Shit Stories
I once ate four Kendal Mint Cakes and did a white shit. My old school friend Roger had to outdo me. He claimed to have done a "blue bubbling turd" after eating six packets of blackcurrant Chewits. We want to hear your stories of poo, from crapping yourself at your sisters wedding to shitting the bed during sex. Go on - be filthy.
( , Wed 5 May 2004, 22:24)
I once ate four Kendal Mint Cakes and did a white shit. My old school friend Roger had to outdo me. He claimed to have done a "blue bubbling turd" after eating six packets of blackcurrant Chewits. We want to hear your stories of poo, from crapping yourself at your sisters wedding to shitting the bed during sex. Go on - be filthy.
( , Wed 5 May 2004, 22:24)
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Ooh, almost forgot this one
My buddy Duke (how appropriate) told me the most horrendous and humiliating public shitting story I've ever heard. He was at a festival-type all day concert, but they had proper toilet facilities, not port-o-potties. And he had a kettle of volatile diarrhea brewing so he went and got in line for the crapper. It was a bathroom for a large venue so it had lots of urinals but also lots of toilet stalls, only they had no doors for some reason. So the place is packed to capacity and the line (queue) stretches out the door. So you have to stand there facing the row of occupied stalls waiting your turn, looking at people's backs if they're pissing or their genitals if they dared sit. Few dared. One by one people finish their business and walk out and the the next guy immediately takes his spot. So Duke's the next man, and the crapper right in front of the line opens up. He's noted the absence of stall doors by now, but there's nothing for it. He's going to explode. He's got to go. But as with every public-toilet-drunken-concert situation, the raise-the-seat-before-you-piss rule had been abandoned early on, so he's not about to sit on the piss-splattered thing. So he does the awkward hovering squat that I hear the womenfolk speak of now and then, sort of half leaning back and bracing one hand against the wall for balance. He's got his pants down to his knees, legs spread enough to keep them from falling all the way down, because the floor is a under minor flood of urine, and his man bits are on display for the line of guys waiting their turn. I guess none of us are accustomed to having to actually aim with our anuses and Duke was no exception. Because when he let rip, it didn't go down - - it went back - - in an explosive spray of giblets and gravy. The whole line of guys in front of him is recoiling in disgust and trying to look elsewhere and Duke's just frozen there in horror and helpless humiliation, thinking, "Sorry! Oh fuck, sorry!". And he wasn't finished. He tried to correct his aim but it was really no good in that squat position, so a couple more quick salvos went onto the wall and floor. He finishes, wipes, buttons up, takes a quick, pained look at his large mess and just has to leave. And he has to walk out right past the long line of guys who've just witnessed him paint the stall with his shit mud. It's hilarious now, but dear God, that must have been horrible.
( , Fri 7 May 2004, 0:45, Reply)
My buddy Duke (how appropriate) told me the most horrendous and humiliating public shitting story I've ever heard. He was at a festival-type all day concert, but they had proper toilet facilities, not port-o-potties. And he had a kettle of volatile diarrhea brewing so he went and got in line for the crapper. It was a bathroom for a large venue so it had lots of urinals but also lots of toilet stalls, only they had no doors for some reason. So the place is packed to capacity and the line (queue) stretches out the door. So you have to stand there facing the row of occupied stalls waiting your turn, looking at people's backs if they're pissing or their genitals if they dared sit. Few dared. One by one people finish their business and walk out and the the next guy immediately takes his spot. So Duke's the next man, and the crapper right in front of the line opens up. He's noted the absence of stall doors by now, but there's nothing for it. He's going to explode. He's got to go. But as with every public-toilet-drunken-concert situation, the raise-the-seat-before-you-piss rule had been abandoned early on, so he's not about to sit on the piss-splattered thing. So he does the awkward hovering squat that I hear the womenfolk speak of now and then, sort of half leaning back and bracing one hand against the wall for balance. He's got his pants down to his knees, legs spread enough to keep them from falling all the way down, because the floor is a under minor flood of urine, and his man bits are on display for the line of guys waiting their turn. I guess none of us are accustomed to having to actually aim with our anuses and Duke was no exception. Because when he let rip, it didn't go down - - it went back - - in an explosive spray of giblets and gravy. The whole line of guys in front of him is recoiling in disgust and trying to look elsewhere and Duke's just frozen there in horror and helpless humiliation, thinking, "Sorry! Oh fuck, sorry!". And he wasn't finished. He tried to correct his aim but it was really no good in that squat position, so a couple more quick salvos went onto the wall and floor. He finishes, wipes, buttons up, takes a quick, pained look at his large mess and just has to leave. And he has to walk out right past the long line of guys who've just witnessed him paint the stall with his shit mud. It's hilarious now, but dear God, that must have been horrible.
( , Fri 7 May 2004, 0:45, Reply)
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