Shitting Stories

[monkeyblair]

I was once desparate for a shite whilst playing golf so ran for the nearest bushes quite cleverly taking a spare towel for the necessary wiping.

What was not quite so clever was that I kind of forgot I was likely to pish at the same time and having just squatted with my nice golf troos at my knees I proceeded to pish all over them.

Had to play the final few holes in the middle of a hot day wearing a pair of waterproof bottoms.

Good score that day though.

My post from another thread on a similar subject

[maccanee]

My fellow shitting story fanatics, tonight the impossible has become possible.

Arriving home from my girlfriend's house, I felt the unmistakable twinge then wrench of a brown smelly foetus wanting to escape his (or hers) methane filled chamber. Grabbing the closest available material (last Friday's Sun), I made haste for the cold, unforgiving lavvy that we all call home. Immediate panic over, I settled down for this seemingly long, painful shift. As the arse brownie started to crown I experianced that familiar feeling, oh yes it was big, and God willing it was odds on to come out in one Ikea like assembled package. After what seemed like a lifetime of pelvic and anal training programmes, it was at last hanging by it's teeth and "ready for deployment" It is worth noting that such was the firmness and surprising weightliness of this rectum warrior that I could of held the moment forever. Indeed I did not wish to and the moment was promptly cut off from my sphincter, which winked at him as he fell.

Calmly reading the remaining pages of what can aptly only be described as toilet paper a thought ocurred. My arse must look like the elephant mans face after an assault. One wipe later and it was a cause for relative celebration, no marks, a perfect 4x4 sheet of bog roll, untouched, pure, virgin like. Now to say I was pleased was an understatement, I had achieved the prestigious no wipe shite. But wait! What had become of my prized catch, the brown trout? As I gazed down to celebrate my crowning glory panic struck, WHERE THE f**k IS IT??? Gentleman it is safe to say I panicked, after scurrying around the confines of the bog looking every bit like a man who had lost his pet shite I established that I had indeed hit the target. It was then a frightening thought struck me, followed by the dawning of a shocking revelation that not only did I not need to wipe my arse, I did not not require a flush. The little terrior(I use the term loosely, it was a cracker) had shimmied, dodged, ducked and weaved along the u-bend and set sail for the sewer. The blank canvas that was my 1991 ceramic Armitage Shanks bowl had gone unmarked. The lake of domestos infused scum was uncharacteristically clear. Barring an unharmed square of anus paper there was no indication nor evidence of my 20 minute adventure.

Gentleman I give you, the Ghost shit.

[Mallo_Madrid]

My fellow shitting story fanatics, tonight the impossible has become possible.

Arriving home from my girlfriend's house, I felt the unmistakable twinge then wrench of a brown smelly foetus wanting to escape his (or hers) methane filled chamber. Grabbing the closest available material (last Friday's Sun), I made haste for the cold, unforgiving lavvy that we all call home. Immediate panic over, I settled down for this seemingly long, painful shift. As the arse brownie started to crown I experianced that familiar feeling, oh yes it was big, and God willing it was odds on to come out in one Ikea like assembled package. After what seemed like a lifetime of pelvic and anal training programmes, it was at last hanging by it's teeth and "ready for deployment" It is worth noting that such was the firmness and surprising weightliness of this rectum warrior that I could of held the moment forever. Indeed I did not wish to and the moment was promptly cut off from my sphincter, which winked at him as he fell.

Calmly reading the remaining pages of what can aptly only be described as toilet paper a thought ocurred. My arse must look like the elephant mans face after an assault. One wipe later and it was a cause for relative celebration, no marks, a perfect 4x4 sheet of bog roll, untouched, pure, virgin like. Now to say I was pleased was an understatement, I had achieved the prestigious no wipe shite. But wait! What had become of my prized catch, the brown trout? As I gazed down to celebrate my crowning glory panic struck, WHERE THE f**k IS IT??? Gentleman it is safe to say I panicked, after scurrying around the confines of the bog looking every bit like a man who had lost his pet shite I established that I had indeed hit the target. It was then a frightening thought struck me, followed by the dawning of a shocking revelation that not only did I not need to wipe my arse, I did not not require a flush. The little terrior(I use the term loosely, it was a cracker) had shimmied, dodged, ducked and weaved along the u-bend and set sail for the sewer. The blank canvas that was my 1991 ceramic Armitage Shanks bowl had gone unmarked. The lake of domestos infused scum was uncharacteristically clear. Barring an unharmed square of anus paper there was no indication nor evidence of my 20 minute adventure.

Gentleman I give you, the Ghost shit.

Quality read for a cold wednesday morning.

[yoda]

My fellow shitting story fanatics, tonight the impossible has become possible.

Arriving home from my girlfriend's house, I felt the unmistakable twinge then wrench of a brown smelly foetus wanting to escape his (or hers) methane filled chamber. Grabbing the closest available material (last Friday's Sun), I made haste for the cold, unforgiving lavvy that we all call home. Immediate panic over, I settled down for this seemingly long, painful shift. As the arse brownie started to crown I experianced that familiar feeling, oh yes it was big, and God willing it was odds on to come out in one Ikea like assembled package. After what seemed like a lifetime of pelvic and anal training programmes, it was at last hanging by it's teeth and "ready for deployment" It is worth noting that such was the firmness and surprising weightliness of this rectum warrior that I could of held the moment forever. Indeed I did not wish to and the moment was promptly cut off from my sphincter, which winked at him as he fell.

Calmly reading the remaining pages of what can aptly only be described as toilet paper a thought ocurred. My arse must look like the elephant mans face after an assault. One wipe later and it was a cause for relative celebration, no marks, a perfect 4x4 sheet of bog roll, untouched, pure, virgin like. Now to say I was pleased was an understatement, I had achieved the prestigious no wipe shite. But wait! What had become of my prized catch, the brown trout? As I gazed down to celebrate my crowning glory panic struck, WHERE THE f**k IS IT??? Gentleman it is safe to say I panicked, after scurrying around the confines of the bog looking every bit like a man who had lost his pet shite I established that I had indeed hit the target. It was then a frightening thought struck me, followed by the dawning of a shocking revelation that not only did I not need to wipe my arse, I did not not require a flush. The little terrior(I use the term loosely, it was a cracker) had shimmied, dodged, ducked and weaved along the u-bend and set sail for the sewer. The blank canvas that was my 1991 ceramic Armitage Shanks bowl had gone unmarked. The lake of domestos infused scum was uncharacteristically clear. Barring an unharmed square of anus paper there was no indication nor evidence of my 20 minute adventure.

Gentleman I give you, the Ghost shit.

You squire deserve a medal. Or at the very least, some sort of writers' award.

You have also taken my first ever voting a post thing. Wear it with pride.

[Napoli1881]

Any good shitting stories? I'll start with mine..

Woke up around 5am on the morning of the Scotland vs Italy game. Felt a slight rumbling down below, but assumed it was just nervous gas. As you do.

I then however reached the bathroom. Diarrohea of epic proportions. I swear, it was so violent that i thought my ass skin was burning off. I was crying in agony.

After 2 or 3 trips of this nature I literally couldn't wipe my arse. I was forced to tilt it up in the shower and let the running water do its job. My mum woke up around 8ish and took pity on me, driving out to buy me Prepartion H toilet wipes. Heavenly on my scarred toosh.

I was left, shivering, under a towel, butt naked. I finally slept for 4 hours, waking up feeling fine and ready to support Scotland in their eventual brave defeat.

That's mine, is yours worse?

Our 5yr old was complaining earlier on tonight that he wasn't feeling too well, but the missus with her parenting insight thought he was pulling a fast one so ashe didn't have to eat his tea....cue the wee fella shouting from his bed about 8pm "Mummy, I don't feel well!"

The good lady gets up to his bedroom to find that he's "picked the Rangers 1st Eleven" and deposited them all over his bed sheets, duvet, bedroom carpet, back of his legs and destroyed his Ben 10 pyjamas!

Poor lad's in tears, upset at being ill and because he's also got a dicky tummy - wifie strips him, fire him into the power shower and even the cats has fucked off out the house because of the smell.

The other half then spends the next 30 minutes cleaning his bedroom up, so he can get back to bed, the little man starts toi calm down after his colonic explosion of Vesuvius proportions, and as she puts the light out to go back downstairs, the wee man shouts "Mummy, my bedroon smeels TOO clean!"

Fcuking priceless, especially as I'm 3,500 miles away working lol

[Napoli1881]

My fellow shitting story fanatics, tonight the impossible has become possible.

Arriving home from my girlfriend's house, I felt the unmistakable twinge then wrench of a brown smelly foetus wanting to escape his (or hers) methane filled chamber. Grabbing the closest available material (last Friday's Sun), I made haste for the cold, unforgiving lavvy that we all call home. Immediate panic over, I settled down for this seemingly long, painful shift. As the arse brownie started to crown I experianced that familiar feeling, oh yes it was big, and God willing it was odds on to come out in one Ikea like assembled package. After what seemed like a lifetime of pelvic and anal training programmes, it was at last hanging by it's teeth and "ready for deployment" It is worth noting that such was the firmness and surprising weightliness of this rectum warrior that I could of held the moment forever. Indeed I did not wish to and the moment was promptly cut off from my sphincter, which winked at him as he fell.

Calmly reading the remaining pages of what can aptly only be described as toilet paper a thought ocurred. My arse must look like the elephant mans face after an assault. One wipe later and it was a cause for relative celebration, no marks, a perfect 4x4 sheet of bog roll, untouched, pure, virgin like. Now to say I was pleased was an understatement, I had achieved the prestigious no wipe shite. But wait! What had become of my prized catch, the brown trout? As I gazed down to celebrate my crowning glory panic struck, WHERE THE f**k IS IT??? Gentleman it is safe to say I panicked, after scurrying around the confines of the bog looking every bit like a man who had lost his pet shite I established that I had indeed hit the target. It was then a frightening thought struck me, followed by the dawning of a shocking revelation that not only did I not need to wipe my arse, I did not not require a flush. The little terrior(I use the term loosely, it was a cracker) had shimmied, dodged, ducked and weaved along the u-bend and set sail for the sewer. The blank canvas that was my 1991 ceramic Armitage Shanks bowl had gone unmarked. The lake of domestos infused scum was uncharacteristically clear. Barring an unharmed square of anus paper there was no indication nor evidence of my 20 minute adventure.

Gentleman I give you, the Ghost shit.

6.0 6.0 6.0 6.0 6.0 6.0 6.0

ITA FRA GER GBR USA RUS SWI

....and the judges give him top marks, it's Olympic Gold for the competitor from Scotland. Perfection personified, it's like Bolero all over again....and the capacity crowd stands as one in a crusendo of applause....!!!

[Maverick_89]

My fellow shitting story fanatics, tonight the impossible has become possible.Arriving home from my girlfriend's house, I felt the unmistakable twinge then wrench of a brown smelly foetus wanting to escape his (or hers) methane filled chamber. Grabbing the closest available material (last Friday's Sun), I made haste for the cold, unforgiving lavvy that we all call home. Immediate panic over, I settled down for this seemingly long, painful shift. As the arse brownie started to crown I experianced that familiar feeling, oh yes it was big, and God willing it was odds on to come out in one Ikea like assembled package. After what seemed like a lifetime of pelvic and anal training programmes, it was at last hanging by it's teeth and "ready for deployment" It is worth noting that such was the firmness and surprising weightliness of this rectum warrior that I could of held the moment forever. Indeed I did not wish to and the moment was promptly cut off from my sphincter, which winked at him as he fell. Calmly reading the remaining pages of what can aptly only be described as toilet paper a thought ocurred. My arse must look like the elephant mans face after an assault. One wipe later and it was a cause for relative celebration, no marks, a perfect 4x4 sheet of bog roll, untouched, pure, virgin like. Now to say I was pleased was an understatement, I had achieved the prestigious no wipe shite. But wait! What had become of my prized catch, the brown trout? As I gazed down to celebrate my crowning glory panic struck, WHERE THE f**k IS IT??? Gentleman it is safe to say I panicked, after scurrying around the confines of the bog looking every bit like a man who had lost his pet shite I established that I had indeed hit the target. It was then a frightening thought struck me, followed by the dawning of a shocking revelation that not only did I not need to wipe my arse, I did not not require a flush. The little terrior(I use the term loosely, it was a cracker) had shimmied, dodged, ducked and weaved along the u-bend and set sail for the sewer. The blank canvas that was my 1991 ceramic Armitage Shanks bowl had gone unmarked. The lake of domestos infused scum was uncharacteristically clear. Barring an unharmed square of anus paper there was no indication nor evidence of my 20 minute adventure.Gentleman I give you, the Ghost shit.

Haha, a Double Phantom Shit!

[Johnny Silver]

My Shitting Story came yesterday. My upstairs toilet is blocked and we aren't to do shites in it so we have to go to the downstairs toilet. 11pm, bursting for a shite and I completley forgot about the toilet. So It was half way through the said shite and I relized that this wouldn't budge. So I finished it, and tried to flush it, but to no avail. So out comes the marigolds. I fished out the shite and lay it on a piece of toilet paper. Then It occured to me, "how the f**k am I going to walk down the stairs with a shite in my hand without my mum noticing?" so I just opened the window, and flung it into the next door neighbours garden. Marigold included. The shite wrapped in paper got over the fence no bother, but the Marigold got caught in the fence, and was dangling, and I wasn't for moving it. However, mother wasn't to pleased when she was eating her dinner and noticed a dangling, shit stained marigold dangling from the fence.

Didnt happen.

[KnightswoodBear]

Increasingly I've been noticing that after a night on the red vino, my morning ablutions are taking on what can only be described as a British Racing Green colour.

Honestly, my dad used to have Morris Marina that was a very similar colour.

Is this a normal thing?

[The Moonster]

Increasingly I've been noticing that after a night on the red vino, my morning ablutions are taking on what can only be described as a British Racing Green colour.

Honestly, my dad used to have Morris Marina that was a very similar colour.

Is this a normal thing?

This happened to me but wasn't because of wine, I used to eat 5-7 apples a day when I was younger and the doctor said this may have been causing something in my digestion system to change the colour of it. He just gave me something for it and told me to stop eating so many fuckin' apples.

[The Truth Will Out]

1982 but it seems like yesterday.

Home Internationals weekend. Cardiff. Wales v Scotland.

Me & the boys travelled up from London where I was working at the time, on the Friday afternoon.

Bekilted warriors we all were...well all but dozy Norman who wore jeans. Bear with me, this is a relevant fact.

Sooooo....... out on the piss in a strange town on a dark Friday night. As we wandered around some God - forsaken housing estate, the bold Norman is caught short in the jobby department. No idea where the nearest bog is, but as luck has it we arrive upon a poorly lit set of lock ups. As we stand sentry, Norrie drunkenly meanders into the semi darkness to relieve his pressures.

In the silence, the audible jangle of a belt being undone. Then silence. 30 seconds elapse. The silence is broken by the other guys shouting "come on tae f@ck, Norrie!"

Spurred on by his comrades' encouragement, the next sounds emerging from the darkness confirm Norrie is intensifying his efforts to 'download'.

But then, alas, the cry of "F@ck! F@CK! F@CK!!! " signifies that the Bard was quite correct when he spoke of the best laid plans.

A few more seconds elapse and then a sheepish Norrie emerges from the backstreet gloom, waddling with his aforementioned jeans around his ankles.

Sadly it transpired that in his drunken stupor, oor Norrie had failed to recognise that the forces of gravity dictate that an object will normally fall to earth in a straight line. Yes, he had squatted, strained and finally dropped his load straight into his lowered jeans.

However, in true Tartan Army spirit, all was well in the end as a fellow footsoldier donated a spare kilt to our unfortunate buddy. If only he had worn one in the first place!

[Benjamin_Nevis]

Been a while since i've had a noteworthy visit to the thunderbox, but thanks to my new diet, I at last have something to be proud of.

I've start doing loads of gym work, and weights, which means eating a lot more than i used to. This of course results in a more frequent need to bomb China. Especially now as my diet now includes a lot of pasta and chicken based dishes, one of which is curry. I used to enjoy the occasional fairly-nippy-but-not-severe curried dish, but have recently found myself having them a bit more regularly, and hotter.

Tuesday night saw me accidentally consume a hot madras. I say accidentally, because i'm in the habit of making a load of varied curries, pastas etc at the start of the month and sticking them in the freezer for later consumption. However, i learned this month that i really should label these, especially considering all the curries i made were roughly similar in colour. So, as luck would have it, i ended up having the hot madras, which took nearly 45 minutes to eat, amongst bouts of sweating and near tears.

Anyway, fast forward to Wednesday, a day which i didn't really enjoy, such was my terror at the though of being afflicted by a bad case of Hawaiin Sunrise at any given moment. The morning passed without incident, without so much as a fart. I went for a 3 mile run at lunchtime, which although resulted in a few slightly warm farts, didn't produce any significant movement. Moving along, the afternoon was also fairly serene. I started to worry. Where the f**k was it? Why had the molten lava i'd eaten for tea last night not made a rush for the exit?

Finally, 5pm came and i left work for the 10 minute drive back to Kirriemuir. As i was halfway Kirrie, i had a quick smoke. BAD FUCKING MOVE. A couple of minutes later, and driving through the small village of Maryton just outside town, i had that horrible sinking feeling of pain in my abdomen.

"Oh no" i thought. I knew what was coming. This signalled a race against time to complete the near impossible task of getting from just outside town, to my house, park the car, unlock the door, and make it to the bathroom without shitting myself. It seemed impossible. A couple of corners later, I unleashed a fart of terrifying velocity, and odour. I wanted to retch as the stench filtered upwards from the drivers seat to my notrils. Opening the window again had little effect. I'm sure the woman in the car behind saw me trying to waft away the stink with my hand, eyes screwed up, mouthing "f**k's sakes".

I still had just under a mile to go. I knew the next "contraction" wouldn't be just air. I was stuck behind a line of cars crawling into Kirriemuir. I took a shortcut. Onto a road with the bumpiest junction in christendom. Somehow i held on. 3 minutes later, through sweat, tears, and possibly blood, i managed to park outside my house. Why do your doorkeys never work properly first time when you're dying for a shit? Anyway, got into the house. I'm touching cloth by now. I'm hanging on so desperately that i'm now actually getting shooting pains in my arse.

Somehow, against all odds, my arse is now parked on the toilet seat. Indeed it's barely touched down, when the most relieving shite i've ever had depth charges the toilet bowl. I actually cried out "Oh my fucking god". It was fantastic. I actually have the shakes for a few seconds afterwards. I think i've had my first ever shitgasm.

It's time to inspect my handiwork. Somehow, in the space of what could only have been 2 or 3 seconds, i've fired out 4 sizable toilet babies, plus the usual pebbledashing. I feel a wee sense of pride, and about half a stone lighter. For once, i don't even care that it takes nearly a third of a roll of toilet paper to properly clean my arse, which must have resembled the aftermath of a food fight involving only chocolate angel delight.

What i didn't know, and only found out to my embarrasment yesterdary was, that the local Betterware wifey had walked up the path after me to collect the book she'd left the week before, chapped the door (which i hadn't heard) and heard my proclamation of joy from the slightly open bathroom window above.

I should probably be cringing, but i'm actually a little proud.

[mid-table]

Been a while since i've had a noteworthy visit to the thunderbox, but thanks to my new diet, I at last have something to be proud of.

I've start doing loads of gym work, and weights, which means eating a lot more than i used to. This of course results in a more frequent need to bomb China. Especially now as my diet now includes a lot of pasta and chicken based dishes, one of which is curry. I used to enjoy the occasional fairly-nippy-but-not-severe curried dish, but have recently found myself having them a bit more regularly, and hotter.

Tuesday night saw me accidentally consume a hot madras. I say accidentally, because i'm in the habit of making a load of varied curries, pastas etc at the start of the month and sticking them in the freezer for later consumption. However, i learned this month that i really should label these, especially considering all the curries i made were roughly similar in colour. So, as luck would have it, i ended up having the hot madras, which took nearly 45 minutes to eat, amongst bouts of sweating and near tears.

Anyway, fast forward to Wednesday, a day which i didn't really enjoy, such was my terror at the though of being afflicted by a bad case of Hawaiin Sunrise at any given moment. The morning passed without incident, without so much as a fart. I went for a 3 mile run at lunchtime, which although resulted in a few slightly warm farts, didn't produce any significant movement. Moving along, the afternoon was also fairly serene. I started to worry. Where the f**k was it? Why had the molten lava i'd eaten for tea last night not made a rush for the exit?

Finally, 5pm came and i left work for the 10 minute drive back to Kirriemuir. As i was halfway Kirrie, i had a quick smoke. BAD FUCKING MOVE. A couple of minutes later, and driving through the small village of Maryton just outside town, i had that horrible sinking feeling of pain in my abdomen.

"Oh no" i thought. I knew what was coming. This signalled a race against time to complete the near impossible task of getting from just outside town, to my house, park the car, unlock the door, and make it to the bathroom without shitting myself. It seemed impossible. A couple of corners later, I unleashed a fart of terrifying velocity, and odour. I wanted to retch as the stench filtered upwards from the drivers seat to my notrils. Opening the window again had little effect. I'm sure the woman in the car behind saw me trying to waft away the stink with my hand, eyes screwed up, mouthing "f**k's sakes".

I still had just under a mile to go. I knew the next "contraction" wouldn't be just air. I was stuck behind a line of cars crawling into Kirriemuir. I took a shortcut. Onto a road with the bumpiest junction in christendom. Somehow i held on. 3 minutes later, through sweat, tears, and possibly blood, i managed to park outside my house. Why do your doorkeys never work properly first time when you're dying for a shit? Anyway, got into the house. I'm touching cloth by now. I'm hanging on so desperately that i'm now actually getting shooting pains in my arse.

Somehow, against all odds, my arse is now parked on the toilet seat. Indeed it's barely touched down, when the most relieving shite i've ever had depth charges the toilet bowl. I actually cried out "Oh my fucking god". It was fantastic. I actually have the shakes for a few seconds afterwards. I think i've had my first ever shitgasm.

It's time to inspect my handiwork. Somehow, in the space of what could only have been 2 or 3 seconds, i've fired out 4 sizable toilet babies, plus the usual pebbledashing. I feel a wee sense of pride, and about half a stone lighter. For once, i don't even care that it takes nearly a third of a roll of toilet paper to properly clean my arse, which must have resembled the aftermath of a food fight involving only chocolate angel delight.

What i didn't know, and only found out to my embarrasment yesterdary was, that the local Betterware wifey had walked up the path after me to collect the book she'd left the week before, chapped the door (which i hadn't heard) and heard my proclamation of joy from the slightly open bathroom window above.

I should probably be cringing, but i'm actually a little proud.

You should write a book with material like that.

[Adam_Wee]

Been a while since i've had a noteworthy visit to the thunderbox, but thanks to my new diet, I at last have something to be proud of.

I've start doing loads of gym work, and weights, which means eating a lot more than i used to. This of course results in a more frequent need to bomb China. Especially now as my diet now includes a lot of pasta and chicken based dishes, one of which is curry. I used to enjoy the occasional fairly-nippy-but-not-severe curried dish, but have recently found myself having them a bit more regularly, and hotter.

Tuesday night saw me accidentally consume a hot madras. I say accidentally, because i'm in the habit of making a load of varied curries, pastas etc at the start of the month and sticking them in the freezer for later consumption. However, i learned this month that i really should label these, especially considering all the curries i made were roughly similar in colour. So, as luck would have it, i ended up having the hot madras, which took nearly 45 minutes to eat, amongst bouts of sweating and near tears.

Anyway, fast forward to Wednesday, a day which i didn't really enjoy, such was my terror at the though of being afflicted by a bad case of Hawaiin Sunrise at any given moment. The morning passed without incident, without so much as a fart. I went for a 3 mile run at lunchtime, which although resulted in a few slightly warm farts, didn't produce any significant movement. Moving along, the afternoon was also fairly serene. I started to worry. Where the f**k was it? Why had the molten lava i'd eaten for tea last night not made a rush for the exit?

Finally, 5pm came and i left work for the 10 minute drive back to Kirriemuir. As i was halfway Kirrie, i had a quick smoke. BAD FUCKING MOVE. A couple of minutes later, and driving through the small village of Maryton just outside town, i had that horrible sinking feeling of pain in my abdomen.

"Oh no" i thought. I knew what was coming. This signalled a race against time to complete the near impossible task of getting from just outside town, to my house, park the car, unlock the door, and make it to the bathroom without shitting myself. It seemed impossible. A couple of corners later, I unleashed a fart of terrifying velocity, and odour. I wanted to retch as the stench filtered upwards from the drivers seat to my notrils. Opening the window again had little effect. I'm sure the woman in the car behind saw me trying to waft away the stink with my hand, eyes screwed up, mouthing "f**k's sakes".

I still had just under a mile to go. I knew the next "contraction" wouldn't be just air. I was stuck behind a line of cars crawling into Kirriemuir. I took a shortcut. Onto a road with the bumpiest junction in christendom. Somehow i held on. 3 minutes later, through sweat, tears, and possibly blood, i managed to park outside my house. Why do your doorkeys never work properly first time when you're dying for a shit? Anyway, got into the house. I'm touching cloth by now. I'm hanging on so desperately that i'm now actually getting shooting pains in my arse.

Somehow, against all odds, my arse is now parked on the toilet seat. Indeed it's barely touched down, when the most relieving shite i've ever had depth charges the toilet bowl. I actually cried out "Oh my fucking god". It was fantastic. I actually have the shakes for a few seconds afterwards. I think i've had my first ever shitgasm.

It's time to inspect my handiwork. Somehow, in the space of what could only have been 2 or 3 seconds, i've fired out 4 sizable toilet babies, plus the usual pebbledashing. I feel a wee sense of pride, and about half a stone lighter. For once, i don't even care that it takes nearly a third of a roll of toilet paper to properly clean my arse, which must have resembled the aftermath of a food fight involving only chocolate angel delight.

What i didn't know, and only found out to my embarrasment yesterdary was, that the local Betterware wifey had walked up the path after me to collect the book she'd left the week before, chapped the door (which i hadn't heard) and heard my proclamation of joy from the slightly open bathroom window above.

I should probably be cringing, but i'm actually a little proud.

Brilliant, just brilliant. You'll have to forgive me as my hand was shaking when I was reading this through laughter and I managed to give you a negative point instead of the positive point you truly deserve.

Bravo, Mr Jupe.

[mattydfc]

Jupe you got my first ever green thingy, that was sheer genius.

[Wardy]

Not my shitting story but my mates.

Playing a game of 5s at the Lomond Centre in Glenrothes and we're waiting on 1 more of our friends. Think we were playing about 7ish or something. So its getting near 7, usual kicking it about n stuff. Then from a distance here comes our pal running like hell to the pitches.

"sorry guys, my dad was gonna give me a lift, but by then my step mum had made me pizza and chips, so bein hungry I just sat n wolfed it down. So I've had to run from half way across glenrothes to get here!"

So after some laughter the game started. Then about 5 minutes in.

"I'm gonna have to rush the the toilets guys, I'll no be long"

He's away for 20 minutes. "sorry about that boys, I didn't know whether to shit or be sick, should see the mess of the toilets!"

We couldnt play on after that everyone was just pishing themselves.

[Benjamin_Nevis]

Brilliant, just brilliant. You'll have to forgive me as my hand was shaking when I was reading this through laughter and I managed to give you a negative point instead of the positive point you truly deserve.

Bravo, Mr Jupe.

Jupe you got my first ever green thingy, that was sheer genius.

I should have saved my typing fingers for Sunday night's effort. A fucking yellow hangover shit.

[monkeyblair]

Just had to do the waddle of shame between two cubicles in the bogs as I sat down for a crap without realising there was no paper where I was!!

Wouldn't have been quite so bad but had to wait until all the work shy paper reading b*****ds had vacated the other traps.

[ayrunitedfw]

Couple of years back..... I got up in the middle of the night round about four ish. I was half sleeping as i reached the bathroom i lifted up the toilet seat and began to have a shit but then i relised i had forgot to take my boxers down and now on my boxers was a hot brown smelly liquid.

[Falcor Roar]

I wiped my arse with a cheese sandwich a while ago. Crumbs on the hoop aint so nice. And lunch was ruined.