Men, Public toilets & loosing all control
Discussion
No thread discussing mammoth s
t would be complete without this absolute gem from PHer ajcj;
t would be complete without this absolute gem from PHer ajcj;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.
The "titanic rasp" bit has me in tears everytime 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.
Our two kids (10 and 14) have become a lot more "toilet friendly" since we started making them clean their own bathroom. Since we had an en-suite installed earlier this year, we have no reason to use the bathroom between their bedrooms, Three days of us not using it, and it looked like something from an Indian sweatshop latrine. All internet was switched off until the bathroom was cleaned, and two days of bhing, blaming and moaning ensued before they relented.
12 years ago I used to run a vehicle rental site, and one of the office staff was a rather portly woman. Ok, she was huge. Wrong side of 30st, and we needed a bariatric office chair for her. She had a habit of blocking the office the toilet, but to be fair to her, she normally sorted it out herself before she left the cubicle. As she was the only woman in the office for a good few months, that was "her space", and the rest of us had no reason to go in there thankfully.
One summer she was off on holiday, and a sales girl from another branch was working with us for a few days. She'd only been with us a few hours, before she needed the toilet, and came out screaming a few minutes later. It seems that the last deposit hadn't fully cleared, and had some time to proof like a bread dough. When she flushed, the toilet backed up and out popped this turd that was subsequently named, and went down in company folklore as "the brown marrow".
One of our drivers with a stronger constitution was in the office, so while I tried to calm down the distraught visitor, he marched in, armed with an umbrella from the lost property box and poked it til it went, doused the whole thing with bleach, and came out feeling quite heroic.
To compound matters, he had used a particularly expensive Burberry umbrella that was left in a rented Mercedes E class - the owner was coming back in to collect it a later in the afternoon, and now the end was covered with clag, and various bleach splashes over the fabric.. The driver didn't feel quite so heroic as he was washing off the clinkers, then refolding the fabric to hide the stains before the customer collected it again..
hing, blaming and moaning ensued before they relented. 12 years ago I used to run a vehicle rental site, and one of the office staff was a rather portly woman. Ok, she was huge. Wrong side of 30st, and we needed a bariatric office chair for her. She had a habit of blocking the office the toilet, but to be fair to her, she normally sorted it out herself before she left the cubicle. As she was the only woman in the office for a good few months, that was "her space", and the rest of us had no reason to go in there thankfully.
One summer she was off on holiday, and a sales girl from another branch was working with us for a few days. She'd only been with us a few hours, before she needed the toilet, and came out screaming a few minutes later. It seems that the last deposit hadn't fully cleared, and had some time to proof like a bread dough. When she flushed, the toilet backed up and out popped this turd that was subsequently named, and went down in company folklore as "the brown marrow".
One of our drivers with a stronger constitution was in the office, so while I tried to calm down the distraught visitor, he marched in, armed with an umbrella from the lost property box and poked it til it went, doused the whole thing with bleach, and came out feeling quite heroic.
To compound matters, he had used a particularly expensive Burberry umbrella that was left in a rented Mercedes E class - the owner was coming back in to collect it a later in the afternoon, and now the end was covered with clag, and various bleach splashes over the fabric.. The driver didn't feel quite so heroic as he was washing off the clinkers, then refolding the fabric to hide the stains before the customer collected it again..
anonymous said:
[redacted]
which proves I definitely didn't spend enough time in the library. Changed a bit now, I went for a pint in Mojos a few months ago when I was back in town for the beer festival, some new campus buildings etc. Forgot how cheap it is to drink there - £13 for a round of 7 drinks!
Great thread lads and actually quite apposite for me at present. I'm onsite for a client engagement with a bank on the continent.
I've been bunged up all week and have been expecting a long appointment with the porcelain. After days of rumbling and burbles I have just deposited and absolute baked bean can of a turd, in the can.
A feel like I'm a new man, several stone lighter. I also feel like I can imagine the pain of child birth. At one point I genuinely feared I may need medical assistance but I've got through it.
Time for a curry.
I've been bunged up all week and have been expecting a long appointment with the porcelain. After days of rumbling and burbles I have just deposited and absolute baked bean can of a turd, in the can.
A feel like I'm a new man, several stone lighter. I also feel like I can imagine the pain of child birth. At one point I genuinely feared I may need medical assistance but I've got through it.
Time for a curry.
Edited by paul789 on Wednesday 6th September 12:38
The Tale of the New Year Kebab
It was new years eve. I wasn't going out as I'd been working and was really tired. I decided, that to celebrate the end of a good year, I'd order the biggest, filthiest, ugliest kebab I could from Just Eat. Around twenty minutes after placing the order, it arrived, delivered by a fat woman who looked a bit like John Virgo. It was pretty enormous; the girth of my upper arm and a good eighteen inches long, stuffed full of all kinds of unidentifiable meat.
I managed to eat a good three-quarters of it before I admitted defeat and chucked the sad, sweating remains of it into the outside bin. I then sat down to enjoy an evening of terrible television and Pepsi Max.
Now, I don't know if the Pepsi Max was the catalyst but after drinking a can, my stomach started making some really unsettling noises; like someone piloting a very small helicopter down a very deep well. Imagine that. Sure enough, after ten minutes of gurgling and squirting noises, I decided it would be a good time to make a deposit.
It literally, literally fell out of me. I don't know if it was the speed, the volume, the consistency or the amount that made it so horrifying but damn, it was unusual. It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste. I must've used a good half toilet roll in furious wiping.
I thought that was the end of it.
It was not.
I was just finishing buttoning up my jeans when I felt a fart about to escape. WAIT A MINUTE; THAT'S NO FART! In one fluid movement I managed to pull down my jeans and pants whilst concordantly sitting down on the toilet. I'm not sure I'd fully sat down before the second outpouring of grief.
That happened two more times. The final time I continued to sit on the toilet for a good twenty minutes until I was positive there was nothing left inside me. I then had a shower because I felt unclean. It was quite a long time before I trusted farts again.
It was new years eve. I wasn't going out as I'd been working and was really tired. I decided, that to celebrate the end of a good year, I'd order the biggest, filthiest, ugliest kebab I could from Just Eat. Around twenty minutes after placing the order, it arrived, delivered by a fat woman who looked a bit like John Virgo. It was pretty enormous; the girth of my upper arm and a good eighteen inches long, stuffed full of all kinds of unidentifiable meat.
I managed to eat a good three-quarters of it before I admitted defeat and chucked the sad, sweating remains of it into the outside bin. I then sat down to enjoy an evening of terrible television and Pepsi Max.
Now, I don't know if the Pepsi Max was the catalyst but after drinking a can, my stomach started making some really unsettling noises; like someone piloting a very small helicopter down a very deep well. Imagine that. Sure enough, after ten minutes of gurgling and squirting noises, I decided it would be a good time to make a deposit.
It literally, literally fell out of me. I don't know if it was the speed, the volume, the consistency or the amount that made it so horrifying but damn, it was unusual. It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste. I must've used a good half toilet roll in furious wiping.
I thought that was the end of it.
It was not.
I was just finishing buttoning up my jeans when I felt a fart about to escape. WAIT A MINUTE; THAT'S NO FART! In one fluid movement I managed to pull down my jeans and pants whilst concordantly sitting down on the toilet. I'm not sure I'd fully sat down before the second outpouring of grief.
That happened two more times. The final time I continued to sit on the toilet for a good twenty minutes until I was positive there was nothing left inside me. I then had a shower because I felt unclean. It was quite a long time before I trusted farts again.
The tears are streaming down my face reading this thread.
The rounders bat. The Olympic Torch loo brush. The hedgehog rolled in a melted mars bar. The travellator turd.
Comedy gold, and the descriptions are brilliant.
"It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste"
The rounders bat. The Olympic Torch loo brush. The hedgehog rolled in a melted mars bar. The travellator turd.
Comedy gold, and the descriptions are brilliant.
"It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste"
Rawwr said:
The Tale of the New Year Kebab
It was new years eve. I wasn't going out as I'd been working and was really tired. I decided, that to celebrate the end of a good year, I'd order the biggest, filthiest, ugliest kebab I could from Just Eat. Around twenty minutes after placing the order, it arrived, delivered by a fat woman who looked a bit like John Virgo. It was pretty enormous; the girth of my upper arm and a good eighteen inches long, stuffed full of all kinds of unidentifiable meat.
I managed to eat a good three-quarters of it before I admitted defeat and chucked the sad, sweating remains of it into the outside bin. I then sat down to enjoy an evening of terrible television and Pepsi Max.
Now, I don't know if the Pepsi Max was the catalyst but after drinking a can, my stomach started making some really unsettling noises; like someone piloting a very small helicopter down a very deep well. Imagine that. Sure enough, after ten minutes of gurgling and squirting noises, I decided it would be a good time to make a deposit.
It literally, literally fell out of me. I don't know if it was the speed, the volume, the consistency or the amount that made it so horrifying but damn, it was unusual. It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste. I must've used a good half toilet roll in furious wiping.
I thought that was the end of it.
It was not.
I was just finishing buttoning up my jeans when I felt a fart about to escape. WAIT A MINUTE; THAT'S NO FART! In one fluid movement I managed to pull down my jeans and pants whilst concordantly sitting down on the toilet. I'm not sure I'd fully sat down before the second outpouring of grief.
That happened two more times. The final time I continued to sit on the toilet for a good twenty minutes until I was positive there was nothing left inside me. I then had a shower because I felt unclean. It was quite a long time before I trusted farts again.
Think you deserved that one, I can't trust people who wear jeans around the house, WHERES THE COMFORT?! It was new years eve. I wasn't going out as I'd been working and was really tired. I decided, that to celebrate the end of a good year, I'd order the biggest, filthiest, ugliest kebab I could from Just Eat. Around twenty minutes after placing the order, it arrived, delivered by a fat woman who looked a bit like John Virgo. It was pretty enormous; the girth of my upper arm and a good eighteen inches long, stuffed full of all kinds of unidentifiable meat.
I managed to eat a good three-quarters of it before I admitted defeat and chucked the sad, sweating remains of it into the outside bin. I then sat down to enjoy an evening of terrible television and Pepsi Max.
Now, I don't know if the Pepsi Max was the catalyst but after drinking a can, my stomach started making some really unsettling noises; like someone piloting a very small helicopter down a very deep well. Imagine that. Sure enough, after ten minutes of gurgling and squirting noises, I decided it would be a good time to make a deposit.
It literally, literally fell out of me. I don't know if it was the speed, the volume, the consistency or the amount that made it so horrifying but damn, it was unusual. It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste. I must've used a good half toilet roll in furious wiping.
I thought that was the end of it.
It was not.
I was just finishing buttoning up my jeans when I felt a fart about to escape. WAIT A MINUTE; THAT'S NO FART! In one fluid movement I managed to pull down my jeans and pants whilst concordantly sitting down on the toilet. I'm not sure I'd fully sat down before the second outpouring of grief.
That happened two more times. The final time I continued to sit on the toilet for a good twenty minutes until I was positive there was nothing left inside me. I then had a shower because I felt unclean. It was quite a long time before I trusted farts again.
Rawwr said:
The Tale of the New Year Kebab.......................
...................It literally, literally fell out of me. I don't know if it was the speed, the volume, the consistency or the amount that made it so horrifying but damn, it was unusual. It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste. I must've used a good half toilet roll in furious wiping.
I thought that was the end of it.
It was not...................
...................It literally, literally fell out of me. I don't know if it was the speed, the volume, the consistency or the amount that made it so horrifying but damn, it was unusual. It was like pooing out an entire wheelie bin full of golf balls and wallpaper paste. I must've used a good half toilet roll in furious wiping.
I thought that was the end of it.
It was not...................
JohnStitch said:
wazztie16 said:
Probably shouldn't have stumbled into this thread when I'm about to eat.
Especially after this, hope you're not eating a sandwich 
A mate of mine works in the police and was once called out to some public toilets after reports of a bloke hanging around suspiciously. He went in there only to find said bloke with a loaf of bread, smearing the slices over the urinals then putting them back in the bag. This is a 'thing' apparently. Urban Dictionary calls it 'Bread Leaving'. They take loaves of bread and conceal them somewhere in the public bogs to soak up the atmosphere for a few days, them go back to collect them - don't like to imagine what they do with them after that. Some people are just f
king gross. 
Edited by JohnStitch on Monday 4th September 16:38
When I was in my probation period I was sent out on foot to patrol the local red light zone, it was a total s
t hole and had a horrible public toilet block that was a right den of iniquity. Anyway, one night I walked in expecting to tell the gap toothed brasses and punters to clear off but found an elderly fairly well dressed man on his knees in a cubicle, he was oblivious to me being there and I watched him pick up a couple of used Johnny's and empty the contents into his mouth. Imagine a kid trying to get the last bit of juice out of a freeze pop,he would tilt his head back, hold the condom by pinching the tip above his mouth and run his free hand down it.....squeezing the contents into his mouth. Over my next 10 years of policing I have never seen anything that made me feel as physically sick as that horrible old b
d slurping some punters jizz out of a condom from a cold wet public bog floor. creationracing said:
HD Adam said:
creationracing said:
I earn a living visiting different oil platforms, and there are a few stories to be shared...
Another one was when 5 of us got marooned for 3 days on one of the small unmanned sattelites off the appropriately named LOGGS platform because it was foggy.Another one I've just remembered from back in the offshore days.
One of the lads was a big attendee of all the summer festivals.
After returning from one, he was back in the workshop and generally limping around and wincing quite a bit.
We asked him what was up and he said that whichever festival this was (Glasto or something), the Porta-potties were such a nightmare, that he hadn't attempted a s
t over about 5 days.Being a bit of a heavy weed user and having the constant munchies, the diet of festival food hadn't done him any favours in the backing up department.
Once he went home, he went straight to the crapper, commenced launch procedures and that's where it started to go wrong.
Basically, he started the breech birth of a turd the size, shape and consistency of a conctrete bollard, no doubt similar to the one that killed Elvis and once started, he couldn't stop.
His rusty sheriffs badge had been shredded, hence the limping and face pulling.
Naturally, we all wanted a look. How bad could this be?
So he pulled down his pants, bent over and gave us a look.
With his cheeks parted, we could see what a mess his stink eye was and and also a piece of string hanging out
Turns out his girlfriend was a nurse at the local A&E, which he wanted to attend but she had barred him from this as it would be too embarrasing for her.
He'd shoved one of her tampons up there to staunch the bleeding
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