise it's not going to be easy, and yup, 2 women are talking in the street in their dressing gowns, maybe by the station I think, and at that point I decide it's best to get my girlfriend to flee ground zero and tell her to run ahead to get the front door open (smart to not let her know too much).
By this point I am in absolute agony, but I am by a train station on Bank holiday Monday and terrified people will appear and see me in my weakest position of all time, but then the decision is taken away from me when a man is slowly walking his dog, waiting for me to walk by because there's not enough space for both of us. I grab my leg feigning an injury and ask him to go first, and that's when it starts to happen.
A shit about half way between the size of a tennis ball and a table tennis ball comes out, praise the lord I was wearing one of my few pairs of boxers where they cut off at the leg rather than being loose enough for stuff to fall through or the jeans would be ruined too.
At this point I have to say I am relieved but know the battle is still ahead of me to minimise the damage, I manage to make it to the flat without any more of an issue, but very slowly, luckily not bumping into neighbours. I get into my flat and scream at my girlfriend to go to the bedroom and stay in there until I give the all clear. Fillled the bowl completely, but not before the previously mentioned shit had dropped out of my boxers and onto the front of the toilet seat (luckily I avoided it), but had to look at it in shame for a while I did the deed.
Saikei, 5 out of 5 on the way in, 0 out of 5 on the way out.
And to my darling girlfriend, if you're reading this, please just pretend you haven't.
Your proper Girlfriend? - Or one of the other ones?
Some years ago me and a couple of mates went to Thailand for a stint. Travelling around, we ended up in an island beach resort. The resorts on this particular island comprised of no more than corrugated iron shacks laid along the beach, with the odd wooden restaurant/bar. Went on the piss and one of my mates opted for the satay chicken. Him and I remained in the bar whilst the third bloke went home to his shack. On the way home along the beach, my mate shits his pants right outside the other blokes shack. We decide the best option is to sling his boxers on the shacks roof and go in the sea to tidy up.
The next morning we all meet up and get chatting. look at the early finishing bloke and say, you look knackered mate. His reply "those bloody birds have been pecking at my corrugated roof all night"
Comments
I had been drinking/currying up town and was pissed but not paraletic, halfway towards the High Street my bowels sent a message saying "No Option But Now" but I was nowhere near any conveniences.
Looking to my left (it was pitch black) I sensed a gap or sort of laneway between two houses so quickly darted in there and did the deed.
Next morning walking down to the station I realized to my horror that the 'laneway' was actually somebody's brand new 'mosaic' garden path.
Whoops.
Nothing like a bit of lavatory humour to brighten the day.
Keep 'em coming.
I've got used to `going' just about anywhere but always discreetly, in some trees or behind a rock but my Scottish mate will just stop anywhere and just `do it' and carry on the conversation. Very disconcerting!
So he feels another shite coming on, which gives him around 60 seconds max to find a loo on site. He bangs through the toilet door and runs into the cubicle, as he is backing up to the lavy, he drops his strides and throwing his arse down on the toilet, he empties the dump truck.
It wasn't till he went to wipe his arse did he realise in his haste to sit down whilst pulling down his Jeans and Y fronts in one swift movement, they had caught the toilet lid and brought it down and closed it. He got up to see a 'snow angel' in the shape of his arse cheeks on the toilet seat with the shite all over the cubicle.
He blamed it on the non speaking Europeans on the job!
He always swore that in his home town the public convenience bore a totally official-looking notice on the lines of "Bye-Laws : all turds weighing in excess of 6 lbs shall be lowered and not dropped. By Order."
Many years ago, I was working for Barclays and sent to work in the branch just up the road (9 Gracechurch Street, which is now The Crosse Keys pub for those who know it).
This was a huge building, all ornate decor and with a massive banking hall and tills in the middle of the room. The various departments all sat round the hall, open floor style so customers were walking past all the time.
The toilets were at the back of the building and down in the basement.
I worked towards the back of the floor with a lad - Glyn - whose best mate Paul was an absolute beast. We could all drink, but Paul used to just down pint after pint, eat all sorts of crap food and more often than not turned up the next day in the same clothes reeking of booze and curry.
One afternoon, Paul made one of his regular trips to the bog and had to walk past Glyn and me to get there. On the way back, some time later, Paul went strolling past through the middle of the banking hall and I had to kick Glyn under the table to look up.
He had a long trail of bog roll hanging out the back of his trousers and the customers in the packed banking hall were all staring. Instead of calling his best mate and pulling him to one side, Glyn picked up the phone to one of the lads on Paul's team at the very front of the building and had them all on alert to when he got back.
When it was finally pointed out, the whole team screamed "noooooooo", when the silly tw@t went to pull the bog roll from the back of his trousers...christ knows what state the "hidden end" of it was in. All the while the rest of us and customers at the tills wetting themselves at this freakin' animal.
I nearly shit myself on the local traffic lane of the a2 at falconwood and enforced my belief that those who abuse that lane should be birched. Managed to hang my arse over a porcelain bowl with milliseconds to spare upon arrival at the yard.
I hate having my routine disrupted and for the next few days my ten o clock shite will be scattered at times inconvenient to me.
Cold, panicky sweats. I was twitching too and timing my own contractions
On the train/plane/boat you can use the facilities but on the motorway your only choice is to pull over and have a dump behind a bush or whatever, but its bloody dangerous and it'll be just your luck that the Old Bill turn up.
Nightmare.
Wonder if the pilot ever knows how long the queue is so puts the seatbelt sign on for a sick laugh?
Like Tangoflash some of my favourite karzi related episodes happened in the Army. We were on an exercise in Germany and our Brigade HQ was in a big farm complex. There must have been over a hundred of us there. Normally we dug holes and buried our waste but if we had done that in the farmyard we would have probably contaminated the water course for a few centuries so the Army laid on portaloos.
Unfortunately there were only four of them and they didn't get changed everyday. The sight and smell was awful and made me gag so I took to nipping in at night to avoid the temptation of looking into the bucket and hovered over the top to do my business.
One of my lads said that he hadn't been for 3 days because he couldn't stand the sight of the bogs. So he took my advice and went in after dark and hovered above but couldn't get enough thrust so he lowered himself a bit further to get some more power, unfortunately the portaloo was full above the seat line and he parked his arse into a mountain of crap! His scream was something I'll never forget.
Basically I've been working with this big bloke from the west country who is referred to as 'the fresian' I hadn't known why and it didn't strike me as particularly unusual until I discovered.
We went to do a site visit and he disappeared off saying he was going to use the bog. Unbeknown to me he had used the ladies toilet at a small business in Swanley. The only lady who worked at this place was the beautiful receptionist who had been nothing but nice to me and fresian amd made us a delightful cup of Earl Grey and got the foxes biscuits out.
She'd even pointed to where the blokes bogs were.
Now fresian had gone and laid what can only be described as a pat so large it would have filled a dustbin lid. It also stank like a kids nappy filled with rancid meat and Indian food.
How do I know this you ask?
Well this turd had blocked up the bog. The ladies bog that only our vision of a receptionist would use. She went for number ones in there and came out and ripped into this poor bloke sat innocently at a desk about how she was going to complain to the director the next time he destroyed her toilet and to come and look at what he had done. Understandably this innocent man denied all knowledge of this and said he didn't know what she was talking about blah, blah, blah. So they both decided it must have been the forklift driver and off they went to confront him. This is when fresian nudged me and dragged me to the can to show me what he'd done.
I decided that today wasn't the day to do a quality check on that particular job, made our excuses and jogged on with fresian in tow. The last thing I remember acknowledging is the lady from reception and the man from the office quite loudly bollocking the forklift driver as we drove out of the yard. He now has the sole use of a separate toilet whenever he is on site and is unbelievably proud of this.
Girlfriend and I went for a dinner to celebrate the end of the bank holiday weekend, we had had a great one. A fantastic Chinese called Saikei by the way, that I can recommend (although this story might change your mind).
I'd had a fair few beers throughout the day and had a couple more whilst there, and we decided we wanted everything to be spicy, which they were more than happy to do, and gave us a little bowl of chilli oil each which I have to say was brilliant.
The food comes, it's fantastic and we eat a lot of it. Before we leave I realise I need a number 2 but it's a fair bit of the way on the horizon. I've got a lot of time and I live a 20 minute stroll away. We then leave the restaurant and gradually and slowly I start letting out a bit of gas to relieve the tension, luckily Its pretty windy so no one is any the wiser, and again, as I walk across the car park in front of the odeon, im not worried and assume actually it was just gas all along.
The gas stops, but the feeling in the stomach doesn't, just as we get to the Sainsbury's petrol station (the finishing line is westcombe park train station) I start to realise it's getting a tad more worrying and I let the girlfriend know. Not a problem we are open about these things and both grownups after all.
Coming up to the Angerstein it's starting to become apparent its going to be a biggie, but at this point I can't be more than 500 metres away, was considering going into the pub but again, I wasn't really all that concerned at this point, and anyway, the pub is shut (it's only like 10.30?!, Lucky him)
About 100 metres further down the road my stomach takes a turn for the worse and I realise Im now in a desperate situation. I turn to the girlfriend and tell her I'm going to run, but after 20 metres I realise that running is going to make it worse. I then clench the cheeks and decide to do a bit of a shuffle. That's when the realisation comes that the chances of me making it home are slim to none and I start having to make an alternative plan. I don't want to (who does) but I realise this might have to be a pavement log.
This is a residential street in leafy south east London and I realise it's not going to be easy, and yup, 2 women are talking in the street in their dressing gowns, maybe by the station I think, and at that point I decide it's best to get my girlfriend to flee ground zero and tell her to run ahead to get the front door open (smart to not let her know too much).
By this point I am in absolute agony, but I am by a train station on Bank holiday Monday and terrified people will appear and see me in my weakest position of all time, but then the decision is taken away from me when a man is slowly walking his dog, waiting for me to walk by because there's not enough space for both of us. I grab my leg feigning an injury and ask him to go first, and that's when it starts to happen.
A shit about half way between the size of a tennis ball and a table tennis ball comes out, praise the lord I was wearing one of my few pairs of boxers where they cut off at the leg rather than being loose enough for stuff to fall through or the jeans would be ruined too.
At this point I have to say I am relieved but know the battle is still ahead of me to minimise the damage, I manage to make it to the flat without any more of an issue, but very slowly, luckily not bumping into neighbours. I get into my flat and scream at my girlfriend to go to the bedroom and stay in there until I give the all clear. Fillled the bowl completely, but not before the previously mentioned shit had dropped out of my boxers and onto the front of the toilet seat (luckily I avoided it), but had to look at it in shame for a while I did the deed.
Saikei, 5 out of 5 on the way in, 0 out of 5 on the way out.
And to my darling girlfriend, if you're reading this, please just pretend you haven't.
Sounds like the oil and gas from the beer helped propel the food through your intestines etc and into your bowel.
Brilliant stuff... Can just imagine this dodgy smelling sweaty bloke waddling down the street with a look of both fear and agony in his eyes.
Travelling around, we ended up in an island beach resort.
The resorts on this particular island comprised of no more than corrugated iron shacks laid along the beach, with the odd wooden restaurant/bar.
Went on the piss and one of my mates opted for the satay chicken.
Him and I remained in the bar whilst the third bloke went home to his shack.
On the way home along the beach, my mate shits his pants right outside the other blokes shack.
We decide the best option is to sling his boxers on the shacks roof and go in the sea to tidy up.
The next morning we all meet up and get chatting.
look at the early finishing bloke and say, you look knackered mate.
His reply "those bloody birds have been pecking at my corrugated roof all night"
Dean C for those who know him.
Great holiday.