» Filth!

Swarfega is strong stuff...
My first job was in a studio that was part of a small print firm in EC1 way back in the 70's. In 1976 (one of the hottest summers on record), staff began to notice a foul smell coming from the (only) toilet. For a short time it was blamed on the boss as he had a reputation for creative toilet smells. This particular smell though not only lingered, it got steadily worse. Gallons of various cleaning products were dropped down the lav to get rid of the smell, but to no avail. And as the temperature increased so did the foul aroma. Eventually, a specialist drain cleaning company came in and nuked the toilet, again without effect.
After two weeks it's origin was finally discovered when one of the printer's went to the sink to wash his hands. Printing ink needs more than just soap and water to remove it so about a gallon sized tub of swarfega lived under the sink that the print guys reached into to use to scrub up with. The tub was running low so he pulled it out from under the sink and found that a mouse had got into the tub and couldn't get out. It slowly sank into the thick gel and drowned/suffocated. As the weeks went by it began to liquify in the swarfega and as the contents of the tub got used up, what was left of a rotting mouse and the liquid it made were exposed to the summer heat. All that was left was it's head, tail and skeleton - the swarfega ate the rest.
(Sat 4th Feb 2012, 23:45, More)

» Toilets

My mate Fozzie
went into the bogs at work for a slash. Behind him are six "traps" . After finishing up he heads for the exit. Only to hear "plonk" from trap 2, then "plonk" from trap 4. At this he shouted at the top of his voice "fifteen all"
(Tue 6th Sep 2005, 16:45, More)

» The Naughty Step

Duffield...
Was my English teacher. A brummie bully, who if he took a dislike to you (me) would make life a living shit pile. Until one day. Listening to him reading 1984 one afternoon with his nasal drawl I made the mistake of resting my head in my hands. No sooner had I done this when a large piece of chalk flew at me, striking me directly in the eye. "WAKE UP RIPLEY!" He bellowed. "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" Came my reply. Blood was now spilling from my cut eyelid. Unnoticed until someone said "oh shit he's bleeding". Wipiing my shirt sleeve across my face only made me look worse as I continued to shout at him. "You and I will sort this once and for all after this lesson". Just as the deputy headmistress walked in. She to one look at me. The turned to Duffield and said very calmly "Get out of the classroom, then get off these premises then when you've done that resign from teaching altogether because when I'm finished with you your career will be as well".
Good old Mrs Hegaty. Not all brums are bad, there are bastards everywhere.
(Tue 12th Feb 2013, 21:16, More)

» Toilets

As usual it's a "this happened to a friend of a friend…"
Our story begins with a strapping young chap (known throughout the land for his consumption of vast quantities of beer and white hot curries). Enter pretty young girl who falls for his charms and before you know it they're banging away like an outside bog door in a gale.
This continues for some time. And our hero is all the time still quaffing ale and indulging sphincter spikers. Then came the day the object of his affections suggests that he meet Mum and Dad. Many a young man whould normally take to the hills at this request - but the boy is in love so dutifully agrees to show up at the address for Sunday lunch. Not seeing his true love on the Saturday before he joins his mates and heads off on the piss, the evening concluding with the usual atomic vindaloo. The following morning he's hit by the most ferocious shits. Undeterred he gets dressed up and keeps his appointment with girlfriends parents. After introductions are made and sherry handed out, they all make their way to the dining room. Now it could have been the additional alcohol in his system… but he suddenly needed to go. Keeping control of his seething innards he excused himself and was directed to the toilet upstairs. Here he proceeded to create his own 'Jackson Pollax' within the bowl. Not a problem a quick flush, splash round with domestos and it was gone. The problem was the smell! The air was thick with it, a cloying stench that rivalled the open sewers of medevil London, so bad he could actually taste it. Suddenly he remembered that striking a match will clear a room of offending odours. Reaching for his Vestas he took out five (to be sure) and sparked them off. At that point one of the flaring match heads broke away and landed directly on top of a pile of bath towels. These then caught fire. The flames licked up the side of the bath igniting the shower curtain. Panic gripped him, grabbing the burning towels he thust them into the toilet and flushed. Next he pulled the shower curtain and pole down into the bath and turned on the shower. Although he averted the distaster of the house burning down the damage in the bathroom was collosal and it still stank of shit! Forgetting love our hero then climbed through the window and legged it to the pub. Needless to say he never saw her again.
(Tue 6th Sep 2005, 16:33, More)

» Evidence that you're getting old

Walking past
M&S and seeing a cardigan in the window and thinking "mmm that looks comfy".
I find that I thoroughly enjoy breaking wind - to the distain of my missus who always complains - my reply is nearly always: "Everyone needs a hobby"
(Sun 31st Oct 2004, 23:01, More)