Men Gruntin while in the mens room
Discussion
A mate and I had salmonella from a lunchtime fry up, once. Both of us, three miles apart, ran to the bathroom at 2am precisely and vented from just about every orifice. Mercifully, the sink was close to the toilet, and anyway I didn't have company.
More embarrassingly, on a holiday in Paris with a lovely young French lass, we had a delightful restaurant meal, quite probably steak tartare or snails as I tend to associate them with Paris. We ended the night with a few Guiness in a fantastic Irish bar, then back to the hotel. At something like 3am I wake up desperate to go. But, I'm in a pitch black unfamiliar room, I'm still very drunk, and blundering around and touching cloth. I find the door and go inside. I cannot find the light switch, or the toilet and things are now getting really quite desperate.
I am, in fact, in the wardrobe, and there is no door handle on the inside...
More embarrassingly, on a holiday in Paris with a lovely young French lass, we had a delightful restaurant meal, quite probably steak tartare or snails as I tend to associate them with Paris. We ended the night with a few Guiness in a fantastic Irish bar, then back to the hotel. At something like 3am I wake up desperate to go. But, I'm in a pitch black unfamiliar room, I'm still very drunk, and blundering around and touching cloth. I find the door and go inside. I cannot find the light switch, or the toilet and things are now getting really quite desperate.
I am, in fact, in the wardrobe, and there is no door handle on the inside...
Edited by grumbledoak on Wednesday 25th August 00:10
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.
Oh man that was funny I had tears running down my face swmbo in bed next to me trying to sleep and not looking impressed as I shake with laughter.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.
Andy Zarse said:
Vidal Baboon said:
I
It was only a short blast, but it was enough to completely cover the cistern with s
t.
I had previously imagined, before my brother's Le Mans episode, that this sort of repellant art form where it goes absolutely everywhere including the door handle, could only be the work of a food-poisoned runaway from the Cirque du Soleil. Happily, your incident it confirms my latter hypothesis is in fact correct.It was only a short blast, but it was enough to completely cover the cistern with s
t.
Having read others' cathartic contributions to this thread i thought i should add my own story.
I was an IT consultant for a large telecoms company, but i had the pleasure of working from home, as you can imagine this meant late nights watching poker and drinking cans of lager with my laptop on my knee, followed by lazy mornings lying in bed with my laptop on my chest while watching Frasier. However this one morning in July my phone rang, it was a chap in the data centre with a problem, and while it was of great inconvenience to me to shake off my hangover and head into work i agreed, after all i had a meeting at 1 later that day. So i popped on my suit and headed to the data centre.
It was a sunny day, i dropped the roof on my s2000 and cruised into work thinking i was pretty damn cool. Just as i was parking i felt the urge to release some of the trapped gases built up by the night before’s exuberance, i clearly remember tilting onto one cheek and gurgling out a rather unpleasant chuff. I must admit i popped my hand down my pants to ensure i was 'dry'... Thankfully i was but i soon came to realise that that was only a warning shot...
For those for you who don't know, generally data centres are chilly, noisy places, with the A/C on full blast keeping the rows and rows of servers cool. I was shown to the server i was to work at and pulled up a stool to sit at it. I worked diligently totally engrossed, the noise of the A/C distracting me from the occasional little chuff and i shuffled from one buttock to other on the cool plastic stool.
After 30mins of so i was finished and stood up to close the rack, but something wasn’t quite right, in my panic i popped my hand down to investigate, but when i retracted my hand this time i was greeted by a runny brown sludge, strangely cool, but very very smelly.
Obviously at this stage panic set in, and i dashed from the data centre to the toilets which were on the floor below, i could now feel the squidgy mess moving around in my boxers, i prayed it didn't leak out on to my suit trousers... I found a cubical and carefully pulled down my trousers to ensure the toxic contents of my pants didn't sully them. Then came the boxers. It was immediately obvious that they were ruined, and my options were fairly limited. Flush them, was my only clear thought, and i did. The next problem was the state of my pooy bottom. Poo smeared all over it from the combination of moving around on the stool and dashing down the stairs, and as my luck seemed to be going that day there was no toilet roll in the cubical. So standing in my Jacket, shirt and tie, with no pants, trousers or shoes on i peeked out of the cubical to check the coast was clear. Some was just leaving... now was my chance, i sprinted in my socks out to the paper towels grabbed a handful and returned to my cubical to clean up my mess...
Things unfortunately were getting worse, when i returned the toilet had become blocked by my full pants and was beginning to overflow, time was limited i struggled to clean the remaining poo form my bum using the dry and non absorbent paper towels and had no other option but to add them to the pan as they were used. At this point my bum was reasonably clean, so i pulled my trouser back on and then did something really silly. I decided to give the loo a goodbye flush (maybe it was the fear of someone identifying my pants and tracing them back to me) ... the toilet spewed its filthy contents all over the floor. st covered paper towels were floating between cubicles, there was nothing else for it. I ran. Pushing past a member of senior management as he entered the toilets, and i continued to run, all the way out into the street.
I have to admit, i was in a cold sweat, thoughts of a disciplinary running through my mind for my dirty protest, when my phone rang. It was a colleague who was checking i was out of bed and would be attending the meeting at 1 o'clock. I had half an hour to get myself into a presentable state.
All i could think was i can't sit in a meeting with a semi pooy bum with no boxers on, what if some shows through the trousers when i am sitting down. So i headed to Marks and Spencer for some new briefs. Now buying pants isn't particularly embarrassing so i selected the closest pair to me and paid for them... however what is embarrassing is having to approach the security guard at the changing rooms, produce from my marks and spencer bag a pair of boxers and a receipt and announce 'I am going in here to try these on, however i have already paid for them, and when I leave I will be wearing them, OK?'
I was an IT consultant for a large telecoms company, but i had the pleasure of working from home, as you can imagine this meant late nights watching poker and drinking cans of lager with my laptop on my knee, followed by lazy mornings lying in bed with my laptop on my chest while watching Frasier. However this one morning in July my phone rang, it was a chap in the data centre with a problem, and while it was of great inconvenience to me to shake off my hangover and head into work i agreed, after all i had a meeting at 1 later that day. So i popped on my suit and headed to the data centre.
It was a sunny day, i dropped the roof on my s2000 and cruised into work thinking i was pretty damn cool. Just as i was parking i felt the urge to release some of the trapped gases built up by the night before’s exuberance, i clearly remember tilting onto one cheek and gurgling out a rather unpleasant chuff. I must admit i popped my hand down my pants to ensure i was 'dry'... Thankfully i was but i soon came to realise that that was only a warning shot...
For those for you who don't know, generally data centres are chilly, noisy places, with the A/C on full blast keeping the rows and rows of servers cool. I was shown to the server i was to work at and pulled up a stool to sit at it. I worked diligently totally engrossed, the noise of the A/C distracting me from the occasional little chuff and i shuffled from one buttock to other on the cool plastic stool.
After 30mins of so i was finished and stood up to close the rack, but something wasn’t quite right, in my panic i popped my hand down to investigate, but when i retracted my hand this time i was greeted by a runny brown sludge, strangely cool, but very very smelly.
Obviously at this stage panic set in, and i dashed from the data centre to the toilets which were on the floor below, i could now feel the squidgy mess moving around in my boxers, i prayed it didn't leak out on to my suit trousers... I found a cubical and carefully pulled down my trousers to ensure the toxic contents of my pants didn't sully them. Then came the boxers. It was immediately obvious that they were ruined, and my options were fairly limited. Flush them, was my only clear thought, and i did. The next problem was the state of my pooy bottom. Poo smeared all over it from the combination of moving around on the stool and dashing down the stairs, and as my luck seemed to be going that day there was no toilet roll in the cubical. So standing in my Jacket, shirt and tie, with no pants, trousers or shoes on i peeked out of the cubical to check the coast was clear. Some was just leaving... now was my chance, i sprinted in my socks out to the paper towels grabbed a handful and returned to my cubical to clean up my mess...
Things unfortunately were getting worse, when i returned the toilet had become blocked by my full pants and was beginning to overflow, time was limited i struggled to clean the remaining poo form my bum using the dry and non absorbent paper towels and had no other option but to add them to the pan as they were used. At this point my bum was reasonably clean, so i pulled my trouser back on and then did something really silly. I decided to give the loo a goodbye flush (maybe it was the fear of someone identifying my pants and tracing them back to me) ... the toilet spewed its filthy contents all over the floor. s
t covered paper towels were floating between cubicles, there was nothing else for it. I ran. Pushing past a member of senior management as he entered the toilets, and i continued to run, all the way out into the street. I have to admit, i was in a cold sweat, thoughts of a disciplinary running through my mind for my dirty protest, when my phone rang. It was a colleague who was checking i was out of bed and would be attending the meeting at 1 o'clock. I had half an hour to get myself into a presentable state.
All i could think was i can't sit in a meeting with a semi pooy bum with no boxers on, what if some shows through the trousers when i am sitting down. So i headed to Marks and Spencer for some new briefs. Now buying pants isn't particularly embarrassing so i selected the closest pair to me and paid for them... however what is embarrassing is having to approach the security guard at the changing rooms, produce from my marks and spencer bag a pair of boxers and a receipt and announce 'I am going in here to try these on, however i have already paid for them, and when I leave I will be wearing them, OK?'
snowy slopes said:
toohuge said:
This thread is epic. Thank you ajcj, i giggled so much. When questioned by the OH what are you laughing about I told her. She didn't share the same enthusiasm as I did.
Isnt it funny how women dont find this funny, but blokes doMudSkipper said:
snowy slopes said:
toohuge said:
This thread is epic. Thank you ajcj, i giggled so much. When questioned by the OH what are you laughing about I told her. She didn't share the same enthusiasm as I did.
Isnt it funny how women dont find this funny, but blokes do
Crispy Rice said:
Having read others' cathartic contributions to this thread i thought i should add my own story.
I was an IT consultant for a large telecoms company, but i had the pleasure of working from home, as you can imagine this meant late nights watching poker and drinking cans of lager with my laptop on my knee, followed by lazy mornings lying in bed with my laptop on my chest while watching Frasier. However this one morning in July my phone rang, it was a chap in the data centre with a problem, and while it was of great inconvenience to me to shake off my hangover and head into work i agreed, after all i had a meeting at 1 later that day. So i popped on my suit and headed to the data centre.
It was a sunny day, i dropped the roof on my s2000 and cruised into work thinking i was pretty damn cool. Just as i was parking i felt the urge to release some of the trapped gases built up by the night before’s exuberance, i clearly remember tilting onto one cheek and gurgling out a rather unpleasant chuff. I must admit i popped my hand down my pants to ensure i was 'dry'... Thankfully i was but i soon came to realise that that was only a warning shot...
For those for you who don't know, generally data centres are chilly, noisy places, with the A/C on full blast keeping the rows and rows of servers cool. I was shown to the server i was to work at and pulled up a stool to sit at it. I worked diligently totally engrossed, the noise of the A/C distracting me from the occasional little chuff and i shuffled from one buttock to other on the cool plastic stool.
After 30mins of so i was finished and stood up to close the rack, but something wasn’t quite right, in my panic i popped my hand down to investigate, but when i retracted my hand this time i was greeted by a runny brown sludge, strangely cool, but very very smelly.
Obviously at this stage panic set in, and i dashed from the data centre to the toilets which were on the floor below, i could now feel the squidgy mess moving around in my boxers, i prayed it didn't leak out on to my suit trousers... I found a cubical and carefully pulled down my trousers to ensure the toxic contents of my pants didn't sully them. Then came the boxers. It was immediately obvious that they were ruined, and my options were fairly limited. Flush them, was my only clear thought, and i did. The next problem was the state of my pooy bottom. Poo smeared all over it from the combination of moving around on the stool and dashing down the stairs, and as my luck seemed to be going that day there was no toilet roll in the cubical. So standing in my Jacket, shirt and tie, with no pants, trousers or shoes on i peeked out of the cubical to check the coast was clear. Some was just leaving... now was my chance, i sprinted in my socks out to the paper towels grabbed a handful and returned to my cubical to clean up my mess...
Things unfortunately were getting worse, when i returned the toilet had become blocked by my full pants and was beginning to overflow, time was limited i struggled to clean the remaining poo form my bum using the dry and non absorbent paper towels and had no other option but to add them to the pan as they were used. At this point my bum was reasonably clean, so i pulled my trouser back on and then did something really silly. I decided to give the loo a goodbye flush (maybe it was the fear of someone identifying my pants and tracing them back to me) ... the toilet spewed its filthy contents all over the floor. st covered paper towels were floating between cubicles, there was nothing else for it. I ran. Pushing past a member of senior management as he entered the toilets, and i continued to run, all the way out into the street.
I have to admit, i was in a cold sweat, thoughts of a disciplinary running through my mind for my dirty protest, when my phone rang. It was a colleague who was checking i was out of bed and would be attending the meeting at 1 o'clock. I had half an hour to get myself into a presentable state.
All i could think was i can't sit in a meeting with a semi pooy bum with no boxers on, what if some shows through the trousers when i am sitting down. So i headed to Marks and Spencer for some new briefs. Now buying pants isn't particularly embarrassing so i selected the closest pair to me and paid for them... however what is embarrassing is having to approach the security guard at the changing rooms, produce from my marks and spencer bag a pair of boxers and a receipt and announce 'I am going in here to try these on, however i have already paid for them, and when I leave I will be wearing them, OK?'
One post in 23 months and boy, was it worth the wait!! That was hilarious. I was an IT consultant for a large telecoms company, but i had the pleasure of working from home, as you can imagine this meant late nights watching poker and drinking cans of lager with my laptop on my knee, followed by lazy mornings lying in bed with my laptop on my chest while watching Frasier. However this one morning in July my phone rang, it was a chap in the data centre with a problem, and while it was of great inconvenience to me to shake off my hangover and head into work i agreed, after all i had a meeting at 1 later that day. So i popped on my suit and headed to the data centre.
It was a sunny day, i dropped the roof on my s2000 and cruised into work thinking i was pretty damn cool. Just as i was parking i felt the urge to release some of the trapped gases built up by the night before’s exuberance, i clearly remember tilting onto one cheek and gurgling out a rather unpleasant chuff. I must admit i popped my hand down my pants to ensure i was 'dry'... Thankfully i was but i soon came to realise that that was only a warning shot...
For those for you who don't know, generally data centres are chilly, noisy places, with the A/C on full blast keeping the rows and rows of servers cool. I was shown to the server i was to work at and pulled up a stool to sit at it. I worked diligently totally engrossed, the noise of the A/C distracting me from the occasional little chuff and i shuffled from one buttock to other on the cool plastic stool.
After 30mins of so i was finished and stood up to close the rack, but something wasn’t quite right, in my panic i popped my hand down to investigate, but when i retracted my hand this time i was greeted by a runny brown sludge, strangely cool, but very very smelly.
Obviously at this stage panic set in, and i dashed from the data centre to the toilets which were on the floor below, i could now feel the squidgy mess moving around in my boxers, i prayed it didn't leak out on to my suit trousers... I found a cubical and carefully pulled down my trousers to ensure the toxic contents of my pants didn't sully them. Then came the boxers. It was immediately obvious that they were ruined, and my options were fairly limited. Flush them, was my only clear thought, and i did. The next problem was the state of my pooy bottom. Poo smeared all over it from the combination of moving around on the stool and dashing down the stairs, and as my luck seemed to be going that day there was no toilet roll in the cubical. So standing in my Jacket, shirt and tie, with no pants, trousers or shoes on i peeked out of the cubical to check the coast was clear. Some was just leaving... now was my chance, i sprinted in my socks out to the paper towels grabbed a handful and returned to my cubical to clean up my mess...
Things unfortunately were getting worse, when i returned the toilet had become blocked by my full pants and was beginning to overflow, time was limited i struggled to clean the remaining poo form my bum using the dry and non absorbent paper towels and had no other option but to add them to the pan as they were used. At this point my bum was reasonably clean, so i pulled my trouser back on and then did something really silly. I decided to give the loo a goodbye flush (maybe it was the fear of someone identifying my pants and tracing them back to me) ... the toilet spewed its filthy contents all over the floor. s
t covered paper towels were floating between cubicles, there was nothing else for it. I ran. Pushing past a member of senior management as he entered the toilets, and i continued to run, all the way out into the street. I have to admit, i was in a cold sweat, thoughts of a disciplinary running through my mind for my dirty protest, when my phone rang. It was a colleague who was checking i was out of bed and would be attending the meeting at 1 o'clock. I had half an hour to get myself into a presentable state.
All i could think was i can't sit in a meeting with a semi pooy bum with no boxers on, what if some shows through the trousers when i am sitting down. So i headed to Marks and Spencer for some new briefs. Now buying pants isn't particularly embarrassing so i selected the closest pair to me and paid for them... however what is embarrassing is having to approach the security guard at the changing rooms, produce from my marks and spencer bag a pair of boxers and a receipt and announce 'I am going in here to try these on, however i have already paid for them, and when I leave I will be wearing them, OK?'
Going back to the topic title.
OK, this morning I am not feeling too good, stomach giving me lots of grief. I got a pain so decided to stand up and leave for the toilet, I reached the door of the office and by then I had nearly shat myself
luckily I didn’t.
I got into the toilets and parked myself on the seat ready to unleash hell. It didn’t come fortunately as just then someone else came in to use trap 2.
So I’m sitting there minding my own business and all I hear from next door is “HHHMMMMMMAHH” “HHHEEeeeeEEerrrrgh” SPLOOSH.
I swear the pan cracked at that point, I quickly cleaned up and left before he flushed as I’m pretty sure he won’t be leaving without a flood on his hands.
OK, this morning I am not feeling too good, stomach giving me lots of grief. I got a pain so decided to stand up and leave for the toilet, I reached the door of the office and by then I had nearly shat myself
luckily I didn’t.I got into the toilets and parked myself on the seat ready to unleash hell. It didn’t come fortunately as just then someone else came in to use trap 2.
So I’m sitting there minding my own business and all I hear from next door is “HHHMMMMMMAHH” “HHHEEeeeeEEerrrrgh” SPLOOSH.
I swear the pan cracked at that point, I quickly cleaned up and left before he flushed as I’m pretty sure he won’t be leaving without a flood on his hands.
Just found this which I posted a few years ago on another forum:
For reasons I shan’t bother you with – and, let’s be honest: you don’t need to know – I didn’t get to have a crap yesterday.
About 15 minutes ago my bowels gave me a ‘head’s up’ that toilet action was imminent and it would be prudent to ensure that there is enough andrex in the small room to deal with a national emergency.
So I review the paper situation for both bott wiping duties – check – and for something to pass the time in case this is a multi-part operation – last weeks Private Eye – check.
Trousers down. Relax. And felt something akin to the size of a baseball bat slip through the departure lounge and silently into the bowl.
Having let go of something that, when it reaches the sea, will have to be named as a hazard to shipping, and all being well in my world, I rise to inspect the mightiness of my work.
And there’s NOTHING there. Talk about robbed of one of life’s pleasures – the bugger has gone right round the bend in one leaving only a vague skidmark as evidence of its’ passing.
For reasons I shan’t bother you with – and, let’s be honest: you don’t need to know – I didn’t get to have a crap yesterday.
About 15 minutes ago my bowels gave me a ‘head’s up’ that toilet action was imminent and it would be prudent to ensure that there is enough andrex in the small room to deal with a national emergency.
So I review the paper situation for both bott wiping duties – check – and for something to pass the time in case this is a multi-part operation – last weeks Private Eye – check.
Trousers down. Relax. And felt something akin to the size of a baseball bat slip through the departure lounge and silently into the bowl.
Having let go of something that, when it reaches the sea, will have to be named as a hazard to shipping, and all being well in my world, I rise to inspect the mightiness of my work.
And there’s NOTHING there. Talk about robbed of one of life’s pleasures – the bugger has gone right round the bend in one leaving only a vague skidmark as evidence of its’ passing.
Having had numerous lols at this all-time-classic thread I thought it's probably time I gave it some of my own output so to speak..
I was up in Workington visting some friends for an evening of playing cards and drinking booze, about halfway through the proceedings I was sat there having already consumed a decent size pizza and a couple of those big bottles of Leffe I was feeling pleasantly tipsy (I'm such a lightweight!) and I felt a bit of a rumble, nothing too serious and I made a mental note that I'd probably have to drop the kids off at the pool when I got home.
An hour or so later and I had a bit more of a serious cramping feeling - now I didn't fancy going for a dump at my mate's house as there is only one bog and it has no lock on the door so with 12-15 lads all drinking your chances of sneaking one out without getting disturbed are quite slim. Not to mention of course the traditional japery of turning off the bathroom light while you know someone is in there. Sod it I think I can hold on to this till I get home. Half an hour later and I'm mid-conversation with a mate when it becomes clear that I really, really can't hold this till I get home. I rather brusquely excuse myself from the conversation and try to head to the bathroom, the combination of the alcohol and the abdominal shockwaves made this a rather hard journey and I knock several things over on the way.
Finally I make it to the porcelin sanctuary which is mercifully unoccupied and as soon as I have landed I open the taps.
Nothing happens.
Yep for some reason the message that it was ok to stop hanging on hadn't made it as far as my colon. Just as I'm sat there panicing, thinking any minute someone is going to come barging in on my suffering a massive turd bigger than most newborn babies expells itself from my arse - along with the sort of stench that people get Gulf War syndrome from. Quickly I clean up myself and the bowl and relieved to have got away with the perfect crime I head back upstairs to join the party.
Half an hour later another wave of cramps. I stagger back to the bog and what can only be described as brown water jets out of my arse. After another cycle of pretty much the same thing again I manage to convince my mate who was driving that now would be a good time to head back, that trip back was nightmarish - over an hour of high-speed twisty lakes roads fighting the cramps and trying desperately to keep my arse clenched shut so as not to befoul the passenger seat of m mate's Leon, wishing simultaneously that he would take it easy so as not to push me over the edge and that he would hammer it so I could get back to the safety of home ASAP.
Finally the trip ends and as soon as we get in 1st stop is the bathroom, I plonk my gratefull cheeks on the seat and...
...
...
Nothing, not even a squeak or a fart. Somehow I felt slightly cheated.
I was up in Workington visting some friends for an evening of playing cards and drinking booze, about halfway through the proceedings I was sat there having already consumed a decent size pizza and a couple of those big bottles of Leffe I was feeling pleasantly tipsy (I'm such a lightweight!) and I felt a bit of a rumble, nothing too serious and I made a mental note that I'd probably have to drop the kids off at the pool when I got home.
An hour or so later and I had a bit more of a serious cramping feeling - now I didn't fancy going for a dump at my mate's house as there is only one bog and it has no lock on the door so with 12-15 lads all drinking your chances of sneaking one out without getting disturbed are quite slim. Not to mention of course the traditional japery of turning off the bathroom light while you know someone is in there. Sod it I think I can hold on to this till I get home. Half an hour later and I'm mid-conversation with a mate when it becomes clear that I really, really can't hold this till I get home. I rather brusquely excuse myself from the conversation and try to head to the bathroom, the combination of the alcohol and the abdominal shockwaves made this a rather hard journey and I knock several things over on the way.
Finally I make it to the porcelin sanctuary which is mercifully unoccupied and as soon as I have landed I open the taps.
Nothing happens.
Yep for some reason the message that it was ok to stop hanging on hadn't made it as far as my colon. Just as I'm sat there panicing, thinking any minute someone is going to come barging in on my suffering a massive turd bigger than most newborn babies expells itself from my arse - along with the sort of stench that people get Gulf War syndrome from. Quickly I clean up myself and the bowl and relieved to have got away with the perfect crime I head back upstairs to join the party.
Half an hour later another wave of cramps. I stagger back to the bog and what can only be described as brown water jets out of my arse. After another cycle of pretty much the same thing again I manage to convince my mate who was driving that now would be a good time to head back, that trip back was nightmarish - over an hour of high-speed twisty lakes roads fighting the cramps and trying desperately to keep my arse clenched shut so as not to befoul the passenger seat of m mate's Leon, wishing simultaneously that he would take it easy so as not to push me over the edge and that he would hammer it so I could get back to the safety of home ASAP.
Finally the trip ends and as soon as we get in 1st stop is the bathroom, I plonk my gratefull cheeks on the seat and...
...
...
Nothing, not even a squeak or a fart. Somehow I felt slightly cheated.
Edited by KaraK on Wednesday 8th September 13:51
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