went to the john on friday in the exhibit in balham, opened one of the cubicles cos all the urinals were being used. Some guy hadnt locked the door and was taking a shit, looked at me like i had wronged him and went OI!!!! I told him "lock your fucking door shithead".
One thing taking a shit in a bar toilet. Another refusing to lock the fucking door. As soon as he slammed it shut he locked it.
Perfect place to put this news story up.
A Sunderland fan allegedly pulled his trousers down and had poo during the home match with Reading - causing at least one fan to vomit.
Black Cats supporters took to a Sunderland fan forum after the match to reveal details of the incident, which is said to have taken place at the Stadium of Light during the defeat.
Writing online, one fan explained how the man sat in the South Stand suddenly jumped to his feet and dropped his trousers.
The supporter continued: "he squatted and curled one out".
As fans sat near the man noticed what was happening, they began to move away from the area.
The supporter is then said to have pulled his trousers up as stewards escorted him out of the ground.
One fan, reciting what happened, added: "A bairn (slang for a child) in the row in front saw the s*** and started gagging before spewing into our row!"
http://www.mirror.co.uk/sport/football/news/sunderland-fan-causes-fans-vomit-11631862
Jesus Christ - after the afternoon I have had, this thread was the first thing to come to mind. Along with wondering if I will ever regain control of my sphincter.
Walking to a meeting with a colleague this afternoon and all seemed fine and well with the world. That’s until I walked round the corner onto the road where the clients office is and my stomach cramped, the tell tale bubbles moving in a downward direction, and the rapid realisation that I was in dire need of the biggest evacuation since the Titanic hit that berg.
My colleague looked at me in consternation as I bent over double; I am relatively new in the company so haven’t yet reached the poo comfort zone. As such I made up the most bollox excuse ever - stating I had just come over a bit faint.
As he came over in concern and suggested I sit down for a while, he then looked even more confused as I slapped him out the way before sprinting at breakneck speed back towards the sanctuary of the bogs at Kings Cross station 5 mins walk back. At this point I had a build up of liquid shit so extreme, I had enough thrust stored up to make me the first man on mars this side of Christmas.
So I legged it and haven’t spoken to him since.
Of course the last thing on my mind was getting my 30p ready, so when I came storming in hot to the gents and the old lady at the gate asked for my 30p - I fucked that request right off by barrel rolling over the top of the gates (accidentally kicking off a kids glasses from his head as he was coming back through he other way).
I am pretty sure it was at that moment that the first dribble came out but thank fuck there was a spare cubicle.
I charged in to it with my belt buckle already coming undone - and the faint awareness that the kids father was coming after me questioning why I had almost taken his son out by going all Andy McNab on my way in.
Think they were soon left in no doubt as to my predicament as I flew onto the khazi and launched an eruption that would have resembled Vesuvius had Willy Wonka turned it into an extension of his wonderful chocolate factory.
And as if it couldn’t get any worse, the door hadn’t locked in my rush. As I sat sweating and convulsed over the bog- the door swung slowly outward (it was the disabled cubicle) to reveal a pissed dad, son with glasses cracked, tutting cleaner.
Oh and a guy in a wheelchair asking if I would be long.
Just the time for my poorly arse to squelch a secondary shitty fart into the pan.
Having re-read this thread from start to finish, this has made me laugh the most to the extent it almost seems like something out of a sketch show.
Jesus Christ - after the afternoon I have had, this thread was the first thing to come to mind. Along with wondering if I will ever regain control of my sphincter.
Walking to a meeting with a colleague this afternoon and all seemed fine and well with the world. That’s until I walked round the corner onto the road where the clients office is and my stomach cramped, the tell tale bubbles moving in a downward direction, and the rapid realisation that I was in dire need of the biggest evacuation since the Titanic hit that berg.
My colleague looked at me in consternation as I bent over double; I am relatively new in the company so haven’t yet reached the poo comfort zone. As such I made up the most bollox excuse ever - stating I had just come over a bit faint.
As he came over in concern and suggested I sit down for a while, he then looked even more confused as I slapped him out the way before sprinting at breakneck speed back towards the sanctuary of the bogs at Kings Cross station 5 mins walk back. At this point I had a build up of liquid shit so extreme, I had enough thrust stored up to make me the first man on mars this side of Christmas.
So I legged it and haven’t spoken to him since.
Of course the last thing on my mind was getting my 30p ready, so when I came storming in hot to the gents and the old lady at the gate asked for my 30p - I fucked that request right off by barrel rolling over the top of the gates (accidentally kicking off a kids glasses from his head as he was coming back through he other way).
I am pretty sure it was at that moment that the first dribble came out but thank fuck there was a spare cubicle.
I charged in to it with my belt buckle already coming undone - and the faint awareness that the kids father was coming after me questioning why I had almost taken his son out by going all Andy McNab on my way in.
Think they were soon left in no doubt as to my predicament as I flew onto the khazi and launched an eruption that would have resembled Vesuvius had Willy Wonka turned it into an extension of his wonderful chocolate factory.
And as if it couldn’t get any worse, the door hadn’t locked in my rush. As I sat sweating and convulsed over the bog- the door swung slowly outward (it was the disabled cubicle) to reveal a pissed dad, son with glasses cracked, tutting cleaner.
Oh and a guy in a wheelchair asking if I would be long.
Just the time for my poorly arse to squelch a secondary shitty fart into the pan.
I find when getting 'caught short' I need to shuffle along rather than run, it makes things worse!
Yup - me too. Walking like a penguin trying (almost literally) to keep my egg off the floor.
I often have to stop dead to re-establish a good clench. When this happens I use my phone as a prop to make it look like I’m stopping to check an important message 😄
I find when getting 'caught short' I need to shuffle along rather than run, it makes things worse!
Yup - me too. Walking like a penguin trying (almost literally) to keep my egg off the floor.
I often have to stop dead to re-establish a good clench. When this happens I use my phone as a prop to make it look like I’m stopping to check an important message 😄
When I was training for the London marathon in '98 I always made sure I had a clear out before going on a run. No clear out meant no run. I didn't eat for 24 hours before the marathon. It worked!
When I was training for the London marathon in '98 I always made sure I had a clear out before going on a run. No clear out meant no run. I didn't eat for 24 hours before the marathon. It worked!
Lot of effort to go through when you only were running about handing out water.
When I was training for the London marathon in '98 I always made sure I had a clear out before going on a run. No clear out meant no run. I didn't eat for 24 hours before the marathon. It worked!
I did the London marathon in 86, never during training or the actual running of it, did I need to stop for a download, I would never go out without eating beforehand.
Was in a club and two days of Czech beer decided to evacuate my body via my Arse.
The toilets were a bit worse for wear and my cubicle didn’t have a lock. The door was out of reach by hand to hold closed whilst I was pissing shit, so when someone tried to come in the lock less cubicle whilst I was squatting, I had to kick the door back to let them know someone was already in the bog.
This happened twice and on the third instance I was a bit over enthusiastic with my kick and my foot went through the plywood door material and got stuck between the wooden layer inside the cubicle and the wooden layer on the outside. The guy outside probably thought was doing me a favour by trying to pull the door shut, but only succeeded in dragging me off the toilet and onto the floor of the cubicle as I sprayed a liquid bit of shit on the floor.
I then had to them manoeuvre my self free from the door whilst avoiding putting my hands or clothes in the pool of shit.
Comments
One thing taking a shit in a bar toilet. Another refusing to lock the fucking door. As soon as he slammed it shut he locked it.
Long enough since I last read this to start the thread all over again. It'll have me in tears.
No clear out meant no run. I didn't eat for 24 hours before the marathon. It worked!