Men Gruntin while in the mens room
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This is a cautionary tale and - unlike most of the other reviews on this product - this is a true story and its authenticity can be qualified by a small news item that appeared in the Toronto Star's local news section during the month of April in 2013, much to my chagrin.
I would consider myself a prudent man. Not given to bouts of outspokenness or craving attention, and certainly not one to rock the boat. On any given day I can be found reading a crime novel on a park bench in the middle of the city, soaking in the opulence of nature while nibbling on my tuna fish sandwiches and fending off the voracious gulls and squirrels that threaten to spoil my repose. This is me. Law-abiding and introspective. Which is why it came as a shock to me to find myself incarcerated because of the Devil's Confectionery, Satan's Sweetmeat, Lucifer's Lozenges - the horror that is known as 'Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears".
I'll set the scene: It was late winter / early spring in Toronto and the city had just been digging itself out from a late season snow-storm. I was heading to Pearson International Airport for a redeye flight to Amsterdam in order to give the Dutch arm of our company some training on the new software that had been installed (I'm deliberately being vague to prevent my place of work from being linked in any way to the incident that occurred). I had just finished packing, checked the time and found I was running late, my flight was at 7:10 PM and it was now almost 5:00 PM. Cursing softly, I ran out to the car and threw my bags in the trunk, hitting the gas a little harder than usual in my haste to make it to the Long Term Parking Lot as soon as possible. Luckily traffic was light on the 401 and I made it to the airport in record time, but knew that my chances of making the flight were still at risk if I didn't use my time wisely.
I hadn't eaten since lunch, and I was feeling a bit hungry, my stomach rumbling loudly in protestation, which caused me to look around at the other travellers rushing past me in the busy terminal, mortified that my bodily noises might be heard by others. I briskly checked my watch and decided that I had enough time to grab a quick snack before going through the baggage check and security, and would get something more substantial once I was checked through security. I spotted a vending machine nestled in a relatively low-traffic corner of the terminal and rushed over, already pulling out my credit-card and mentally assessing what I had a craving for so as to save time interacting with the machine. My eyes scanned the colourful array of confection quickly, coming to rest on a tantalizing, rainbow-coloured bag of gummy bears with the simple white and red logo "Haribo" emblazoned across the bag in what appeared to be a slightly tweaked Helvetica Rounded font.
Now I'd to pause here in the story for a moment to underscore the importance of making proper choices. I was hungry. When you're hungry, you should eat FOOD. FOOD is defined as "a nutritious substance that people consume to maintain life", this is what food is. These days, the definition of the word 'food' has been b
dized and the meaning has been broadened to include veritably any material that can be digested, or rather, chewed and swallowed without causing death or severe illness. "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" are NOT food. They aren't even from this planet. I imagine their origins being conceived in a boardroom in hell by a top team of Creative Pain Administers, with senior level Demons rubbing their hands together in ghoulish delight as Hell's Chief Chemist slowly lifts the veil on their new creation.
The point here being, I made a very, very, very poor choice. I pushed the button and the vending machine ejected the brightly coloured bag into my awaiting hands. I had always liked gummy bears - they were bright but rather innocuous, they weren't overly sweet so as to become cloying and - of course - each candy came in the visage of a rather happy, docile bear reminiscent of the picture one's mind's eye holds of all anthropomorphic bears from Yogi to Winnie.
The way I figured it, I was taking a bit of a holiday from life, so I could relax my fastidiously regimented daily schedule a little to allow for some frivolity. After all, I was going to be in Amsterdam come morning with 16 hours to kill before I had to be training the Dutch employees, maybe I would take a trip down to one of the Coffee Shops in the Red-Light District and really let my hair down! No, I wouldn't do that. I would see that area of the city from the bus as I went to the hotel where I would eat at the hotel restaurant and drink sparkling water. So I'd better enjoy the gummy bears, my one extravagance to commemorate my break from routine.
I joined the queue in the KLM line, which was mercifully short, most likely because all of the passengers for my flight had already been checked through as the flight was scheduled to depart in an hour. I checked my watch again, frowned, and absent-mindedly opened the bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and began to munch on them as the line slowly advanced. To be fair, they tasted fine - just like every other manufacturer's brand of the colourful candy, and they were sugar-free to boot. This is what made the whole incident that followed so baffling - if they had tasted 'off' or 'different' I most likely wouldn't have continued to shovel them into my mouth absent-mindedly while daydreaming about what I would order to eat from room-service in my hotel in Amsterdam.
As I gave the attendant my e-ticket and she weighed my bags, the first of the pains began in my stomach. I thought nothing of it at first, chalking it up to the fact that I needed something more substantial than gummy worms to tackle my hunger, but over the course of the next five-minutes the shooting pain began to come in more rapid succession. At this point, I had my boarding pass printed and rubbing my stomach a little, I proceeded to security. I briefly entertained the thought of trying to find a restroom before going through security, but at that point my discomfort was manageable and I didn't think it was get any worse, certainly not within the amount of time it would take to clear security.
I joined the line and started fishing for my passport to present to the agent checking tickets, I felt a thin sheen of sweat break out on my forehead and underarms, and my features flushed for a moment as a wave of heat washed over me. I didn't pay it much heed as going through security always caused me great anxiety and I chalked it up to pre-flight jitters. It was only as I stood face to face with the agent and handed her my passport and ticket that I had a glimpse of the agony that was about to begin. It felt like time rippled for a moment, as if my consciousness buckled so intense was the pain that fired through my bowels. I grimaced spastically and emitted a low moan, and felt myself take an involuntary step sideways. Stars shot though my head briefly and my vision blurred and then snapped back into focus. The agent was staring at me with slight consternation and asked me if I was alright. I pulled myself together, stood up straight and declared that I was fine, mortified that I had had a lapse of decorum not only in public but at the security clearance in an airport!
As I fumbled off my belt to go through the metal detector, the pain in my stomach increased and I practically had to sit on the floor to take my shoes off, terrified of what would happen if I bent at the middle to do it. It was becoming increasingly more evident to me that this wasn't just a stomach ache. No, this was something much worse. As a child I had had a bout of diarrhea after a trip to Mexico with my family, I remember the feeling of nausea that swept through me before my child self had surrendered to the gas pains and parked myself on the toilet for an hour, s***ting until I felt like I didn't have any bones left. And that was how I was feeling now, with several key differences - the pain was worse, the sense of an impending bowel movement was so formidable it gave me temporary amnesia, and it took all of my will-power, all of it, to clench my butt cheeks together to prevent my sphincter from exploding.
A sudden shock of pain racked my body, and I half wondered if I was going to give birth to a Tasmanian Devil. The crazy, fever-induced image of said cartoon animal chasing Bugs Bunny through the splashy, volcanic s***-kettle that was my stomach, caused me to illicit a short, maniacal bark of laughter as I approached the Metal detector, a wild, distant look in my eyes, sweat now beginning to poor off of my like a long-distance runner in Kenya. The security agent on the other side of the detector shot a quick glance over to her co-worker who narrowed his eyes and made a subtle movement towards his holster. My breathing became uneven as I entered the metal detector and I realized with alarm that I had taken off my socks without even registering it, and one of my shirt tails was untucked at the front. I held my breath, my eyes bulging dangerously from my head as the machine scanned me. As I shakily moved forward towards the agent for a pat down, my stomach began to illicit sounds that can only be described as otherworldly. It started off a sort-off bubbling sound heard from afar and grew in pitch and intensity at an alarming rate. My jaw dropped in shock as what I can only describe as the sound of an agonized wailing alley-cat in heat with a persistent Doppler effect added to it's voice emitted from some nether-region of my intestines. The officer's eyes widened in alarm, and she kept her eyes glued to my stomach as she thoroughly patted me down. As she reached my shins, I felt my innards suddenly expand, and plummet towards my rectum. With cat-like reflexes I squeezed my sphincter shut with what seemed like nano-seconds to spare, and I knew, I KNEW that if I didn't get the bathroom immediately I would s*** myself.
With a Herculean effort and all of the strength that I could muster, I forced my buttcheeks together knowing that one false move would open the floodgates. I began to walk like a duck, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, not even caring now what other people were seeing in front of them - a disheveled, barefoot 40-year-old business man, red-faced and bulgy-eyed, sweating profusely, shaking slightly and walking without bending his knees. With single-minded intensity I grabbed my carry-on, shoes and socks from out of the plastic tub that had passed the x-ray inspection, and without putting anything back on, I turned on my heels with the intention of finding the nearest restroom and slowly dying there one squirt at a time.
But that's not what happened.
I turned to go and found myself staring at three armed agents who stopped me and asked if I would follow them. "Why, what's the matter?" I stammered, wincing slightly as the act of speech seemed to strain the tenuous and extremely fragile truce I had negotiated between my bowels and the tempest that raged within. "I have to go the bathroom, RIGHT NOW" I pleaded. "Just follow us please", they said, leaving no room for argument. The other travellers clearing the security check stared with curiosity and revulsion at the spectacle unfolding before them, whispering amongst themselves and hurrying to pack up their belongings and get as far away from me as possible, no doubt assuming that the airport had nabbed some sort of domestic terrorist. If I hadn't been feverishly trying to hold back the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, I likely would have died of shame.
With each step I took towards the room that they ushered me into, I felt that my legs would give way. I marvelled at how strong the human will could be. Marvelled at what was essentially patching a hole in the Hoover Dam with bubblegum could actually be sustained indefinitely. Maybe I would make it through this ordeal after all. The room they brought me into was an examination room. I had pretty much stopped registering details of my environment as my consciousness closed off all but the absolutely necessary functions - breathing, ability to walk - but I snapped back to reality when I heard the snap of rubber. The slow dawning of realization poked through my agony and stoic resolve as I turned to face an agent dawning rubber gloves.
"Sir, we are going to perform a cavity search on you", a young fresh-faced agent stated in a firm but emotionless voice. His short-cropped, blond hair was immaculate and for a crazy moment I wondered if he was an actor and this was all some sort of elaborate practical joke done to amuse bored kids watching Youtube. He must have taken my tortured silence for resistance because he looked at me sharply and said "Lower your pants and underwear please, and face the desk". Panic started to grip me in it's icy grasp and the sudden adrenaline threatened to destroy my sphincters bulwarks and rend my anus in two. I inhaled sharply and with a pained gasp I doubled up my efforts to clench my cheeks together. "Sir, please", I begged deferring to this kid in an act of desperation, "I have to go to the bathroom. You can follow me into the stall if you need to but I had some bad "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and now I feel like'", but they had stopped listening and smirked at each other, two of the other agents - a tall, dark-haired female and a shorter, balding fat man - looked away from me and I could see them shaking a little as they stifled their laughs. "Sir, face the wall, put your hands on the desk and spread your cheeks" the young agent stated, a lop-sided grin on his face. "But'", I began to protest, and then a fresh shock of pain forced me to stop and lean on the table for support as an ungodly howling rose from my stomach, something between the dying moans of a Wholly Mammoth, and the sound of bubble-wrap popping underwater. I exhaled shakily and my focus began to narrow, as I rallied for the final battle. Shaking uncontrollably and sweat literally raining down onto the tabletop in from of me, I turned to face the wall and heard a meek childlike voice, pleading from somewhere in the room. "Please", it said, and then again, "Please". From somewhere within me my mind recognized that this sound had issued from me, although my consciousness had now begun to separate from my body and I held my breath and prayed to God for strength.
"He probably has some heroin or something up there that opened up", the female guard said as a part of me that hadn't escaped into the ether yet acknowledged that she was behind me to my left, "probably high as a kite, LOOK at him", she said. The shorter guard agreed with a snort, off to my right.
"Spread your cheeks" the young agent said, his voice directly behind me and lower than the other two, "and bend over".
"Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegodpleasegod", I whispered in a desperate, maniacal mantra, not even aware of my surroundings anymore. I felt like I was lost in an opium fog with half-snatched images and sounds filtering through to create a nonsensical version of reality. Another volley of pain tore through me and I involuntarily leaned forward over the desk, my focus completely narrowed now to a spot on the wall two feet in front of me, a curious imperfection in the what seemed to be white-washed stone wall. It was a dark blotch about five millimetres long and shaped like a smiling bear, a yellow dancing bear. No, a green bear. No, red. It was all the colours of the rainbow. My god, it was beautiful.
It just took something as simple as a slight breeze to trigger Armegeddon. That's all. No trumpets, no fanfare, no fire raining from the heavens, no dogs and cats living together in harmony, no finger on the button, no prophet to predict it, no nothing. As I stared at the rainbow bear smiling and dancing in front of me, my mouth agape, drooling, eyes glazed and blood-shot, face coated with a sheen of sweat, I heard the softest sound, an exhalation from the young agent behind me, and then at the same instant the warm air of his breath feather across my butt cheeks. For just a moment, maybe less, maybe a split second, even a nanosecond, I felt the presence of God there with me in that room as neurons began to misfire at a blinding rate, nerve ending bristled and muscles twitched reflexively. I stood on the brink with one foot hovering over the edge, and then without taking a step, I found myself plummeting.
With a sound like an extra large plastic ketchup bottle being run over by a Mac truck, my sphincter released. The pressure of the blast pushed me hard into the desk and the legs of the desk screeched as they scraped across the floor. My body remained rigid for a moment and I experienced a relief that can only be described as orgasmic in it's purity. My eyes rolled back in my head and my tongue lolled out of my head like a half-retarded dog and I emitted a low, sustained groan that grew in pitch as the filthy torrent pushed its way out of my body. Tremors wracked my body and I must have looked like a fish out of water with an endless stream of s*** firing out of its ass. Other sounds and sensations started to filter in now as my consciousness began to materialize once more. The muffled scream of a dungeon filled with prisoners near death radiated from my stomach, the rushing sound of litres of liquid trying to escape through an aperture too small to accommodate it all at the same time, the omnipresent sound of chunky liquid spattering against a hard surface with great force, the high-pitched screaming of a woman's voice calling out to God, another voice sobbing uncontrollably imploring to "make it stop!!!" and my own ecstatic, monotone wail.
When my ordeal had eventually run its course, I was left panting for breath and wobbly legged, half-crying, half-laughing with relief, barely lucid and feeling as if I had birthed an elephant. My colon felt like someone had poured chile sauce all over it and then sent in a colony of fire ants to eat it. Through my sobs I heard the sound of dripping, like when the sprinklers are eventually turned off after an office fire, or after a thunderstorm when the willow that overhangs a pond continues to rain down long after the sky has stopped. From behind me, the sobbing continued and I heard someone trying to speak into a walkie-talkie but nonsensical words were all that the man could speak, which sounded like the ravings of a lunatic.
With great relief, I slowly pulled myself off the table, legs trembling, my stomach eliciting one last sound, a loud prolonged gas bubbling that eerily resembled a pig orgasm. I slowly turned my head to survey the devastation and in that instant, if I had had a pencil or some other sharp object, I probably would have gouged my eyes out in revulsion. And the smell. The smell was enough to drive a man insane. It was the stench of rotting potatoes mixed with sulphur and ammonia, cooked in a broth of chicken feces and left to age for two weeks in a yeasty stew at the bottom of a French outhouse. After half a whiff of this ghoulish brine, I immediately stopped breathing through my nose but the taste was to remain in the back of my throat for months to come.
The young agent had taken the brunt of the foul witch's brew, and at first I couldn't process what I was seeing. I thought somehow the young blond kid had been spirited away and replaced by a brown Golem, or a ATV rider that had spent the better part of a day driving through every mud puddle he could find after a torrential downpour. With some degree of compartmentalization I came to understand that for some unfathomable reason this kid hadn't moved - or hadn't been able to move - through the entire fecal deluge. He had weathered the entire assault head-on like some sort of hero from Greek Mythology. I had given this poor schmuck a one-man s*** bukkake that would make a Brazillian pornographer retch with disgust, and he was still in the same position he must have been from the moment of first impact. I tried to comprehend how he must be feeling, what he must be going through psychologically, but it became evident very quickly that he had become very broken. No doubt forced so deeply within himself once the firehose has been turned on that there was little to no hope of him ever coming back from it, certainly not without extensive psychotherapy or a lobotomy. I looked beyond his quivering, catatonic crouched form to see a perfect outline of him cutout on the white wall behind him, either side filled in with a dripping, opaque layer of alternately pulpy and runny fecal stew. I noticed two quivering masses at either extremes of the room and realized they were humanoid in form, although the caterwauling that was coming from these broken creatures was just blubbering gibberish. And this was the tableau that was burnt into my mind's eye for eternity.
Needless to say, I missed my flight.
In fact the next week is a blur. I have vague recollections of an army of Hazmat clad figures looming through the brown landscape of the soiled room, the slopping sounds of rubber boats squelching in puddles of fetid detritus, uncontrollable wailing and animal-like sounds issuing from the mouths of creatures that had been traumatized beyond their capacity for being put back together, the complete loss of sensation from my waist down as I was rolled through the room on a waterproof gurney, it's wheels struggling to surf on top of the s***-soaked floor. I spent a week or so in the hospital enclosed in a well ventilated, sealed room, with suited doctor coming in on the hour to monitor my vital signs as they tried to rehydrate my body. I had apparently expelled every available drop of water from my body that was possible to sustain life without for a short period of time. All of my clothes were incinerated in the hospital's crematorium, and the soiled bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" was never recovered.
This is my story. It is inconceivable to think that this kind of product can be sold legally and be misrepresented as 'food'. I was lucky, I survived. But as for the families of the survivors, and the survivors themselves, they will forever live with the trauma of the events that took place at Pearson International Airport on that snowy day in April 2013.
I think I just wet myself. I would consider myself a prudent man. Not given to bouts of outspokenness or craving attention, and certainly not one to rock the boat. On any given day I can be found reading a crime novel on a park bench in the middle of the city, soaking in the opulence of nature while nibbling on my tuna fish sandwiches and fending off the voracious gulls and squirrels that threaten to spoil my repose. This is me. Law-abiding and introspective. Which is why it came as a shock to me to find myself incarcerated because of the Devil's Confectionery, Satan's Sweetmeat, Lucifer's Lozenges - the horror that is known as 'Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears".
I'll set the scene: It was late winter / early spring in Toronto and the city had just been digging itself out from a late season snow-storm. I was heading to Pearson International Airport for a redeye flight to Amsterdam in order to give the Dutch arm of our company some training on the new software that had been installed (I'm deliberately being vague to prevent my place of work from being linked in any way to the incident that occurred). I had just finished packing, checked the time and found I was running late, my flight was at 7:10 PM and it was now almost 5:00 PM. Cursing softly, I ran out to the car and threw my bags in the trunk, hitting the gas a little harder than usual in my haste to make it to the Long Term Parking Lot as soon as possible. Luckily traffic was light on the 401 and I made it to the airport in record time, but knew that my chances of making the flight were still at risk if I didn't use my time wisely.
I hadn't eaten since lunch, and I was feeling a bit hungry, my stomach rumbling loudly in protestation, which caused me to look around at the other travellers rushing past me in the busy terminal, mortified that my bodily noises might be heard by others. I briskly checked my watch and decided that I had enough time to grab a quick snack before going through the baggage check and security, and would get something more substantial once I was checked through security. I spotted a vending machine nestled in a relatively low-traffic corner of the terminal and rushed over, already pulling out my credit-card and mentally assessing what I had a craving for so as to save time interacting with the machine. My eyes scanned the colourful array of confection quickly, coming to rest on a tantalizing, rainbow-coloured bag of gummy bears with the simple white and red logo "Haribo" emblazoned across the bag in what appeared to be a slightly tweaked Helvetica Rounded font.
Now I'd to pause here in the story for a moment to underscore the importance of making proper choices. I was hungry. When you're hungry, you should eat FOOD. FOOD is defined as "a nutritious substance that people consume to maintain life", this is what food is. These days, the definition of the word 'food' has been b
dized and the meaning has been broadened to include veritably any material that can be digested, or rather, chewed and swallowed without causing death or severe illness. "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" are NOT food. They aren't even from this planet. I imagine their origins being conceived in a boardroom in hell by a top team of Creative Pain Administers, with senior level Demons rubbing their hands together in ghoulish delight as Hell's Chief Chemist slowly lifts the veil on their new creation.The point here being, I made a very, very, very poor choice. I pushed the button and the vending machine ejected the brightly coloured bag into my awaiting hands. I had always liked gummy bears - they were bright but rather innocuous, they weren't overly sweet so as to become cloying and - of course - each candy came in the visage of a rather happy, docile bear reminiscent of the picture one's mind's eye holds of all anthropomorphic bears from Yogi to Winnie.
The way I figured it, I was taking a bit of a holiday from life, so I could relax my fastidiously regimented daily schedule a little to allow for some frivolity. After all, I was going to be in Amsterdam come morning with 16 hours to kill before I had to be training the Dutch employees, maybe I would take a trip down to one of the Coffee Shops in the Red-Light District and really let my hair down! No, I wouldn't do that. I would see that area of the city from the bus as I went to the hotel where I would eat at the hotel restaurant and drink sparkling water. So I'd better enjoy the gummy bears, my one extravagance to commemorate my break from routine.
I joined the queue in the KLM line, which was mercifully short, most likely because all of the passengers for my flight had already been checked through as the flight was scheduled to depart in an hour. I checked my watch again, frowned, and absent-mindedly opened the bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and began to munch on them as the line slowly advanced. To be fair, they tasted fine - just like every other manufacturer's brand of the colourful candy, and they were sugar-free to boot. This is what made the whole incident that followed so baffling - if they had tasted 'off' or 'different' I most likely wouldn't have continued to shovel them into my mouth absent-mindedly while daydreaming about what I would order to eat from room-service in my hotel in Amsterdam.
As I gave the attendant my e-ticket and she weighed my bags, the first of the pains began in my stomach. I thought nothing of it at first, chalking it up to the fact that I needed something more substantial than gummy worms to tackle my hunger, but over the course of the next five-minutes the shooting pain began to come in more rapid succession. At this point, I had my boarding pass printed and rubbing my stomach a little, I proceeded to security. I briefly entertained the thought of trying to find a restroom before going through security, but at that point my discomfort was manageable and I didn't think it was get any worse, certainly not within the amount of time it would take to clear security.
I joined the line and started fishing for my passport to present to the agent checking tickets, I felt a thin sheen of sweat break out on my forehead and underarms, and my features flushed for a moment as a wave of heat washed over me. I didn't pay it much heed as going through security always caused me great anxiety and I chalked it up to pre-flight jitters. It was only as I stood face to face with the agent and handed her my passport and ticket that I had a glimpse of the agony that was about to begin. It felt like time rippled for a moment, as if my consciousness buckled so intense was the pain that fired through my bowels. I grimaced spastically and emitted a low moan, and felt myself take an involuntary step sideways. Stars shot though my head briefly and my vision blurred and then snapped back into focus. The agent was staring at me with slight consternation and asked me if I was alright. I pulled myself together, stood up straight and declared that I was fine, mortified that I had had a lapse of decorum not only in public but at the security clearance in an airport!
As I fumbled off my belt to go through the metal detector, the pain in my stomach increased and I practically had to sit on the floor to take my shoes off, terrified of what would happen if I bent at the middle to do it. It was becoming increasingly more evident to me that this wasn't just a stomach ache. No, this was something much worse. As a child I had had a bout of diarrhea after a trip to Mexico with my family, I remember the feeling of nausea that swept through me before my child self had surrendered to the gas pains and parked myself on the toilet for an hour, s***ting until I felt like I didn't have any bones left. And that was how I was feeling now, with several key differences - the pain was worse, the sense of an impending bowel movement was so formidable it gave me temporary amnesia, and it took all of my will-power, all of it, to clench my butt cheeks together to prevent my sphincter from exploding.
A sudden shock of pain racked my body, and I half wondered if I was going to give birth to a Tasmanian Devil. The crazy, fever-induced image of said cartoon animal chasing Bugs Bunny through the splashy, volcanic s***-kettle that was my stomach, caused me to illicit a short, maniacal bark of laughter as I approached the Metal detector, a wild, distant look in my eyes, sweat now beginning to poor off of my like a long-distance runner in Kenya. The security agent on the other side of the detector shot a quick glance over to her co-worker who narrowed his eyes and made a subtle movement towards his holster. My breathing became uneven as I entered the metal detector and I realized with alarm that I had taken off my socks without even registering it, and one of my shirt tails was untucked at the front. I held my breath, my eyes bulging dangerously from my head as the machine scanned me. As I shakily moved forward towards the agent for a pat down, my stomach began to illicit sounds that can only be described as otherworldly. It started off a sort-off bubbling sound heard from afar and grew in pitch and intensity at an alarming rate. My jaw dropped in shock as what I can only describe as the sound of an agonized wailing alley-cat in heat with a persistent Doppler effect added to it's voice emitted from some nether-region of my intestines. The officer's eyes widened in alarm, and she kept her eyes glued to my stomach as she thoroughly patted me down. As she reached my shins, I felt my innards suddenly expand, and plummet towards my rectum. With cat-like reflexes I squeezed my sphincter shut with what seemed like nano-seconds to spare, and I knew, I KNEW that if I didn't get the bathroom immediately I would s*** myself.
With a Herculean effort and all of the strength that I could muster, I forced my buttcheeks together knowing that one false move would open the floodgates. I began to walk like a duck, trying to remain as inconspicuous as possible, not even caring now what other people were seeing in front of them - a disheveled, barefoot 40-year-old business man, red-faced and bulgy-eyed, sweating profusely, shaking slightly and walking without bending his knees. With single-minded intensity I grabbed my carry-on, shoes and socks from out of the plastic tub that had passed the x-ray inspection, and without putting anything back on, I turned on my heels with the intention of finding the nearest restroom and slowly dying there one squirt at a time.
But that's not what happened.
I turned to go and found myself staring at three armed agents who stopped me and asked if I would follow them. "Why, what's the matter?" I stammered, wincing slightly as the act of speech seemed to strain the tenuous and extremely fragile truce I had negotiated between my bowels and the tempest that raged within. "I have to go the bathroom, RIGHT NOW" I pleaded. "Just follow us please", they said, leaving no room for argument. The other travellers clearing the security check stared with curiosity and revulsion at the spectacle unfolding before them, whispering amongst themselves and hurrying to pack up their belongings and get as far away from me as possible, no doubt assuming that the airport had nabbed some sort of domestic terrorist. If I hadn't been feverishly trying to hold back the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, I likely would have died of shame.
With each step I took towards the room that they ushered me into, I felt that my legs would give way. I marvelled at how strong the human will could be. Marvelled at what was essentially patching a hole in the Hoover Dam with bubblegum could actually be sustained indefinitely. Maybe I would make it through this ordeal after all. The room they brought me into was an examination room. I had pretty much stopped registering details of my environment as my consciousness closed off all but the absolutely necessary functions - breathing, ability to walk - but I snapped back to reality when I heard the snap of rubber. The slow dawning of realization poked through my agony and stoic resolve as I turned to face an agent dawning rubber gloves.
"Sir, we are going to perform a cavity search on you", a young fresh-faced agent stated in a firm but emotionless voice. His short-cropped, blond hair was immaculate and for a crazy moment I wondered if he was an actor and this was all some sort of elaborate practical joke done to amuse bored kids watching Youtube. He must have taken my tortured silence for resistance because he looked at me sharply and said "Lower your pants and underwear please, and face the desk". Panic started to grip me in it's icy grasp and the sudden adrenaline threatened to destroy my sphincters bulwarks and rend my anus in two. I inhaled sharply and with a pained gasp I doubled up my efforts to clench my cheeks together. "Sir, please", I begged deferring to this kid in an act of desperation, "I have to go to the bathroom. You can follow me into the stall if you need to but I had some bad "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" and now I feel like'", but they had stopped listening and smirked at each other, two of the other agents - a tall, dark-haired female and a shorter, balding fat man - looked away from me and I could see them shaking a little as they stifled their laughs. "Sir, face the wall, put your hands on the desk and spread your cheeks" the young agent stated, a lop-sided grin on his face. "But'", I began to protest, and then a fresh shock of pain forced me to stop and lean on the table for support as an ungodly howling rose from my stomach, something between the dying moans of a Wholly Mammoth, and the sound of bubble-wrap popping underwater. I exhaled shakily and my focus began to narrow, as I rallied for the final battle. Shaking uncontrollably and sweat literally raining down onto the tabletop in from of me, I turned to face the wall and heard a meek childlike voice, pleading from somewhere in the room. "Please", it said, and then again, "Please". From somewhere within me my mind recognized that this sound had issued from me, although my consciousness had now begun to separate from my body and I held my breath and prayed to God for strength.
"He probably has some heroin or something up there that opened up", the female guard said as a part of me that hadn't escaped into the ether yet acknowledged that she was behind me to my left, "probably high as a kite, LOOK at him", she said. The shorter guard agreed with a snort, off to my right.
"Spread your cheeks" the young agent said, his voice directly behind me and lower than the other two, "and bend over".
"Pleasegodpleasegodpleasegodpleasegod", I whispered in a desperate, maniacal mantra, not even aware of my surroundings anymore. I felt like I was lost in an opium fog with half-snatched images and sounds filtering through to create a nonsensical version of reality. Another volley of pain tore through me and I involuntarily leaned forward over the desk, my focus completely narrowed now to a spot on the wall two feet in front of me, a curious imperfection in the what seemed to be white-washed stone wall. It was a dark blotch about five millimetres long and shaped like a smiling bear, a yellow dancing bear. No, a green bear. No, red. It was all the colours of the rainbow. My god, it was beautiful.
It just took something as simple as a slight breeze to trigger Armegeddon. That's all. No trumpets, no fanfare, no fire raining from the heavens, no dogs and cats living together in harmony, no finger on the button, no prophet to predict it, no nothing. As I stared at the rainbow bear smiling and dancing in front of me, my mouth agape, drooling, eyes glazed and blood-shot, face coated with a sheen of sweat, I heard the softest sound, an exhalation from the young agent behind me, and then at the same instant the warm air of his breath feather across my butt cheeks. For just a moment, maybe less, maybe a split second, even a nanosecond, I felt the presence of God there with me in that room as neurons began to misfire at a blinding rate, nerve ending bristled and muscles twitched reflexively. I stood on the brink with one foot hovering over the edge, and then without taking a step, I found myself plummeting.
With a sound like an extra large plastic ketchup bottle being run over by a Mac truck, my sphincter released. The pressure of the blast pushed me hard into the desk and the legs of the desk screeched as they scraped across the floor. My body remained rigid for a moment and I experienced a relief that can only be described as orgasmic in it's purity. My eyes rolled back in my head and my tongue lolled out of my head like a half-retarded dog and I emitted a low, sustained groan that grew in pitch as the filthy torrent pushed its way out of my body. Tremors wracked my body and I must have looked like a fish out of water with an endless stream of s*** firing out of its ass. Other sounds and sensations started to filter in now as my consciousness began to materialize once more. The muffled scream of a dungeon filled with prisoners near death radiated from my stomach, the rushing sound of litres of liquid trying to escape through an aperture too small to accommodate it all at the same time, the omnipresent sound of chunky liquid spattering against a hard surface with great force, the high-pitched screaming of a woman's voice calling out to God, another voice sobbing uncontrollably imploring to "make it stop!!!" and my own ecstatic, monotone wail.
When my ordeal had eventually run its course, I was left panting for breath and wobbly legged, half-crying, half-laughing with relief, barely lucid and feeling as if I had birthed an elephant. My colon felt like someone had poured chile sauce all over it and then sent in a colony of fire ants to eat it. Through my sobs I heard the sound of dripping, like when the sprinklers are eventually turned off after an office fire, or after a thunderstorm when the willow that overhangs a pond continues to rain down long after the sky has stopped. From behind me, the sobbing continued and I heard someone trying to speak into a walkie-talkie but nonsensical words were all that the man could speak, which sounded like the ravings of a lunatic.
With great relief, I slowly pulled myself off the table, legs trembling, my stomach eliciting one last sound, a loud prolonged gas bubbling that eerily resembled a pig orgasm. I slowly turned my head to survey the devastation and in that instant, if I had had a pencil or some other sharp object, I probably would have gouged my eyes out in revulsion. And the smell. The smell was enough to drive a man insane. It was the stench of rotting potatoes mixed with sulphur and ammonia, cooked in a broth of chicken feces and left to age for two weeks in a yeasty stew at the bottom of a French outhouse. After half a whiff of this ghoulish brine, I immediately stopped breathing through my nose but the taste was to remain in the back of my throat for months to come.
The young agent had taken the brunt of the foul witch's brew, and at first I couldn't process what I was seeing. I thought somehow the young blond kid had been spirited away and replaced by a brown Golem, or a ATV rider that had spent the better part of a day driving through every mud puddle he could find after a torrential downpour. With some degree of compartmentalization I came to understand that for some unfathomable reason this kid hadn't moved - or hadn't been able to move - through the entire fecal deluge. He had weathered the entire assault head-on like some sort of hero from Greek Mythology. I had given this poor schmuck a one-man s*** bukkake that would make a Brazillian pornographer retch with disgust, and he was still in the same position he must have been from the moment of first impact. I tried to comprehend how he must be feeling, what he must be going through psychologically, but it became evident very quickly that he had become very broken. No doubt forced so deeply within himself once the firehose has been turned on that there was little to no hope of him ever coming back from it, certainly not without extensive psychotherapy or a lobotomy. I looked beyond his quivering, catatonic crouched form to see a perfect outline of him cutout on the white wall behind him, either side filled in with a dripping, opaque layer of alternately pulpy and runny fecal stew. I noticed two quivering masses at either extremes of the room and realized they were humanoid in form, although the caterwauling that was coming from these broken creatures was just blubbering gibberish. And this was the tableau that was burnt into my mind's eye for eternity.
Needless to say, I missed my flight.
In fact the next week is a blur. I have vague recollections of an army of Hazmat clad figures looming through the brown landscape of the soiled room, the slopping sounds of rubber boats squelching in puddles of fetid detritus, uncontrollable wailing and animal-like sounds issuing from the mouths of creatures that had been traumatized beyond their capacity for being put back together, the complete loss of sensation from my waist down as I was rolled through the room on a waterproof gurney, it's wheels struggling to surf on top of the s***-soaked floor. I spent a week or so in the hospital enclosed in a well ventilated, sealed room, with suited doctor coming in on the hour to monitor my vital signs as they tried to rehydrate my body. I had apparently expelled every available drop of water from my body that was possible to sustain life without for a short period of time. All of my clothes were incinerated in the hospital's crematorium, and the soiled bag of "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" was never recovered.
This is my story. It is inconceivable to think that this kind of product can be sold legally and be misrepresented as 'food'. I was lucky, I survived. But as for the families of the survivors, and the survivors themselves, they will forever live with the trauma of the events that took place at Pearson International Airport on that snowy day in April 2013.
Had episode a few weeks ago , went to a motorbike dealership to test ride a bike. Decided it wasn't for me, luckily as what was to happen next I couldn't have afforded to still be in the dealership working out the terms and paperwork.
I've also got my 16 year old son with me. We walk back to the car when from nowhere i get that stomach on fire mixed with cramps. Open the car door but can't bend down to get in. In breathing heavily and rubbing my head at the same time thinking WTF.
Sons asking me what wrong and I can barely speak other than " I need to s right now!!"
We get in and I'm in pain , can't get the seat belt on properly and undo the top button on my jeans. Poor sons saying you'll be alright Dad, Im sweating like mad a well - why do you sweat when to want to crap so badly?
I then start to lose feeling in my arms so I know its getting bad.
Were driving desperately looking for somewhere to stop, Son keeps saying " do it here behind the car doors but i can't . All the while Im groaning and begging for somewhere to go. Again poor son is rubbing my shoulder saying "Dad you'll be alright"
To my left i see a farm track with a gate, quick u turn - then i throw up in my mouth . Grab some McDonalds serviettes i had in the door (absolute life saver, always keep something similar in the car now)
Shot up to gate, opened door and blasted out what was in my mouth.
Gate had a gap at the side which i ran through then carried on a bit up the track. I looked around to make sure i couldn't be seen and dropped trousers which wasn't going to work . Ended up stripping from the waist down and promised my self i wouldn't turn around and check out what I'd left. I did and after i'd recovered from the shock wondered what the hell I'd eaten to cause that. As i finished getting dressed I looked to my right to see a van parked- how hadn't i seen that before?
Ran back to the car to see my son finishing peeing in the bushes saying "quick we need to go !"
As I'm driving away in total relief i keep saying to my son how bad i feel doing that there and feeling sorry for who discovers it.
Son says " Dad, they'll think a dog did it"
I could only reply " How many dogs do you know that wipe there arse with McDonalds serviettes!!?"
I've also got my 16 year old son with me. We walk back to the car when from nowhere i get that stomach on fire mixed with cramps. Open the car door but can't bend down to get in. In breathing heavily and rubbing my head at the same time thinking WTF.
Sons asking me what wrong and I can barely speak other than " I need to s
right now!!"We get in and I'm in pain , can't get the seat belt on properly and undo the top button on my jeans. Poor sons saying you'll be alright Dad, Im sweating like mad a well - why do you sweat when to want to crap so badly?
I then start to lose feeling in my arms so I know its getting bad.
Were driving desperately looking for somewhere to stop, Son keeps saying " do it here behind the car doors but i can't . All the while Im groaning and begging for somewhere to go. Again poor son is rubbing my shoulder saying "Dad you'll be alright"
To my left i see a farm track with a gate, quick u turn - then i throw up in my mouth . Grab some McDonalds serviettes i had in the door (absolute life saver, always keep something similar in the car now)
Shot up to gate, opened door and blasted out what was in my mouth.
Gate had a gap at the side which i ran through then carried on a bit up the track. I looked around to make sure i couldn't be seen and dropped trousers which wasn't going to work . Ended up stripping from the waist down and promised my self i wouldn't turn around and check out what I'd left. I did and after i'd recovered from the shock wondered what the hell I'd eaten to cause that. As i finished getting dressed I looked to my right to see a van parked- how hadn't i seen that before?
Ran back to the car to see my son finishing peeing in the bushes saying "quick we need to go !"
As I'm driving away in total relief i keep saying to my son how bad i feel doing that there and feeling sorry for who discovers it.
Son says " Dad, they'll think a dog did it"
I could only reply " How many dogs do you know that wipe there arse with McDonalds serviettes!!?"
Spanglepants said:
Had episode a few weeks ago , went to a motorbike dealership to test ride a bike. Decided it wasn't for me, luckily as what was to happen next I couldn't have afforded to still be in the dealership working out the terms and paperwork.
I've also got my 16 year old son with me. We walk back to the car when from nowhere i get that stomach on fire mixed with cramps. Open the car door but can't bend down to get in. In breathing heavily and rubbing my head at the same time thinking WTF.
Sons asking me what wrong and I can barely speak other than " I need to s right now!!"
We get in and I'm in pain , can't get the seat belt on properly and undo the top button on my jeans. Poor sons saying you'll be alright Dad, Im sweating like mad a well - why do you sweat when to want to crap so badly?
I then start to lose feeling in my arms so I know its getting bad.
Were driving desperately looking for somewhere to stop, Son keeps saying " do it here behind the car doors but i can't . All the while Im groaning and begging for somewhere to go. Again poor son is rubbing my shoulder saying "Dad you'll be alright"
To my left i see a farm track with a gate, quick u turn - then i throw up in my mouth . Grab some McDonalds serviettes i had in the door (absolute life saver, always keep something similar in the car now)
Shot up to gate, opened door and blasted out what was in my mouth.
Gate had a gap at the side which i ran through then carried on a bit up the track. I looked around to make sure i couldn't be seen and dropped trousers which wasn't going to work . Ended up stripping from the waist down and promised my self i wouldn't turn around and check out what I'd left. I did and after i'd recovered from the shock wondered what the hell I'd eaten to cause that. As i finished getting dressed I looked to my right to see a van parked- how hadn't i seen that before?
Ran back to the car to see my son finishing peeing in the bushes saying "quick we need to go !"
As I'm driving away in total relief i keep saying to my son how bad i feel doing that there and feeling sorry for who discovers it.
Son says " Dad, they'll think a dog did it"
I could only reply " How many dogs do you know that wipe there arse with McDonalds serviettes!!?"
An accurate accurate user name too I've also got my 16 year old son with me. We walk back to the car when from nowhere i get that stomach on fire mixed with cramps. Open the car door but can't bend down to get in. In breathing heavily and rubbing my head at the same time thinking WTF.
Sons asking me what wrong and I can barely speak other than " I need to s
right now!!"We get in and I'm in pain , can't get the seat belt on properly and undo the top button on my jeans. Poor sons saying you'll be alright Dad, Im sweating like mad a well - why do you sweat when to want to crap so badly?
I then start to lose feeling in my arms so I know its getting bad.
Were driving desperately looking for somewhere to stop, Son keeps saying " do it here behind the car doors but i can't . All the while Im groaning and begging for somewhere to go. Again poor son is rubbing my shoulder saying "Dad you'll be alright"
To my left i see a farm track with a gate, quick u turn - then i throw up in my mouth . Grab some McDonalds serviettes i had in the door (absolute life saver, always keep something similar in the car now)
Shot up to gate, opened door and blasted out what was in my mouth.
Gate had a gap at the side which i ran through then carried on a bit up the track. I looked around to make sure i couldn't be seen and dropped trousers which wasn't going to work . Ended up stripping from the waist down and promised my self i wouldn't turn around and check out what I'd left. I did and after i'd recovered from the shock wondered what the hell I'd eaten to cause that. As i finished getting dressed I looked to my right to see a van parked- how hadn't i seen that before?
Ran back to the car to see my son finishing peeing in the bushes saying "quick we need to go !"
As I'm driving away in total relief i keep saying to my son how bad i feel doing that there and feeling sorry for who discovers it.
Son says " Dad, they'll think a dog did it"
I could only reply " How many dogs do you know that wipe there arse with McDonalds serviettes!!?"
Andy Zarse said:
Spanglepants said:
Lol, just remembered that washed my hands with a cup of tea i had in one of those car cups and used an old rag from the boot to dry off. Classy day.
Were you test riding a Triumph Thunderbird? QuantumTokoloshi said:
An accurate accurate user name too
No, Fazer 600 - too small too revvy for me, I had checked out Triumphs at my local Triumph dealer - they steered me towards a Street Triple whereas I preferred the T120.
Ended up with a Kawasaki ZRX1200R
Ended up with a Kawasaki ZRX1200R
Andy Zarse said:
Spanglepants said:
Lol, just remembered that washed my hands with a cup of tea i had in one of those car cups and used an old rag from the boot to dry off. Classy day.
Were you test riding a Triumph Thunderbird? QuantumTokoloshi said:
An accurate accurate user name too
Vyse said:
said:
cavity search...
I think I just wet myself. 
I offered to read it to her but decided her reply of "oh ffs" didn't mean "yes please I often like to be awoken with a joke at 2am" antspants said:
I couldn't sleep last night so read this in bed at about 2am next to the wife who was fast asleep. I had to keep taking breaks from reading to stifle my laughing, it was working well until I got to the brown Golem bit I offered to read it to her but decided her reply of "oh ffs" didn't mean "yes please I often like to be awoken with a joke at 2am"
I offered to read it to her but decided her reply of "oh ffs" didn't mean "yes please I often like to be awoken with a joke at 2am" Amazon Review said:
I had given this poor schmuck a one-man s*** bukkake that would make a Brazillian pornographer retch with disgust
Love this thread... Nothing can top gummi bears or lemur eyes... but I see this as a safe place to unburden myself...
Ten years ago I'm going snowboarding in France (les Arcs) for the first time with a dozen mates from work. Decided to drive, had a mate and his 11 year old daughter tag along in my car (seeing as how this is PH - manual e46 325i Msport saloon).
En route i stocked up on various service station snacks, lots of red bull & coffee etc. Not reading much french I ended up with a few surprise items, one of which was a family pack of what I thought was dried fruit. A healthier choice than crisps I thought. It turned out to be dried prunes. I liked them, so over the next 5-600 miles I absentmindedly ended up munching them. All of them. a whole family pack.
I didn't know knew why people ate prunes.
As we started to climb into the mountains I started to loose an impressive volley of shots, warning of the surprisingly imminent need for expulsion. I started to look out for a clean looking & suitable service station. None were found.
The higher we climbed, the more frequent my emissions & urgency became. Now I started to look for a restaurant or bar instead of just a service station. Anywhere with a loo really. None were to be found. So I went faster.
Higher and higher up the mountain we climbed, at this point all four windows were open, due to the stench, and to the sweat that was pouring off me. Now I was looking for anywhere to stop, a car park or layby. None were to be found. So I went faster still.
Still no potential poo stops were spotted.. by now its a single track road, large banks of snow either side. At this point my friend, lets call him Ian, because thats his name, called ahead requesting that someone be ready to direct me to a loo upon arrival at Les Arcs..
As I fishtailed round a corner in my buttock clenching angst, I spotted a queue of 3 cars being held back by a gendarme who was helping a snowplough/tractor thing back out. I was going too fast to stop. So I went for it, I was forced to overtake the lot whilst shouting "Pardonez Mois, C'est emergency arrivee!".
Realising the urgency (due to regular phone updates from my now hysterically laughing co-driver) as we arrived my friends had arranged a human chain, pointing me in the direction of a loo inside a hotel reception. I slammed the handbrake on, l and leapt from the car, leaving it in the road. I tried to run. Conventional running, whilst clenching both ring & cheeks is not possible so I began to sprint/shuffle like an escaped 1930's convict wearing leg shackles.
As I followed the human chain of pointing fingers, my pale grey sweating, straining, shuffling form lurched into the hotels reception. Elbowing women and children aside, my clammy hands reaching for the loo door - in the full knowledge that if it was engaged... I would ruin the hotels check in process in quite a special way.
Luckily my journey to achieve cheek to seat status was successful. And yes there was loo roll. However, I did leave the loo to a round of applause from what seemed to be the whole hotel, as my friends had kindly announced my issue to everyone. I also found out that during my time weeping from relief sat on the throne, one of the locals had translated my issue into French for the benefit of the surprisingly understanding gendarme who had chased me up the mountain...
I now know what prunes are for.
Ten years ago I'm going snowboarding in France (les Arcs) for the first time with a dozen mates from work. Decided to drive, had a mate and his 11 year old daughter tag along in my car (seeing as how this is PH - manual e46 325i Msport saloon).
En route i stocked up on various service station snacks, lots of red bull & coffee etc. Not reading much french I ended up with a few surprise items, one of which was a family pack of what I thought was dried fruit. A healthier choice than crisps I thought. It turned out to be dried prunes. I liked them, so over the next 5-600 miles I absentmindedly ended up munching them. All of them. a whole family pack.
I didn't know knew why people ate prunes.
As we started to climb into the mountains I started to loose an impressive volley of shots, warning of the surprisingly imminent need for expulsion. I started to look out for a clean looking & suitable service station. None were found.
The higher we climbed, the more frequent my emissions & urgency became. Now I started to look for a restaurant or bar instead of just a service station. Anywhere with a loo really. None were to be found. So I went faster.
Higher and higher up the mountain we climbed, at this point all four windows were open, due to the stench, and to the sweat that was pouring off me. Now I was looking for anywhere to stop, a car park or layby. None were to be found. So I went faster still.
Still no potential poo stops were spotted.. by now its a single track road, large banks of snow either side. At this point my friend, lets call him Ian, because thats his name, called ahead requesting that someone be ready to direct me to a loo upon arrival at Les Arcs..
As I fishtailed round a corner in my buttock clenching angst, I spotted a queue of 3 cars being held back by a gendarme who was helping a snowplough/tractor thing back out. I was going too fast to stop. So I went for it, I was forced to overtake the lot whilst shouting "Pardonez Mois, C'est emergency arrivee!".
Realising the urgency (due to regular phone updates from my now hysterically laughing co-driver) as we arrived my friends had arranged a human chain, pointing me in the direction of a loo inside a hotel reception. I slammed the handbrake on, l and leapt from the car, leaving it in the road. I tried to run. Conventional running, whilst clenching both ring & cheeks is not possible so I began to sprint/shuffle like an escaped 1930's convict wearing leg shackles.
As I followed the human chain of pointing fingers, my pale grey sweating, straining, shuffling form lurched into the hotels reception. Elbowing women and children aside, my clammy hands reaching for the loo door - in the full knowledge that if it was engaged... I would ruin the hotels check in process in quite a special way.
Luckily my journey to achieve cheek to seat status was successful. And yes there was loo roll. However, I did leave the loo to a round of applause from what seemed to be the whole hotel, as my friends had kindly announced my issue to everyone. I also found out that during my time weeping from relief sat on the throne, one of the locals had translated my issue into French for the benefit of the surprisingly understanding gendarme who had chased me up the mountain...
I now know what prunes are for.
Cob1 said:
Love this thread... Nothing can top gummi bears or lemur eyes... but I see this as a safe place to unburden myself...
Ten years ago I'm going snowboarding in France (les Arcs) for the first time with a dozen mates from work. Decided to drive, had a mate and his 11 year old daughter tag along in my car (seeing as how this is PH - manual e46 325i Msport saloon).
En route i stocked up on various service station snacks, lots of red bull & coffee etc. Not reading much french I ended up with a few surprise items, one of which was a family pack of what I thought was dried fruit. A healthier choice than crisps I thought. It turned out to be dried prunes. I liked them, so over the next 5-600 miles I absentmindedly ended up munching them. All of them. a whole family pack.
I didn't know knew why people ate prunes.
As we started to climb into the mountains I started to loose an impressive volley of shots, warning of the surprisingly imminent need for expulsion. I started to look out for a clean looking & suitable service station. None were found.
The higher we climbed, the more frequent my emissions & urgency became. Now I started to look for a restaurant or bar instead of just a service station. Anywhere with a loo really. None were to be found. So I went faster.
Higher and higher up the mountain we climbed, at this point all four windows were open, due to the stench, and to the sweat that was pouring off me. Now I was looking for anywhere to stop, a car park or layby. None were to be found. So I went faster still.
Still no potential poo stops were spotted.. by now its a single track road, large banks of snow either side. At this point my friend, lets call him Ian, because thats his name, called ahead requesting that someone be ready to direct me to a loo upon arrival at Les Arcs..
As I fishtailed round a corner in my buttock clenching angst, I spotted a queue of 3 cars being held back by a gendarme who was helping a snowplough/tractor thing back out. I was going too fast to stop. So I went for it, I was forced to overtake the lot whilst shouting "Pardonez Mois, C'est emergency arrivee!".
Realising the urgency (due to regular phone updates from my now hysterically laughing co-driver) as we arrived my friends had arranged a human chain, pointing me in the direction of a loo inside a hotel reception. I slammed the handbrake on, l and leapt from the car, leaving it in the road. I tried to run. Conventional running, whilst clenching both ring & cheeks is not possible so I began to sprint/shuffle like an escaped 1930's convict wearing leg shackles.
As I followed the human chain of pointing fingers, my pale grey sweating, straining, shuffling form lurched into the hotels reception. Elbowing women and children aside, my clammy hands reaching for the loo door - in the full knowledge that if it was engaged... I would ruin the hotels check in process in quite a special way.
Luckily my journey to achieve cheek to seat status was successful. And yes there was loo roll. However, I did leave the loo to a round of applause from what seemed to be the whole hotel, as my friends had kindly announced my issue to everyone. I also found out that during my time weeping from relief sat on the throne, one of the locals had translated my issue into French for the benefit of the surprisingly understanding gendarme who had chased me up the mountain...
I now know what prunes are for.
I feel your pain but, for future reference, this can be turned to advantage in places like that when it's cold.Ten years ago I'm going snowboarding in France (les Arcs) for the first time with a dozen mates from work. Decided to drive, had a mate and his 11 year old daughter tag along in my car (seeing as how this is PH - manual e46 325i Msport saloon).
En route i stocked up on various service station snacks, lots of red bull & coffee etc. Not reading much french I ended up with a few surprise items, one of which was a family pack of what I thought was dried fruit. A healthier choice than crisps I thought. It turned out to be dried prunes. I liked them, so over the next 5-600 miles I absentmindedly ended up munching them. All of them. a whole family pack.
I didn't know knew why people ate prunes.
As we started to climb into the mountains I started to loose an impressive volley of shots, warning of the surprisingly imminent need for expulsion. I started to look out for a clean looking & suitable service station. None were found.
The higher we climbed, the more frequent my emissions & urgency became. Now I started to look for a restaurant or bar instead of just a service station. Anywhere with a loo really. None were to be found. So I went faster.
Higher and higher up the mountain we climbed, at this point all four windows were open, due to the stench, and to the sweat that was pouring off me. Now I was looking for anywhere to stop, a car park or layby. None were to be found. So I went faster still.
Still no potential poo stops were spotted.. by now its a single track road, large banks of snow either side. At this point my friend, lets call him Ian, because thats his name, called ahead requesting that someone be ready to direct me to a loo upon arrival at Les Arcs..
As I fishtailed round a corner in my buttock clenching angst, I spotted a queue of 3 cars being held back by a gendarme who was helping a snowplough/tractor thing back out. I was going too fast to stop. So I went for it, I was forced to overtake the lot whilst shouting "Pardonez Mois, C'est emergency arrivee!".
Realising the urgency (due to regular phone updates from my now hysterically laughing co-driver) as we arrived my friends had arranged a human chain, pointing me in the direction of a loo inside a hotel reception. I slammed the handbrake on, l and leapt from the car, leaving it in the road. I tried to run. Conventional running, whilst clenching both ring & cheeks is not possible so I began to sprint/shuffle like an escaped 1930's convict wearing leg shackles.
As I followed the human chain of pointing fingers, my pale grey sweating, straining, shuffling form lurched into the hotels reception. Elbowing women and children aside, my clammy hands reaching for the loo door - in the full knowledge that if it was engaged... I would ruin the hotels check in process in quite a special way.
Luckily my journey to achieve cheek to seat status was successful. And yes there was loo roll. However, I did leave the loo to a round of applause from what seemed to be the whole hotel, as my friends had kindly announced my issue to everyone. I also found out that during my time weeping from relief sat on the throne, one of the locals had translated my issue into French for the benefit of the surprisingly understanding gendarme who had chased me up the mountain...
I now know what prunes are for.
If you pull the pin whilst seated in your car, most of it will shoot straight up your back.
Lovely and warm.
For best effect, and you'll need a Tesco bag for this, combine it with a vigorous heave of vomit.
For further instructions, talk to any Aussie.
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