Shitting Stories

[Sonsrock]

Brilliant thread, here's two stories from my travels.

This is dangerous territory as these two'll have dirt on me (so to speak).

December 07, we’d been drinking for about six hours, before taking the train for a short journey to the pub where we’d spend the rest of the night.

Having departed the train and started our short walk to the pub, my mate Mr X breaks into a jog and shouts “can’t wait, I’ll see you in there”.

So five minutes later, me and my other mate enter the pub, but no sign of yer man. So we ordered up three shorts and just chilled for a while. Twenty minutes later, he’s still not back (and knowing this guys history, we’re not going in there). We could see that one of the regulars at the other side of the bar nearest the toilets had gone in and when he came back out his eyes were watering and although we couldn’t hear what he said, the gestures to his mates said it all.

Eventually out he comes and rather sheepishly asks the barman if he has a mop and bucket. We start laughing, “What’s up X?” The barman knows X too and laughs along. “Aye what’s it for?”

“Just f***in’ give me a mop and don’t go in there.”

We were only too happy to oblige.

It must have been another fifteen minutes before he re-emerged.

It turned out that just as his arse was six inches from the pan, out it came horizontally, everywhere, cistern, cubicle door, floor, everywhere.

He spent a while cleaning it up as best he could before requesting the mop and bucket.

Having got it cleaned up, he gives the toilet a final flush, turns round and kicks over the bucket full of shitty water.

We nearly died laughing that night.

October 07.

We’re driving up to Elgin to take in the footie and stay over.

We had just left the greasy spoon truckers stop place in Newtonmore after our breakfast and had hardly gone any distance when Mr. Y announces that he needs a shit, but would hold on until we got to Elgin.

Needless to say many references were made to various synonyms for the jobbie word, just to make him more uncomfortable.

Eventually we get there without incident or accident.

You know how it goes that your body always seems to adjust to the actual time you have to spare, well as our landlady let us in, Mr Y’s sphincter relaxed a little as he thought he was home and dry (so to speak).

However, Mrs Whatever decides to keep us at the front door, while she demonstrates the working of her front door lock. Y is hopping from foot to foot by now and she closes the door as part of her demo and unexpectedly someone chaps it.

She opens the door and says “Well, hello Mr. Brown.”

That was our excuse to dive up to our rooms in hysterics. Poor woman will never know.

I had the dubious pleasure of room shariing with the smelly c**t.

Maybe you had to be there, but it was FAF.

Mr X here. Thanks very much for spilling the beans. What about Mr Y and the old signal box in Nairn

[Hank Scorpio]

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.

That is the funniest thing i have ever read. There are tears literally streaming down my cheeks and i don't think i've inhaled in about 20 minutes.

[county-mad]

if I didn't get this satanic being out of my ring within the next few minutes that I was going to shite myself.

:lol::lol: The best thing i have read, you have taken my signature

[Aloysius Snuffleupagus]

To my absolute horror I noticed a few ninja streaks on the inside of my jeans.

[ffcsam]

A few years back on holiday in Rhodes with my family, my bro's m8 and my sis's m8, we were all out for the day stopping for lunch and a few beers(apart fae my sis and her pal, too young). Nice and peaceful with friendly locals et all, until my bro suddenly cramps up exclaiming he is going to have to run to toilet. Not a problem here so far or so you would think but the sewage/drainage system in Rhodes at the time(poss still is) very antiquated and you have to wipe yer arse then deposit the bog roll in the wee bin next to it. So after five mins or so wee bro duly returns with a smile a cheshire cat can only dream of and sits back down happy with himself, until the owner of bar/restaurant approaches our table screaming at him. We finally found out that he did not put bog roll in bin, instead he just rammed in down the toilet thus causing a severe blockage with shitty coloured water and the occasional walnut whip floating down the bar and into the kitchen.

Funnily enough we never returned to that bar

[lyt]

A few years back on holiday in Rhodes with my family, my bro's m8 and my sis's m8, we were all out for the day stopping for lunch and a few beers(apart fae my sis and her pal, too young). Nice and peaceful with friendly locals et all, until my bro suddenly cramps up exclaiming he is going to have to run to toilet. Not a problem here so far or so you would think but the sewage/drainage system in Rhodes at the time(poss still is) very antiquated and you have to wipe yer arse then deposit the bog roll in the wee bin next to it. So after five mins or so wee bro duly returns with a smile a cheshire cat can only dream of and sits back down happy with himself, until the owner of bar/restaurant approaches our table screaming at him. We finally found out that he did not put bog roll in bin, instead he just rammed in down the toilet thus causing a severe blockage with shitty coloured water and the occasional walnut whip floating down the bar and into the kitchen.

Funnily enough we never returned to that bar

foot stirrups provided

[palmy_cammy]

Is it normal for shit to sometimes look a very light grey? What about near black?

I do all shades and contrasts frequently.

Any time I drink Buckfast my "hangover shite" is a lot darker than usual, somewhere between very deep purple and black. I've heard post-Guiness shites are fairly horrific, luckily I don't drink it.

I have had a green shite before as well which was a bit worrying at the time.

[philpy]

I've had the week from hell at work, but this thread has cheered me up no end . It should be shifted to the gold forum!

[Hank Scorpio]

This thread is outrageously funny.

[Guest dougalldogg]

This thread is outrageously funny.

Not even just the stories are funny the way some of them have been told are priceless

[Breaking Decency]

Is it normal for shit to sometimes look a very light grey? What about near black?

I do all shades and contrasts frequently.

I get black shit from drinking too much Jack Daniel's. Also had it after consuming an entire bottle of Pepto Bismol in one day.

On a similar shit-coloured note, when I was younger I started crying when my shit came out red and screamed for my mum- turned out it was due to the fact I'd eaten 2 packets of red laces and the food colouring had dyed my jobby.

[county-mad]

Not even just the stories are funny the way some of them have been told are priceless

Your spot on, some of the words that have been used have been nothing short of excellent

This is deserved of the gold forum

[Todd_is_God]

I've Crohn's, where do you want me to start with the horror stories?

i have UC - tell me about it

[turboshandy]

lol

[Yoss]

Some good stories here.

Here's one of mine, from last year in Turkey (though the offending stomach bug had been picked up in Syria) as written up the following day:

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Right, so what happened to me last night was this.

The long and the short of it, and the start of all subsequent troubles, was that I shat myself, on the way home from the pub. Not badly, as shitting yourself goes, it was not much more than a little moistening, but it was unmistakeably shit. I'd had some loosening of bowels for a couple of days beforehand but I'd been mostly okay that day and it caught me unawares - we'd left the pub around 02:30 I think, and if Vicky and I had just made a dash straight back to the hotel I'd have been okay, but Mo and Jo wandered off in completely the wrong direction, and they were both quite drunk and we decided to be kind to them, shouted, sang loud Britney songs then ran after them. Once on the right route Mo wandered again into a side street to take a wee, got lost again, and again we bailed her out, and it was around this time, when I was running, that I was taken by surprise, didn't even have time to clench.

So like I say, it wasn't too bad, and I just pulled my pants down a bit low and decided to style it out, and waddled back up the road with the girls. Just as an incidental detail, what the three of them decided they wantedmore than anything in the whole world at that point was for me to play with them on a see-saw we happened to pass - I tried to say it really wasn't the time but was too embarrassed to say why and they weren't taking no for an answer.

So that just made things a little more uncomfortable, but we got back without further incident, and that ought to have been the end of it. I got a pair of trousers out the truck, which was thankfully open, then went to the dorm and collected a clean pair of boxers. Here I suddenly felt myself on the cusp of being caught short again - I dashed outside, realised I was going to make it nowhere near the toilet block, and just had to jump to the side, drop my kecks, and let is splatter onto the ground. (I'm not proud of any of this.) It was sufficiently out the way that no one was going to walk through it or anything, so I thought I'd get changed and cleaned up first, grab a trowel from the truck, then come back and clear up.

It was about fifteen minutes later that I emerged feeling suitably cleansed from the toilets, during which time a couple of things had happened. First, Ben ahd come back with the last group from the pub and had locked up the truck. More seriously, Mo was now sitting outside the dorm having a little think about life and stuff and about her deceased brother, and she was shortly joined thereafter by Bronwyn for a hug and a chat about things. They were sitting about three feet, no more than four, from the little puddle of poo I'd left there a quarter of an hour earlier and of which they were blissfully unaware.

I really didn't want to say anything, but it was clear they weren't going to be moving for a while. I sat and had a chat with them, which luckily was the right thing to do and what I would have done anyway, and we talked about things and I told them a bit about Mathew [a mate of mine wjo'd died a few weeks previously], though all the time I was thinking about poo. Mo tried to say you two go to bed, I'll sit up for a bit, but I really didn't want to do that, I was half-cut and knew I'd crash out as soon as I lay down, and much as my alarm was set early and I planned to go out onto the ridge to take pictures of the sunrise, you know what happened to the best laid plans after a good night out. I really couldn't take the risk of leaving it and having someone else be up before me and find the detritus in the daylight.

It was an awkward moment, and had Bron at this point said yeah we'll leave you to it it might have been very awkward indeed, but at 4am my luck turned - the rain came on, heavy enough to make all of us decide to turn in. So we went inside, and I discreetly nipped straight back outside and kicked a big pile of dirt over my mess, which all of them have been walking past today without any knowledge of last night's events.

I reckon I styled it out quite nicely, but I'm going to be much too embarrassed to tell the story to any of the lovely people who were present and were entirely unaware of its development.

[jeffro]

Not a shitting yourself story but one I find funny nonetheless.

A friend of mine once shat in his mate's pillow case on holiday and turned it over to hide the inevitable stain. Cue said mate trying to nod off for some sleep and complaining about a funny smell.

It is quite possibly one of the funniest stories I've ever heard.

[Yoss]

This one, I wish to stress, is not one of mine, it's pasted from another site. A good story well told though.

- posted 27-01-2006 02:18

Some time ago I decided I was becoming bored with my staid life as a civil servant and the city of Bristol. After a thorough cross-sectional search of potential industry sectors to work in, I decided I quite fancied acquiring a pony-tail and debilitating cocaine habit, so settled for a career in the media. I sent off my CV to a few firms, and lo and behold was invited to an interview in London.

I have never liked job interviews, nor have I ever been particularly good at them, which explains why, despite a fairly solid academic career and winning personality, I am stuck in a shit job. Despite this, I booked my rail ticket for the bright lights, lied to my employers that I needed a day off, and started trying to arrange accomodation for my stay over. As luck would have it, my sister was out of her flat and said I could stay in her living room. I arranged to pick up her keys and make use of the offer.

I arrived in London tired and hungry after a long journey. The tube journey in particular was a expletiveing nightmare, and I spent most of it wedged next to a fat woman who was picking out the scarier lines in a bible (mostly from the book of Ezekiel) with a yellow marker pen. After dodging a bus fare from Islington and arrived at the flat, I didn’t feel like cooking, so I found a bowl of tuna in the fridge and made myself a sandwich. I ate it, had a cup of tea, ironed a shirt, turned off my mobile phone, and settled down on the sofa to a night of troubled dreams.

In my dreams I did all the usual interview things (turn up naked, swear, meet old school headmaster) that point to a build up of anexity. I tossed and turned, had an uneasy night, overslept a bit and as such was in a rush when I left the house.

Things weren’t right. I felt a bit of a grumbling pain in my intestines, which I blamed on anexity. As I got on the bus, paying the fare this time (I’d decided that if I was going to be living in London I wanted a well-funded transport network) it got worse. And worse. At the Angel I was buckling over in pain.

A few years back I’d had a job interview which had been mysteriously cancelled literally hours before I’d been due to have it, so I switched my phone on to check for messages. It beeped. A text message. From my sister. GOOD LUCK IN YR INTERVIEW. HX. BTW FISH IN FRIDGE V OLD SO DONT EAT!

f**k.

I arrived for the interview a bit early so stopped for a coffee in a nearby café. God, my stomach hurt. I bought a coffee. I must’ve looked bad, because the Italian waitress lass couldn’t come up with a word for it. “You look… bad” she said. I turned around, too quickly. Then it happened.

It’s a funny thing, shitting yourself. A real assault on the senses. The initial squirt down the leg manages to feel both hot and cold at the same time. Then you wonder if anyone else heard, and you realise it made a noise like a sperm whale being dropped off a forty-foot crane. Then you notice the smell. Then you wonder why everyone is staring at you whilst you shuffle off to the toilet.

My boxer shorts looked like a Liberal MP’s wet dream, so off they came and they were flushed. Fortunately they had contained the initial deluge, so I cleared out the rest of my bowels, wiped up the horrid mess with wet toilet paper and washed my hands six (I counted) times. I left the café with everyone staring at me. By now I was ten minutes late for my interview, so I ran, for want of a better word, like shit.

People say going commando builds the confidence and provides an air of freedom, but I was a nervous wreck when I arrived at the office of the glamorous media company. ‘I.. have.. an… interview…’ I said to the lovely secretary. She summoned up the HR bloke and his grinning, tall companion.

It’s one of those ‘young’ companies. You know, painted brickwork, lofts, lots of glass, that kind of stuff. “We’ll interview you in the bar” they said.

They took me down to the fucking bar. I was still wheezing. We sat down. I panted for a good couple of minutes, and then extended my wiping hand, panicked, retracted it, checked it was clean, and extended it again. HR man took a long suspicious look and shook it.

“Err… to break the ice, let’s hear a bit about yourself” he said.

Evil thoughts swam through my head. This was almost literally a nightmare come true. In fact, I’d have rather been naked and in front of my headmaster. Actually, no. Then he’d have seen the brown stains on my legs.

It had been about thirty seconds and I hadn’t broken the ice, or indeed spoken. Every synapse in my brain was shouting “FOR f**k’S SAKE SAY SOMETHING! ANYTHING! ANYTHING ABOUT YOURSELF!!”

“I am six foot one inches tall” I said.

There was a pause, longer than is usual or healthy in job interviews. Thin man wrote ‘6’ 1”’ on his notepad.

Another pause. “Anything else?” said HR man.

They say 90% of communication is non-verbal. As I was pondering this I suddenly became aware of the enormous miasma of stink emenating from my arse and a familiar hot-yet-cold sensation on my legs and bollocks. Thin man began to gag. “Do you have a toilet? I asked HR man. He pointed upstairs.

I went upstairs, wiped, washed and left without saying goodbye. I shuffled towards the tube. Mad bible-woman wasn’t there. A good thing too: she’d have thought one of the seven plagues of Egypt had been visited upon her at once. I shuffled back to the flat, had a shower, picked up my stuff and took an extremely uncomfortable train journey back to Bristol, depositing the remains of the rancid fish along the entire stretch of Brunel’s great railway.

I will let you all know if I get the job.

[The Poker King]

Can evereyone who has said this should be in the gold forum go Here and vote for it please.

We simply can't let this thread disappear.

[EdinburghLivi]

I get black shit from drinking too much Jack Daniel's. Also had it after consuming an entire bottle of Pepto Bismol in one day.

On a similar shit-coloured note, when I was younger I started crying when my shit came out red and screamed for my mum- turned out it was due to the fact I'd eaten 2 packets of red laces and the food colouring had dyed my jobby.

I remember after the St. Johnstone vs. Monaco Uefa Cup game about nine years ago, I had a greeny blue dump! Funnily enough, I'd binged on the Saintees' blue popcorn thoroughout the game

[tonstar]

i once baked a hangover shite from greenock to inveraray in my mates motor. it was a wee burgundy lada and there were 5 of us in it. i was farting the turtles breath the whole way much to the chagrin of my chums. anyhoo by the time we got to inverary the dolphin's nose was nudging my gussett and i couldn't find a bog. i ran down to the shores of loch fyne, whipped off one leg of my jeans and y's and opened the bomb-bay. f**k me, this thing felt like king kong's thumb. i then made the mistake off bending over to have a gander at it through my legs. it was like a big nik-nak that had been dipped in cuprinol. as it swayed in the wind - one end still lodged up my bangle - it became a temporary landing strip for a colony of blue bottles. i waggled my bum till it snapped off and then had to wipe my freckle with a wee bit of snottery hanky. i'd have got more wipes aff a spangles wrapper.

anyway the last i saw of that behemoth was it steaming on a rock while an alsatian barked at it