*crying*

In my crazy zany youth, I got caught short on the way home from some lucky lady’s house after scoring in a sticky-floored nightclub.

It was July about 4am. I remember hearing a robin sing.

I was walking stumbling down a road with some industrial units to my left and a row of 2 up 2 down terraced houses to my right when I was struck by an urgent (Defcon 1) need to defecate.

I dropped my pants, squatted and let the otter free. I had no choice.
I wiped with a wet Sunday supplement that I found on the pavement.

Disgraceful I know.

*says ten Hail Marys*

Someone here has just had their own Polaris Challenge. Went into Trap 1 to find the nuclear warhead just breaching the surface of the murky depths.

eewww @ the pringles thing

we did similar, but with wee. Someone kept nicking bottles of wine from the uni hall kitchen/fridge. So one of the guys went for a slash, collected it all in a tesco’s chardonnay bottle, recorked it, and left it on the fridge. sure enough, it went missing within a day.

Strangely, the cleaner wasn’t very talkative when she came in on the following monday.

eewww @ the pringles thing

hahahaha!! it was funny though as i’m sure he would have found them and dipped his hand in!! we never heard from him ever again even though he had one set of keys not returned by the pringle pooper himself!!
but i know about food being nicked in uni halls too…milk would always vanish from the fridge and we knew who it was but could never catch him red-handed so eventually we would all hang the milk bottles out of our windows using carrier bags…problem for me and my neighbour was that we were on the ground floor so the local school kids would always nick them. we got the little s#its back though with a good dose of laxatives in the milk!!!

Learn to hover over the pan

I tech I’ve worked with once took a dump in a rival companies ohp when working in a hotel. Imagine what the combination of a 400 watt lamp and a powerful fan can do.

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Ewww 🙁

Anyway, pardon my naïveté but how do users of the carrier bag deal with the subsidiary wee question?

Drj, use a bag with no holes. 😀

Could imagine a tandem solution with a bag and a bottle 🙂

I heard the same tale in an army context, where the squaddie turned round to examine his afternoon’s work only to find nothing in the hole he’d lovingly dug for it.

Oh this brings back some memories… Late ’80s early ’90s I was a STAB (stupid terretorial army b……d) and therefore spent a lot of time in the summer waving sticks at the 3rd Soviet Shock Army from the western side of the inter German Border in a delightful place called Saltau. This was as bleak and desolate an area as you have ever seen but it’s one redeeming feature was that decades of use as a military training area mean that years of panzers roaring across it (yes it was originally a Whermact training area) had rendered the ground into a consistancy of fine sand which was a piece of pee to dig in.

This was where I was introduced to the fine art of tactical crapping AKA take your entrenching tool and your closely guarded soft bog roll (cos the official stuff you got in the compo boxes was awful) dissapear off BACK* into the trees, dig hole, assume the franz klammer position, open bomb bay doors, release weapons, close bomb bay doors, wipe, turn round, admire handy work, bury handywork, return to position.

This was also where the poor unwary squaddie could come undone principally by the miscreant called “The Phantom Turd Burglar”. The rumour mill had this down as only one person in the entire BAOR area but I reckon he had lot’s of henchmen.

The Phantom would sneak up behind said unsuspecting Squaddie whilst he was “a la franz” and position his entrenching tool underneath the unsuspecting squaddies open bomb bay doors, the reprobate would then collect the issued “compo snake” on his shovel and then stealthily dissapear into the night. Said squaddie then wipes and turns round to admire what he has been gently baking for a couple of days and it’s gone!.. cue much consternation.. was it his imagination? do I dare tell anyone?

At the very least said squaddie was normally left feeling very bereft as “compo snakes” due to the constipating nature of the then British military Rations these tended to be of both prodigious length and girth having taken at least several days to bake one up and it was deemed a matter of reknown to be able to outdo your mates it terms of size, thus the poor victim was robbed of boasting rights.

Never got caught personally but there was a lad in our company who had been supposedly been raided.

*this is important! going forward was bad as this is where the OPFORs were and this is a bad thing

years ago I worked on building sites. On one particular sire the emptying of the chemical toilet was an issue. one particular middle aged labourer used to bully the lads to do it when it was his turn. There was a crane driver who hated his guts and used to threaten to ” tip the bastard thing over next time he was in there ” , knowing this and wantting revenge on the horrible bastard a group of us stood outside when he was on the pot and simultaneouslt wacked the portakabin walls with our shovels — he came flying out with his trollies round his ankles looking like winston churchill complete with cigar .stupid but we all felt better

If we are talking about squaddies and pooh then we logically arrive at the game of “Freckles” 😯

I had that when on holiday earlier this year – in Val d’Isere for a week long ski trip, I caught the 24 hour bug that allegedly pervades the resort and had to retire from the dinner table when the main course was served. As the evening went on with me in bed, I was feeling worse and worse until at around 1am I had to get up and use the loo. I sat with my head between my knees as a torrent poured out of my arse with such ferocity that once I’d finished (around 15 mninutes later) I had to go for a shower to clean up the splashback.

an hour later, I was back in the smallest room head betewen my knees again while yet more effluent attacked the enamel of the toilet. This time though I made the mistake of sitting up straight to clear my head, at which point I encountered the stench.

Dear god.

I thank the lucky stars there was a small bathroom bin tucked next to the loo and that I was able to grab it in time. I produced almost as much vomit as I had effluent. I had to open the hotel room door and leave the bin outside, there was no way I could have left it in the room as it would have set off Mrs NBT. We never saw the bin again, so it’s bloody lucky that I seem to have emptied everything by that point and didn’t need any more emergency evacuations. Spent the following day in bed, but the morning after that I was feeling fit as a fiddle and went out skiing again.

My mate Andy came down with the bug on the last day of the trip, spent the entire day in bed, but got up for the trip home feeling fine. When we arrived at Manchester Airport, Phil turned and asked if the bug we’d both had had begun with “a fluttery stomach”. We confirmed it had, and I told him tat it was the stench of the poo that had made me sick when I sat up. Andy laughed – somewhat hysterically – and said it had been the same for him

Phil refused the offer of a bed at our house and visited every motorway service station between Manchester and Cardiff on his way home.

as long as there’s no ass hairs left behind on the seat, I’ll thank them in my head for the physical warmth and curse them for the nasal warmth.

At the obvious risk of perpetuating this carp, I used to work with a section engineer who would insist that the ‘chainman/driver’ went to warm the seat up for him (without full usage ). As some have said much prefer a cold landing myself. happy days but very strange people
leaf eating QS, bog warmer gaz among others

visited every motorway service station between Manchester and Cardiff on his way home

Also known as join the dots.

I don’t know why i’m not more ashamed, but i have many many poo related stories (nothing up there with picolax, although i got food poisoning once and went through a whole four pack of andrex in a day plus a box of baby wipes)

Get home from lectures one day at uni and my mate is sat there grinning like a Cheshire cat. I go upstairs to the bathroom to find an enormous Douglas poking up out the bowl with the bog brush wedged firmly in it.
I swear loudly, mate laughs and legs it out the house. I’m desperate so have to start hacking the present apart with the brush and a metal fish slice from the kitchen. As i’m doing this it dawns on me that there was no toilet paper in there and the shower hadn’t been used recently… filthy motherfu….

at the back end of a holiday season in turkey i got the trots. our toliet had filled up with what looked like curry paste and despite my best attempts to free my faeces into the ‘sewer system’ i couldn’t clear the filth. For some reason, i felt tht i couldnt tell the rep on the hotel owners. (and knew that i’d be on a flight home in a day or two).

To my shame, i became a poo cuckoo, skulking around and trying the doors of different apartments and room. Defacating in any toilet in any room i could find open. Sorry fellow holidayers.

100

Slightly OT but I always get an urge to go when I get home from work and my Missus has been cleaning the bathroom / loo.

Something about the smell of freshly cleaned bathroom / bleach disinfectant / and toilet duck always brings on a natural urge. Much to my Mrs’ dismay.

at the back end of a holiday season

Superb opening line….

We went to Le Mans last year and one of our party deficated in the shower block, believeing the shower cubicle to be one of those hole in the floor frenchie facilities. It wasn’t until he sobered up and saw everone queing up for a shower the next day that he realised his mistake.

MTFU – Transwales a few years back, midweek couple, of hundred folk been consuming high carb diets, only half dozen potaloos and queuing for morning constitutional – Now that was russian roulette 😈

DrJ, three things to make sure you have when camping, just in case: bottled water, and keep the empty bottles, freezer bags, or at least a bunch of orange Sainsbury’s bags*, and some rolls of bog paper.
*you know, the sort that dog owners tie to hedges… 😉