Men Gruntin while in the mens room
Discussion
I take it you've all read the (famous) "Blu Tone" thread regarding Agent Picolax? I recall reading it when it was active, with tears falling down my face.
It started with a relatively innocent query from a chap who was asking if he would be alright going for a bike ride after taking some strong laxatives ... the rest, well it's best you read it yourself
It started with a relatively innocent query from a chap who was asking if he would be alright going for a bike ride after taking some strong laxatives ... the rest, well it's best you read it yourself
I usually have a cast iron constitution. Except in June, during a shopping trip to the trafford centre, me and the OH had something to eat in TGI fridays. She had a chicken burger, I, a cheese burger. Was quite nice as well.
Felt great all day, a little bit tired from getting dragged round various shops, and we retired to bed.
4am I woke up, eyes bulging, absolutely sweating in bed with a stomach like a malnourished african and an a
hole that had to be pinched so tight in fear of stting the bed you couldnt get a vaselined cocktail stick up it.
I stumble to the bathroom, no sooner does my brain detect that my arse is roughly hovering (+- 2 feet left or right) over the bog, an event that can only be described as something akin to the hoover dam bursting occurs....it was like a shotgun blast out of my arse and echoed around the tiled bathroom.....it was semi water and smelled so bad that immediately I felt sick and instantly had to spin round with a still dripping arse and add to the mess with a load of puke, all the while little flecks of st and puke were splashing up and hitting my glasses and almost certainly entering my mouth. (not that I cared at that point) I hadnt even finished throwing up when my bruised and battered arse wanted round 2, so I had to spin back round and fire away. I was somewhat delirious at this point, and for some reason looked down to see my arse emit pure water speckled with hints of brown. It was like my body was pouring a bucket out of my arse. fking horrid experience. After this, it had abated so I took that opportunity to attempt to clean myself and the toilet up, all the while still feeling deathly ill.
I ended up starfished on the cold bathroom floor, bk naked, as I was sweating like Lisa Riley in the London marathon. I spent 2 hours in that bathroom like that, occasionally getting up and repeating the above again. When I finally crawled into bed a broken man, my girlfriend commented on how she heard everything 
Horrible experience, will be avoiding that TGI's as well!
Felt great all day, a little bit tired from getting dragged round various shops, and we retired to bed.
4am I woke up, eyes bulging, absolutely sweating in bed with a stomach like a malnourished african and an a
hole that had to be pinched so tight in fear of stting the bed you couldnt get a vaselined cocktail stick up it.I stumble to the bathroom, no sooner does my brain detect that my arse is roughly hovering (+- 2 feet left or right) over the bog, an event that can only be described as something akin to the hoover dam bursting occurs....it was like a shotgun blast out of my arse and echoed around the tiled bathroom.....it was semi water and smelled so bad that immediately I felt sick and instantly had to spin round with a still dripping arse and add to the mess with a load of puke, all the while little flecks of s
t and puke were splashing up and hitting my glasses and almost certainly entering my mouth. (not that I cared at that point) I hadnt even finished throwing up when my bruised and battered arse wanted round 2, so I had to spin back round and fire away. I was somewhat delirious at this point, and for some reason looked down to see my arse emit pure water speckled with hints of brown. It was like my body was pouring a bucket out of my arse. fking horrid experience. After this, it had abated so I took that opportunity to attempt to clean myself and the toilet up, all the while still feeling deathly ill.I ended up starfished on the cold bathroom floor, b
k naked, as I was sweating like Lisa Riley in the London marathon. I spent 2 hours in that bathroom like that, occasionally getting up and repeating the above again. When I finally crawled into bed a broken man, my girlfriend commented on how she heard everything Horrible experience, will be avoiding that TGI's as well!
WorAl said:
it's like pissing out of your arse.
Reminds me of my parents dog, whenever we go and walk the dogs on the beach he ends up trying to drink the entire sea, shortly followed by him crouching and doing a passable impression of a Chrysler Crossfire whilst appearing to piss out of his ass...
OllieWinchester said:
WorAl said:
it's like pissing out of your arse.
Reminds me of my parents dog, whenever we go and walk the dogs on the beach he ends up trying to drink the entire sea, shortly followed by him crouching and doing a passable impression of a Chrysler Crossfire whilst appearing to piss out of his ass...Many years ago, camping in Snowdonia. A few of us decide to walk up to the summit of Snowdon. Nearing the top, the cloud has come down, can't see much around and a bad dose of the squits comes on. Reckoned it must have been a dodgy pork pie the night before.
Absolutely no choice, have to go, so in the the murk, trousers down behind a big boulder, crapping continuously, cloud suddenly clears and the fking train that goes up to the top chugs by about 30 yards away packed full of tourists all looking in my direction...
Absolutely no choice, have to go, so in the the murk, trousers down behind a big boulder, crapping continuously, cloud suddenly clears and the f
king train that goes up to the top chugs by about 30 yards away packed full of tourists all looking in my direction... Thunderbird_one said:
Many years ago, camping in Snowdonia. A few of us decide to walk up to the summit of Snowdon. Nearing the top, the cloud has come down, can't see much around and a bad dose of the squits comes on. Reckoned it must have been a dodgy pork pie the night before.
Absolutely no choice, have to go, so in the the murk, trousers down behind a big boulder, crapping continuously, cloud suddenly clears and the fking train that goes up to the top chugs by about 30 yards away packed full of tourists all looking in my direction...
Absolutely no choice, have to go, so in the the murk, trousers down behind a big boulder, crapping continuously, cloud suddenly clears and the f
king train that goes up to the top chugs by about 30 yards away packed full of tourists all looking in my direction... 
Horrible getting caught out.
Tow Vehicle Rqrd said:
Can't possibly compete with the previous stories, but back in June I was the recipient of a very distressing text message from my friend who was at Le Mans. Text message simply read; "Ou est le papier? :'(" Well, not much I could do to assist with a bog roll shortage in France from my home in London, but I did of course LMAO. 
Le Mans eh? It remains a mystery that by Saturday night some of the toilets at Le Mans resemble a bad day at a Crimean War Dysentery Hospital following an especially nasty outbreak of The Liquorice. For some unknown reason, st gets plastered absolutely everywhere, up the toilet walls, underneath the seat, down the outside of the pan, on the door handle, there's even flecks on the light shade. Who makes this terrible mess and why? It baffles and upsets me in equal measure, really it does, but being of a charitable disposition I’m always hopeful there’s a logical explanation. It might be that a similar fate befell the previous toilet occupant of one lavatory just before my brother got to it;Phil popped into one of the long row of Porta-loos the ACO had set up in the field where they held the Jamiraquoi concert. I think he’d eaten some tartiflette that had strongly disagreed with him and which was racing through his digestive tract faster than an asylum seeker down the Channel Tunnel. Getting his bottom over the porcelain, or vacuum-moulded plastic in this instance, was deemed a necessity. He headed for the first vacant facility, was up the step like a mountain goat and had the door slammed closed in very swift order. The overture began when he went into that well rehearsed simultaneous movement, you know the one, whereby one fluidly undoes one’s belt and buttons, pulls down the strides, bends forward and manoeuvres one’s arse over the seat, whilst the Safety Car turns out the yellow flashing lights and pulls into the pit lane to allow the “cars” clear passage to hurtle down the “pit straight” and into the pan. Well, what could possibly go wrong?
It was at this moment Phil became aware of certain coolness on his right foot. Looking down he was aghast to note that he’d trodden in the worlds longest turd and crap was now oozing between his toes in his reef-sandal. I’m sure I need only mention the phrase “reflex gag” for you to understand the gravity of his predicament. The horror of what had befallen him stopped him dead in his tracks, so to speak. Whilst his backside had frozen pendulously in mid-air before it was even halfway positioned over the seat, the stench of freshly disturbed excreta hit the back of his olfactory canal, the gagging started and he was distressed to find himself vomiting into the back of his own trousers. Meanwhile, the tartiflette, together with the mortal remains of some prawns he’d eaten on the boat on the way over and goodness knows how many pints of beer, took this unfortunate moment to make good their escape from his rectum and jettisoned themselves all up the wall, the seat and even the light fitting…
It was at this point in proceedings he noticed that (drum roll) THERE WAS NO PAPER! Thus he was obliged to clean up using his tee-shirt. Fortunately the organisers were giving out those Audi 24 Hour Jam shirts, so good old VW Group saved the day.”
Andy Zarse said:
Tow Vehicle Rqrd said:
Can't possibly compete with the previous stories, but back in June I was the recipient of a very distressing text message from my friend who was at Le Mans. Text message simply read; "Ou est le papier? :'(" Well, not much I could do to assist with a bog roll shortage in France from my home in London, but I did of course LMAO.
Le Mans eh? It remains a mystery that by Saturday night some of the toilets at Le Mans resemble a bad day at a Crimean War Dysentery Hospital following an especially nasty outbreak of The Liquorice. For some unknown reason, st gets plastered absolutely everywhere, up the toilet walls, underneath the seat, down the outside of the pan, on the door handle, there's even flecks on the light shade. Who makes this terrible mess and why? It baffles and upsets me in equal measure, really it does, but being of a charitable disposition I’m always hopeful there’s a logical explanation. It might be that a similar fate befell the previous toilet occupant of one lavatory just before my brother got to it;Phil popped into one of the long row of Porta-loos the ACO had set up in the field where they held the Jamiraquoi concert. I think he’d eaten some tartiflette that had strongly disagreed with him and which was racing through his digestive tract faster than an asylum seeker down the Channel Tunnel. Getting his bottom over the porcelain, or vacuum-moulded plastic in this instance, was deemed a necessity. He headed for the first vacant facility, was up the step like a mountain goat and had the door slammed closed in very swift order. The overture began when he went into that well rehearsed simultaneous movement, you know the one, whereby one fluidly undoes one’s belt and buttons, pulls down the strides, bends forward and manoeuvres one’s arse over the seat, whilst the Safety Car turns out the yellow flashing lights and pulls into the pit lane to allow the “cars” clear passage to hurtle down the “pit straight” and into the pan. Well, what could possibly go wrong?
It was at this moment Phil became aware of certain coolness on his right foot. Looking down he was aghast to note that he’d trodden in the worlds longest turd and crap was now oozing between his toes in his reef-sandal. I’m sure I need only mention the phrase “reflex gag” for you to understand the gravity of his predicament. The horror of what had befallen him stopped him dead in his tracks, so to speak. Whilst his backside had frozen pendulously in mid-air before it was even halfway positioned over the seat, the stench of freshly disturbed excreta hit the back of his olfactory canal, the gagging started and he was distressed to find himself vomiting into the back of his own trousers. Meanwhile, the tartiflette, together with the mortal remains of some prawns he’d eaten on the boat on the way over and goodness knows how many pints of beer, took this unfortunate moment to make good their escape from his rectum and jettisoned themselves all up the wall, the seat and even the light fitting…
It was at this point in proceedings he noticed that (drum roll) THERE WAS NO PAPER! Thus he was obliged to clean up using his tee-shirt. Fortunately the organisers were giving out those Audi 24 Hour Jam shirts, so good old VW Group saved the day.”
Disgustingly funny.
Andy Zarse said:
Le Mans eh? It remains a mystery that by Saturday night some of the toilets at Le Mans resemble a bad day at a Crimean War Dysentery Hospital following an especially nasty outbreak of The Liquorice. For some unknown reason, st gets plastered absolutely everywhere, up the toilet walls, underneath the seat, down the outside of the pan, on the door handle, there's even flecks on the light shade. Who makes this terrible mess and why? It baffles and upsets me in equal measure, really it does, but being of a charitable disposition I’m always hopeful there’s a logical explanation. It might be that a similar fate befell the previous toilet occupant of one lavatory just before my brother got to it;
It's in France!! Does that answer your question?t gets plastered absolutely everywhere, up the toilet walls, underneath the seat, down the outside of the pan, on the door handle, there's even flecks on the light shade. Who makes this terrible mess and why? It baffles and upsets me in equal measure, really it does, but being of a charitable disposition I’m always hopeful there’s a logical explanation. It might be that a similar fate befell the previous toilet occupant of one lavatory just before my brother got to it;TBH the loos on the Team Langoustine site were clean for the whole week. It was just the first day (before they were properly opened) that there was no 'papier' in there! Luckily I hadn't left it till the last second and had time to get to my tent for an emergency roll!
seany87 said:
I felt sick and instantly had to spin round with a still dripping arse and add to the mess with a load of puke.... I hadnt even finished throwing up when my bruised and battered arse wanted round 2, so I had to spin back round and fire away.
I believe the correct term for this is whirlybirds....I'll aways remember the first verse of a poem I read on the back of a door in a public bog.
"If you have a jobby to do
Please sit centrally on the loo.
You may think it doesn't matter
But it helps prevent pan rim splatter"
Afraid I can't remember the second verse, but it was in a similar vein!
"If you have a jobby to do
Please sit centrally on the loo.
You may think it doesn't matter
But it helps prevent pan rim splatter"
Afraid I can't remember the second verse, but it was in a similar vein!
Gassing Station | The Lounge | Top of Page | What's New | My Stuff