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The only one I can think of is when I was 12 or so, it was all the rage to sit on the floor, legs open, when you needed to fart as it amplified the sound. Anyways, one fateful day at football training I lost all sphincter control and followed through all over my nice white shorts :(

I had diarrhoea last month for the first time in ages and I thought it was quite pleasant :o Obviously having to dart to the toilet every 20 minutes was a bummer but the gentle trickle of watery shecht leaving my rump felt quite good. Am I one of those gays you hear about on the television now?

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Once when I had a dodgy tummy (blooming irritable bowel syndrome) and was in Asda I farted and it was a wet fart shall we say. I hadn't done my shopping so I went into the baby changing toilet, removed my knickers and threw them in the nappy bin. Then I went shopping.

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  • 10 months later...
I was in a hill walking party of about twenty people in North Glen Sannox,Arran a few years ago.

I was finding that I had been getting dehydrated easily,so before we left the accommodation that morning I tanned as much water as I could drink.

I don't know what the link is,but I can only assume that the copious amounts of water were what made very suddenly desperate for a shite,while we were out in the field,miles from anywhere.

It didn't come on gradually. One minute I didn't need a shite,but the next minute my arse was bursting.

We had split into pairs and were all walking upstream alongside the river that runs down the valley.

I explained my situation to my partner then bolted away to try and find somewhere concealed to leave my deposit.

The topography dictated that if I'd shat on the grass somewhere I'd probably have been a squatting silhouette on the horizon for somebody,so I concluded that shitting on the edge of the stream was the only option. The water was about ankle deep there,and I was hidden by the bank.

Despite feeling very vulnerable exposing my arse in an area that was infested by ticks (not to mention other hill walkers) I relieved myself of the shite which,as it happens,was quite a substantial log.

I was just reflecting on how handy it was that I'd be able to wipe my arse with the stream water when,to my horror,I realised that the shite was floating away. :huh:

This hadn't occurred to me. I wasn't initially intending to shit in the stream,and I was desperate,so I hadn't looked at the possibilty that it might float away.

Of course,the problem was that our entire party were downstream of me.

We're not talking about a very wide stream here. If you were walking beside the stream,and a large shite floated past,there's no doubt you would spot it.

If only I'd been a skilled primitive fisherman,I could have chased the shite downstream and speared it from the riverbank.

In the end,with my trousers around my knees and the floating shite starting to gather pace in its bid to escape,I had no option but to wade forward,grab it with my hand and guide it back to safety.

I then buried it under a pile of rocks in the stream.

On the next trip we went on I barely managed a shite all week. I can only assume this was some kind of psychological reaction to the trauma I'd suffered in Arran.

:lol::lol::lol:

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This one time at band camp I was driving home from Inverness after watching Queens getting humped by ICT. Felt my stomach start to gurgle seriously at about Pitlochry and it got worse as I headed South. By the time I passed Kelty I knew I was in trouble and thoughts of how I was going to clean the car seat etc were rushing through my mind.

Fortunately my in-laws live in Dalgety Bay so I got there as fast as I could. After a very quick "hello, can I use your dunny" I was into the toilet and was immediately projecting from both ends. I had to stay with them for 2 days until I felt better. I still blame it on a dodgy pie at the game and have never eaten food in Inverness since.

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There was the time in 3rd year i had to do a rancid shite, only to realise there was no toilet roll and had to wipe my arse wi a pound note.

The worst time was my first holiday wi my pals in Kavos. First night there, got totally steaming, my other 2 pals were relatively sober. Had to be helped back to the hotel. Once there, i sat down on the toilet seat wi my shorts still on, and proceeded to force out a shit. Can't remember much of it. Woke up the next morning (having fell asleep in the toilet), to be greeted by the site of a lone turd lying in the middle of the kitchen next to a bottle of Windex my mates had bought for me to clean it with.

My mate once lost badly at drinking games in the union, and the fool was drinking wine. 3 bottles later he couldn't stand up and on the way home required an adrenaline shot in the back of an ambulance. In the morning his flatmates found him, in the feotal positon, his economics notes spread out in an orderly fashion behind him, covered in shit. He'd also managed to pull his jeans back up (although he had removed his boxers) so it looked like he'd blown the arse out of them.

I lol'd. The fact he obviously thought 'I'm going to crap myself, quick, spread the notes out on the floor and I'll squat here!'

:lol:

My story is less than salubrious.

On a lovely sumer's day out with my then girlfriend to a garden centre just outside Falkirk, where we had enjoyed a lovely homecooked lunch, we proceeded to the outside bit of the garden centre to purchase plants and pots.

Unfortunately, my metabolism was working far too quickly that day, and as we stepped outside I had the urge to break wind. It was noisy enough and outdoors, so I decided to let it rip, only to be horrified that it wasn't wind, it was the real stuff.

It is important at this point that I mention that I was On-Call at work that particular day. Just after giving birth to a ten pound otter in my trousers, my pager went off, with one of my mental health patients threatening to kill himself.

Imagine the scenario :

I have just shit in my pants, and am now faced with a life and death situation with a very unstable mental health patient who lived in Livingston.

I said to the patient, "Give me an hour", I then had to explain to my girlfriend what had happened, including that I had shit my pants, and needed to go home to change and then she would have to drive me to Livingston to perhaps save somebody's life.

I sat sideways in the car on the way back to my home in Linlithgow, but by the time I had got back I had set.

It was like concrete. I had to chisel off my jeans and underwear, and use metal soap pads to clean my arse.

The story had a happy ending, I cleaned all the shit off myself, my girlfriend was laughing too much to finish with me, and the mental health patient lived, despite cutting his stomach open and having to go to hospital.

Nightmare.

I was in a hill walking party of about twenty people in North Glen Sannox,Arran a few years ago.

I was finding that I had been getting dehydrated easily,so before we left the accommodation that morning I tanned as much water as I could drink.

I don't know what the link is,but I can only assume that the copious amounts of water were what made very suddenly desperate for a shite,while we were out in the field,miles from anywhere.

It didn't come on gradually. One minute I didn't need a shite,but the next minute my arse was bursting.

We had split into pairs and were all walking upstream alongside the river that runs down the valley.

I explained my situation to my partner then bolted away to try and find somewhere concealed to leave my deposit.

The topography dictated that if I'd shat on the grass somewhere I'd probably have been a squatting silhouette on the horizon for somebody,so I concluded that shitting on the edge of the stream was the only option. The water was about ankle deep there,and I was hidden by the bank.

Despite feeling very vulnerable exposing my arse in an area that was infested by ticks (not to mention other hill walkers) I relieved myself of the shite which,as it happens,was quite a substantial log.

I was just reflecting on how handy it was that I'd be able to wipe my arse with the stream water when,to my horror,I realised that the shite was floating away. :huh:

This hadn't occurred to me. I wasn't initially intending to shit in the stream,and I was desperate,so I hadn't looked at the possibilty that it might float away.

Of course,the problem was that our entire party were downstream of me.

We're not talking about a very wide stream here. If you were walking beside the stream,and a large shite floated past,there's no doubt you would spot it.

If only I'd been a skilled primitive fisherman,I could have chased the shite downstream and speared it from the riverbank.

In the end,with my trousers around my knees and the floating shite starting to gather pace in its bid to escape,I had no option but to wade forward,grab it with my hand and guide it back to safety.

I then buried it under a pile of rocks in the stream.

On the next trip we went on I barely managed a shite all week. I can only assume this was some kind of psychological reaction to the trauma I'd suffered in Arran.

:lol: My sides. :lol:

Never mind Nightshift-bound, this thread could quite possibly be Gold-bound.

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I c&p'd this from a old thread...

I'd been on holiday in Sharm El Sheikh and my stomach had been a bit queasy for the last couple of days of the holiday, but nothing too bad.

I felt the odd gurgle in my stomach during the flight home, but otherwise nothing amiss. Soon as I stood up on landing, I felt the familiar signs. We got held up in a massive queue in security and the pain in my stomach was getting sharper and sharper. My wife says I acting like a small kid, rocking from foot to foot, eyes wide, hyperventilating. I was almost in tears and I honestly thought brown water would dribble down my leg if I farted.

Finally, we got through security and with my last ounce of composure, I walked as calmly as I could to the toilet before sprinting like a demon into a cubicle.

Sadly that was just day one of excruciating diarrhoea which hit me in bouts for a week.

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What a treat to read after a 12 hour nightshift.

The only shitting story I can think of was my mate. Whilst fishing on the River Clyde, he needed to and get rid of Friday night guinness and curry. No toilets near Coulter Bridge, so disappeared behind some trees to do his business. Little did he know, every little plip and plop bounced off a twig, right back into his trousers. Not a popular guy in the minibus going home.

============================================================

===============

A poem.

JIM O'SHACHTER

Intae the wids amongst the trees

Jim bared his erse, his cheeks tae ease

Nae sooner had his breeks gan doon

Than shity flees were swarmin roon

Intae the wind he bared his baws

And frae his erse a big keech faws

The reek it curled amongst the trees

Twis enough tae mhak the birdies sneeze

An a the beasts in burn and ditch

Got a whiff o' something awfy rich

Big Jim he wis in awfy pain

It came out his erse like a nine pun wean

There wis a tear faw fae his ee

Fur a bigger shite you'd never see

Big Jims erse wis raw and sair

Says Big Jim I'll shite nae mair

Yonder it lay among the grit

A steemin, stinkin muckle shit

There it lay sae soft sae fresh

Nae hair ,nae teeth, nae brains, nae flesh

Tae wipe his erse Jim yaised a docken

While a' aroon the birds were boackin

Jim happed it ower wi stanes and stoor

Then sauntered off across the moor

A wee bit quicker wi bein sae light

Efter riddin himself o' that muckle shite

Noo a've telt ye this tale for a wee bit laughter

A tale ye can tell for ever after

A tell ye noo, a swear its true

The tale o Jim O'Shachter

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I c&p'd this from a old thread...

I'd been on holiday in Sharm El Sheikh and my stomach had been a bit queasy for the last couple of days of the holiday, but nothing too bad.

I felt the odd gurgle in my stomach during the flight home, but otherwise nothing amiss. Soon as I stood up on landing, I felt the familiar signs. We got held up in a massive queue in security and the pain in my stomach was getting sharper and sharper. My wife says I acting like a small kid, rocking from foot to foot, eyes wide, hyperventilating. I was almost in tears and I honestly thought brown water would dribble down my leg if I farted.

Finally, we got through security and with my last ounce of composure, I walked as calmly as I could to the toilet before sprinting like a demon into a cubicle.

Sadly that was just day one of excruciating diarrhoea which hit me in bouts for a week.

Almost identical to what happened to me when returning from Sharm El Sheikh, except the pains started ten minutes into the flight home. I have never felt pain like it and spent the entire five hour flight bent double whilst waiting for the toilet queues to die down, as standing in them just wasn't an option.

Such a shame that that is my lasting memory of my honeymoon.

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Hvae to say this thread has made my day a lot quicker.

Only story i can think of is when i was travelling in Australia. We were on fraser island which is basically where you rent these ridiculously top heavy jeeps and fire around the island which is the biggest sand island in the world i think. Anyways at night we had set up our camp and i had produced a culinary delight of spag bol. I was firing into the goon which is basicallly very cheap wine which has traces of fish parts although it does taste pretty good considering. After a few shandies i feel the need for what i think is going to be a small turd. So i trot off, spade in hand, with my toilet roll to find a quiet spot to complete my mission. After considering many potential spots, including the girls area, i decided on a secluded spot about 30 yards from the jeeps.

I dig my spot and do my best helicopter impression, hovering over the hole dug seconds earlier. Anyways after a standard crap, i turn around to see 3 wild dingos (they are everywhere on the island) staring at my hairy arse salivating at what i can only presume to be the pretty rotten smell of spag bol and rose goon (classy) mixed in with previous nights BBQ which has been demolished with ease. Anyways gave my bum a quick wipe and trotted away, after filling the hole in quickly, to avoid getting a dingo bite on my cheeks.

Didnt think anything more of it until the next day when i got lumbered in the girls jeep. Not bad i hear you say. Well i didnt change my breeks as i felt this was all part of the camping experience. The smell coming from my arse was, in a word, simply disgusting. It was that proper rotten shitty smell where my breeks have been stuck between my unwiped cheeks all night. The look on the foreigh girls faces was pretty priceless. Everytime i stood up or moved the smell would waft straight up their noses. Eventually i somehow managed to manouevre (spelling?) myself into a position whereby the smell would not eminate. I spent the whole journey blaming on those "bloody dingos". I think i threw the offending pair of boxers out as it was another 24 hours before i got out of them. Lovely.

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Hvae to say this thread has made my day a lot quicker.

Only story i can think of is when i was travelling in Australia. We were on fraser island which is basically where you rent these ridiculously top heavy jeeps and fire around the island which is the biggest sand island in the world i think. Anyways at night we had set up our camp and i had produced a culinary delight of spag bol. I was firing into the goon which is basicallly very cheap wine which has traces of fish parts although it does taste pretty good considering. After a few shandies i feel the need for what i think is going to be a small turd. So i trot off, spade in hand, with my toilet roll to find a quiet spot to complete my mission. After considering many potential spots, including the girls area, i decided on a secluded spot about 30 yards from the jeeps.

I dig my spot and do my best helicopter impression, hovering over the hole dug seconds earlier. Anyways after a standard crap, i turn around to see 3 wild dingos (they are everywhere on the island) staring at my hairy arse salivating at what i can only presume to be the pretty rotten smell of spag bol and rose goon (classy) mixed in with previous nights BBQ which has been demolished with ease. Anyways gave my bum a quick wipe and trotted away, after filling the hole in quickly, to avoid getting a dingo bite on my cheeks.

Didnt think anything more of it until the next day when i got lumbered in the girls jeep. Not bad i hear you say. Well i didnt change my breeks as i felt this was all part of the camping experience. The smell coming from my arse was, in a word, simply disgusting. It was that proper rotten shitty smell where my breeks have been stuck between my unwiped cheeks all night. The look on the foreigh girls faces was pretty priceless. Everytime i stood up or moved the smell would waft straight up their noses. Eventually i somehow managed to manouevre (spelling?) myself into a position whereby the smell would not eminate. I spent the whole journey blaming on those "bloody dingos". I think i threw the offending pair of boxers out as it was another 24 hours before i got out of them. Lovely.

I'm currently on weight loss tablets and let's just say every day is an adventure :(

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:lol:

My story is less than salubrious.

On a lovely sumer's day out with my then girlfriend to a garden centre just outside Falkirk, where we had enjoyed a lovely homecooked lunch, we proceeded to the outside bit of the garden centre to purchase plants and pots.

Unfortunately, my metabolism was working far too quickly that day, and as we stepped outside I had the urge to break wind. It was noisy enough and outdoors, so I decided to let it rip, only to be horrified that it wasn't wind, it was the real stuff.

It is important at this point that I mention that I was On-Call at work that particular day. Just after giving birth to a ten pound otter in my trousers, my pager went off, with one of my mental health patients threatening to kill himself.

Imagine the scenario :

I have just shit in my pants, and am now faced with a life and death situation with a very unstable mental health patient who lived in Livingston.

I said to the patient, "Give me an hour", I then had to explain to my girlfriend what had happened, including that I had shit my pants, and needed to go home to change and then she would have to drive me to Livingston to perhaps save somebody's life.

I sat sideways in the car on the way back to my home in Linlithgow, but by the time I had got back I had set.

It was like concrete. I had to chisel off my jeans and underwear, and use metal soap pads to clean my arse.

The story had a happy ending, I cleaned all the shit off myself, my girlfriend was laughing too much to finish with me, and the mental health patient lived, despite cutting his stomach open and having to go to hospital.

Nightmare.

Superb, simply superb! :lol::lol::lol::lol:

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Mine isn't as good as some but here goes anyway.....

In August 2007 my ex and I were involved in a car crash where I suffered from whiplash and loads of other shit, anyway the hospital gave me some painkillers for my fucked knee and said there may be 'side affects'. This was on a Sunday I might add.

Fast forward 24 hours and I was doing my football coaching as I felt ok when suddenly I felt a burning sensation im my arse area and knew straight away, if I didn't act fast, I was going to keech myself.

I ran for the bushes that were about 100 yards from where I was standing, and as I ran past one of the boys, he asked what was going on, to which I replied 'I'm about to shite myself pal'.

I reched the bushes and dropped my kegs and what can only be described as arse magma, left my body at great velocity.

To my horror the lad I had just spoken to came running over and shouted 'I went and told my mum you were going to shite yourself (she was waiting to pick him up) and she has given me some tissues from the back of the car to wipe your arse with'.

I still cannot look his mum in the eye when I see whenever I see her.

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Best shitting story I can think of was probably an urban myth anyway, but it involved this total goon who went to our high school called Egor who one day was out playing football with his pals until he felt the need for a shit with nowhere to go - so he proceeded to head for the heavily secluded bushes and release his bear's arm there.

It was a fairly blustery autumn day and after doing the deed Egor decided to wipe his arse with a leaf - but as he threw the leaf away it blew back and hit him in the face.

Almost definitely not true.

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Theres a story going round uni just now about some lassy who stayed with this guy she had just met. Story goes he leaves for work in the morning and says to her right just let yourself out the door will lock itself. When she gets up she decides she needs to do a shit, goes to the toilet does it but then it wont flush. She decides so fish it out with a plastic bag and put it in the bin on the way out. At this point she is a bit flustered so quickly writes her number on a piece of paper on the table and quickly leaves. Then she realises she had left the bag next to her number, but she can't get back in. So when this guy gets home he is greeted with a bag of poo and the lassys number!

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