Attention Toilet User! Rant
Discussion
Urban Sports said:
Pommygranite said:
The OH says that for real filth ladies toilets take first prize, specifically when used by asians (both far east and Indian sub continent) for the simple reason many stand on the seat to squat.
So take your s
tty filth, coupled with litres of piss and mix in copious amounts of menstrual blood. Lovely.
At least as guys we can just stand and point most times.
So take your s
tty filth, coupled with litres of piss and mix in copious amounts of menstrual blood. Lovely.At least as guys we can just stand and point most times.
I had a conversation last night about squat toilets and found this little write up about them on wikipedia.
The benefits are amazing
Some benefits of using squat toilets are:
[1] It is less expensive and easier to clean and maintain.
[2] It does not involve any contact between the buttocks and thighs with a potentially unsanitary surface.
[3] The absence of water in the bowl avoids the problem of water splashing upwards. Squatting might help to build the required exhaust pressure more comfortably and quickly.
[4] Squatting makes elimination faster, easier and more complete.
[5] Elimination in squatting posture protects the nerves that control the prostate, bladder and uterus from becoming stretched and damaged.
[6] Squatting relaxes the puborectalis muscle which normally chokes the rectum in order to maintain continence.
[7] Squatting securely seals the ileocecal valve, between the colon and the small intestine. In the conventional sitting position, this valve is unsupported and often leaks during evacuation.
[8] For pregnant women, squatting avoids pressure on the uterus when using the toilet. Daily squatting helps prepare the mother-to-be for a more natural delivery.
[9] Squatting may reduce the occurrence or severity of hemorrhoids and possibly other colorectal disorders such as diverticulosis and appendicitis.
All well and good, but how the hell are you supposed to read your magazine of choice?
If I dropped the latest issue of 'Practical Classics' down th' pan I'd be very pissed off!!
Edited by Urban Sports on Sunday 28th November 09:57
Place I worked at in Barnsley.
The male changing rooms really started to smell. For teh fist few weeks it was jesus what the fk is that after a month youy couldn't walk in them.
Turns out this bit fat bird had been stting in a bag then going in there and filling up un used lockers. She was grassed on and asked to leave like fools before they got somebody to escort her of teh premises she went in the ladies and did a dirty protest everywhere and I mean everywhere. Just teh effort involved was impressive.
Working in the midlands most toilets in the factories I worked were unusable Asians standing on the seats with very poor aims. I would wait till I got home, not easy when you are working a 12 hour shift.
The male changing rooms really started to smell. For teh fist few weeks it was jesus what the f
k is that after a month youy couldn't walk in them.Turns out this bit fat bird had been s
tting in a bag then going in there and filling up un used lockers. She was grassed on and asked to leave like fools before they got somebody to escort her of teh premises she went in the ladies and did a dirty protest everywhere and I mean everywhere. Just teh effort involved was impressive.Working in the midlands most toilets in the factories I worked were unusable Asians standing on the seats with very poor aims. I would wait till I got home, not easy when you are working a 12 hour shift.
Pesty said:
Place I worked at in Barnsley.
The male changing rooms really started to smell. For teh fist few weeks it was jesus what the fk is that after a month youy couldn't walk in them.
Turns out this bit fat bird had been stting in a bag then going in there and filling up un used lockers. She was grassed on and asked to leave like fools before they got somebody to escort her of teh premises she went in the ladies and did a dirty protest everywhere and I mean everywhere. Just teh effort involved was impressive.
Working in the midlands most toilets in the factories I worked were unusable Asians standing on the seats with very poor aims. I would wait till I got home, not easy when you are working a 12 hour shift.
Makes the feral animals I work and share a bog with sound positively cultured and trained. The male changing rooms really started to smell. For teh fist few weeks it was jesus what the f
k is that after a month youy couldn't walk in them.Turns out this bit fat bird had been s
tting in a bag then going in there and filling up un used lockers. She was grassed on and asked to leave like fools before they got somebody to escort her of teh premises she went in the ladies and did a dirty protest everywhere and I mean everywhere. Just teh effort involved was impressive.Working in the midlands most toilets in the factories I worked were unusable Asians standing on the seats with very poor aims. I would wait till I got home, not easy when you are working a 12 hour shift.
Pesty said:
Place I worked at in Barnsley.
The male changing rooms really started to smell. For teh fist few weeks it was jesus what the fk is that after a month youy couldn't walk in them.
Turns out this bit fat bird had been stting in a bag then going in there and filling up un used lockers. She was grassed on and asked to leave like fools before they got somebody to escort her of teh premises she went in the ladies and did a dirty protest everywhere and I mean everywhere. Just teh effort involved was impressive.
Working in the midlands most toilets in the factories I worked were unusable Asians standing on the seats with very poor aims. I would wait till I got home, not easy when you are working a 12 hour shift.
Well what can you expect, you did work in barnsley lad;)The male changing rooms really started to smell. For teh fist few weeks it was jesus what the f
k is that after a month youy couldn't walk in them.Turns out this bit fat bird had been s
tting in a bag then going in there and filling up un used lockers. She was grassed on and asked to leave like fools before they got somebody to escort her of teh premises she went in the ladies and did a dirty protest everywhere and I mean everywhere. Just teh effort involved was impressive.Working in the midlands most toilets in the factories I worked were unusable Asians standing on the seats with very poor aims. I would wait till I got home, not easy when you are working a 12 hour shift.
A thread about toilets?
ajcj said:
I confess to feeling selfconscious when last night's lamb dhansak, chana massala, keema naan and Cobra is struggling its way out and making a lot of fuss while it does, especially when the traps to either side are occupied by chaps who seem to be able to lay one down with barely a splash, but for true embarrassment, you need a hotel room on your first night away with a new cutie.
So lots of charming conversation and civilised behaviour and attention to personal hygiene and nipping outside to fart have paid off, and several months in it's time for a romantic weekend away. The hotel room is in a dead trendy boutique place, and the wall between bedroom and bathroom is frosted glass. All other bathroom walls are tiled for maximum reverb. The door is also glass, and does not seal in any way - half-inch gaps all round. So you are effectively in the same room as the bed, which is where you leave your amour, curled up and warm ("hurry back", she murmurs) on the morning after a nice moroccan meal with plenty of chickpeas, spiced lamb, felafel and so on, plus a couple of bottles of rough red, and whisky to finish. You pace with measured tread to the echo chamber, then hunker down to answer the insistent call from the lower colon.
To begin with, it sounded like a duck being strangled half-underwater, then as if thirty clowns wearing oversize rubber shoes were having a sprinting race over a massive bowl of jelly, then as I desperately applied restrictive pressure, it faded into an anguished squeak like a deflating balloon, then as my muscle control gave out, a series of small escaping explosions escalated into a titanic rasp that echoed for several seconds.
Having done the paperwork, brushed everywhere in the bowl, including the underside of the seat (how in the name of gravity could that have happened?), washed hands, and assumed as nonchalant an expression as I could muster, I strolled back in to find her sitting up, covers drawn protectively up under her chin, eyes like a lemur, asking whether I was ok, and did I need medical attention?
Kind of killed the mood, rather.
So lots of charming conversation and civilised behaviour and attention to personal hygiene and nipping outside to fart have paid off, and several months in it's time for a romantic weekend away. The hotel room is in a dead trendy boutique place, and the wall between bedroom and bathroom is frosted glass. All other bathroom walls are tiled for maximum reverb. The door is also glass, and does not seal in any way - half-inch gaps all round. So you are effectively in the same room as the bed, which is where you leave your amour, curled up and warm ("hurry back", she murmurs) on the morning after a nice moroccan meal with plenty of chickpeas, spiced lamb, felafel and so on, plus a couple of bottles of rough red, and whisky to finish. You pace with measured tread to the echo chamber, then hunker down to answer the insistent call from the lower colon.
To begin with, it sounded like a duck being strangled half-underwater, then as if thirty clowns wearing oversize rubber shoes were having a sprinting race over a massive bowl of jelly, then as I desperately applied restrictive pressure, it faded into an anguished squeak like a deflating balloon, then as my muscle control gave out, a series of small escaping explosions escalated into a titanic rasp that echoed for several seconds.
Having done the paperwork, brushed everywhere in the bowl, including the underside of the seat (how in the name of gravity could that have happened?), washed hands, and assumed as nonchalant an expression as I could muster, I strolled back in to find her sitting up, covers drawn protectively up under her chin, eyes like a lemur, asking whether I was ok, and did I need medical attention?
Kind of killed the mood, rather.
Shaw Tarse said:
A thread about toilets?
A true wordsmith. Thanks PH for regular laugh out loud moments.ajcj said:
I confess to feeling selfconscious when last night's lamb dhansak, chana massala, keema naan and Cobra is struggling its way out and making a lot of fuss while it does, especially when the traps to either side are occupied by chaps who seem to be able to lay one down with barely a splash, but for true embarrassment, you need a hotel room on your first night away with a new cutie.
So lots of charming conversation and civilised behaviour and attention to personal hygiene and nipping outside to fart have paid off, and several months in it's time for a romantic weekend away. The hotel room is in a dead trendy boutique place, and the wall between bedroom and bathroom is frosted glass. All other bathroom walls are tiled for maximum reverb. The door is also glass, and does not seal in any way - half-inch gaps all round. So you are effectively in the same room as the bed, which is where you leave your amour, curled up and warm ("hurry back", she murmurs) on the morning after a nice moroccan meal with plenty of chickpeas, spiced lamb, felafel and so on, plus a couple of bottles of rough red, and whisky to finish. You pace with measured tread to the echo chamber, then hunker down to answer the insistent call from the lower colon.
To begin with, it sounded like a duck being strangled half-underwater, then as if thirty clowns wearing oversize rubber shoes were having a sprinting race over a massive bowl of jelly, then as I desperately applied restrictive pressure, it faded into an anguished squeak like a deflating balloon, then as my muscle control gave out, a series of small escaping explosions escalated into a titanic rasp that echoed for several seconds.
Having done the paperwork, brushed everywhere in the bowl, including the underside of the seat (how in the name of gravity could that have happened?), washed hands, and assumed as nonchalant an expression as I could muster, I strolled back in to find her sitting up, covers drawn protectively up under her chin, eyes like a lemur, asking whether I was ok, and did I need medical attention?
Kind of killed the mood, rather.
So lots of charming conversation and civilised behaviour and attention to personal hygiene and nipping outside to fart have paid off, and several months in it's time for a romantic weekend away. The hotel room is in a dead trendy boutique place, and the wall between bedroom and bathroom is frosted glass. All other bathroom walls are tiled for maximum reverb. The door is also glass, and does not seal in any way - half-inch gaps all round. So you are effectively in the same room as the bed, which is where you leave your amour, curled up and warm ("hurry back", she murmurs) on the morning after a nice moroccan meal with plenty of chickpeas, spiced lamb, felafel and so on, plus a couple of bottles of rough red, and whisky to finish. You pace with measured tread to the echo chamber, then hunker down to answer the insistent call from the lower colon.
To begin with, it sounded like a duck being strangled half-underwater, then as if thirty clowns wearing oversize rubber shoes were having a sprinting race over a massive bowl of jelly, then as I desperately applied restrictive pressure, it faded into an anguished squeak like a deflating balloon, then as my muscle control gave out, a series of small escaping explosions escalated into a titanic rasp that echoed for several seconds.
Having done the paperwork, brushed everywhere in the bowl, including the underside of the seat (how in the name of gravity could that have happened?), washed hands, and assumed as nonchalant an expression as I could muster, I strolled back in to find her sitting up, covers drawn protectively up under her chin, eyes like a lemur, asking whether I was ok, and did I need medical attention?
Kind of killed the mood, rather.
Edited by croyde on Monday 29th November 10:58
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