Tag Archives: shit

An Epic Battle

4 Sep

When people mention great battles that have been fought through the history of time, there are a few that immediately spring to mind; David and Goliath, Gettysburg, Waterloo and Stalingrad to name but a few. However, there is one battle that leaps straight to the forefront of my mind; a battle that lasted almost an hour and a half and that left one man a worn, tearful but eventual hero. A battle that defines courage and guts; that shows what one man can do if he is determined enough. The battle I’m talking about is my mate Ashley versus his bowels, when he fought for 90 minutes to avoid shitting his own pants.

It was a Saturday afternoon and my brother, cousin, Ashley and I were playing football on the green outside the front of my house. I think I must have been about 14 at the time. We had two goals set up and were playing 2 on 2, using a very small football. Every now and again, I’d run across to the front window and peer through at the TV so I could check the latest football scores, which would disrupt the flow of the game. We also had to stop whenever a car went passed as we had a tendency to be a bit wayward with our shots. However, these small pauses in the afternoon’s fun were nothing compared to the waiting around we had to do when Ashley’s battle began.

As I ran towards goal with the ball, I saw Ashley approaching me, defending his goal. As I neared him, I thought about an early shot, but decided that I’d try and take it passed him before slotting the ball into the goal. I was a couple of yards from him, when without warning, and quite hastily, Ashley dropped to the floor and lay face down on the grass. He was stretched out, but he crossed his ankles and I could see that he was clenching hard. Despite witnessing him fall down, I scored my goal and celebrated before we all gathered round him and peered down.

“What are you doing?”asked my brother. “You could have saved that”.

‘Bllllllaaaaaapp-a-flap-flap-flap-a-bbblaaap-flap-flap’

Ashley responded with one of the wettest farts I have ever heard. His hands quickly went from being flat out on the grass above his head, to cupping his bum cheeks. We all burst into laughter, apart from Ashley.

“Oh God, I really need a shit”
“Go to the toilet then”, I said.
“I won’t make it”, Ashley whimpered, his face still sunk into the grass.

‘Blllllaaaarrmmm-bup-bup-bup-blaaaapp-flap-a-flap’

Once again, Ashley let out a wet, meaty fart.

“That must have been more than just air that came out”, I joked, but Ashley didn’t laugh, he stayed where he was and let out a silent groan.

For the next ten minutes we just stood over Ashley, trying to make him go to the toilet, but he remained on the grass. Eventually, he made an effort to move, and slowly but surely, he got into a crouched position. As we egged him on, it looked like he’d finally got the beating of his bowels, but then he let rip with an almighty air biscuit that threatened the safety of all of our nostrils. He collapsed to the grass again and rolled back onto his stomach at a rather impressive rate.

“What the fuck are you doing?” we asked.
“It won’t come out if I’m like this. If I move I’m going to shit myself”. By now Ashley was beginning to panic. My cousin probably didn’t help his composure at all;
“Well it looks like you’ve got two options. Shit yourself now, or stay here all night and shit yourself in your sleep”.

Again, we all chuckled. How nice it was watching someone struggle to hold in an ever-nearing poo, I was so glad it wasn’t me.

As the battle went on, Ashley got braver. He nearly made it to a standing position quite a few times, but on each occasion, he’d fart loudly before collapsing to the floor again as if he’d been shot by a sniper. The game of football had been ended, and we were all sat down, chatting idly, occasionally stopping to go silent and watch Ashley’s efforts to make it the very short distance to my house, and then laughing as he guffed and fell down again. After about an hour, his face was purple, and he had made an imprint in the ground from where he’d been laying for so long. Still he fought the urge to soil himself. Bored, we started chanting, trying to help spur him on,

‘ASHLEY, ASHLEY, ASHLEY’ we sang in unison, but it was no use, he was still unable to make many movements.
Just when we were thinking of going in to get something to eat and leaving Ashley where he was, he spoke. His face turned to look at us,

“Get me a large stick”
“A stick?”
“Yes, and hurry”

For some reason, none of us asked questions despite being intrigued, and we went to a nearby tree to find a stick. Peering back at Ashley, I saw that he was still in the same position. I wonder what people looking from their houses must have thought he was up to. My thoughts were interrupted,

“Found one!” said my cousin.

We went back to Ashley and handed him the stick. It was about a metre long and five centimeters in diameter. Ashley rolled over onto his back and looked up at us.

“This is it; I’m going to make it now” he said, as if giving himself motivation. Still, none of us knew what he was up to but we watched excitedly, secretly hoping that he’d follow through eventually.
Ashley began to stand up again, and as before, farts flew out of him like he was a deflating whoopee cushion. Rather than collapse to the floor as before though, Ashley poked the stick through his shorts, into his sphincter and waited until he could move again. He was soon in a standing position, with the stick still held firmly in place and we were all in hysterics at what we were witnessing.

We watched as a determined Ashley waddled ever so slowly across the road and through my front door, punctuating his walk with farts that reverberated off of the stick. He was calm though, and taking his time, using the stick as a safety barrier. He had to stop every couple of paces and regain composure, but after an almighty struggle, he had made it into the house and to the toilet.
We cheered as the front door closed behind him, our eyes filled with tears of laughter. What we saw that day will never leave me; it was a true display of courage and determination. It was the talk of our group of friends for the next couple of weeks, and the stick was kept as a sort of souvenir – it rest on the green as a reminder of the event.

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Flowers

14 Aug

I bought you some flowers the other day,
You seemed happy to receive them.
‘But why’ you then asked, inquisitively,
Probing me for the reason.

 

The flowers I gave you were merely a gift,
A motive my Dear, I don’t need.
‘But surely there is?’ you asked me again,
And I began to regret my fine deed.

 

I love you lots, is that good enough?
I missed you today whilst away.
They’re for being you, for looking so lovely,
You’re perfect in every way.

 

‘Don’t give me that bollocks’, you started again,
Your eyes staring intently at mine.
I coughed and I spluttered and searched for an excuse,
But decided to confess to my crime.

 

‘It wasn’t the dog’, I said in a mutter,
‘That pissed on the carpet last night.
I got home drunk, and thought our room was the loo,
And that flowers would make it alright?’

 

‘The flowers are lovely’ you said with a frown,
‘But there’s something I need to tell you.
Not only did I clear up your urine today,
You left a small nugget of poo’.

Dirty Pint Glass

3 Aug

Brace yourself, this one is quite strange (and disgusting) and features my friend Ashley, star of the ‘Some Dirty Bastard has shat on the seat’ post. The location was The Antelope in High Wycombe, a medium sized boozer that has provided my mates and I with many a laugh over the years. This particular story happened one summer when the outside area was open and busy – an important part of this tale.

In the summer, the pub has an outside bar which comes in very handy. It also has a couple of portaloos, which, if you’re brave enough, can also prove useful. My mates and I were all sat round a table, basking in the warm evening air, when Ashley suddenly piped up;

“Fuck me, I need a shit and it feels like it could be massive”.

Now this in itself is a statement that would make any group of friends stop their discussion and go quiet. When the aforementioned statement is combined with a mischievous look like the one Ashley had on his face, you know something other than a bog standard shit is going to follow. We all stopped and looked at Ashley and then we began probing him as to his plans. This was only a couple of weeks after the shitting on the seat incident, and Ashley had received a fair bit of praise for that prank, so we were all wondering what he was thinking of doing next.

“You’ll see”. A smile formed across his face.

“Keep watching that portaloo door. I won’t be long”

Ashley got up and made his way to the portaloo. The rest of us got in the queue for the outside bar and waited. I was already chuckling to myself, wondering what on Earth he was planning. A few minutes passed and still we watched and waited, trying not to make it too obvious to everyone else around us that something was about to happen.

Suddenly, the door opened, very slowly. Ashley’s silhouetted figure emerged in the doorway, and as he opened the door further and the light hit him, I saw the biggest grin on his face. We still couldn’t see what he was smiling about, and not wanting to shout out to him, we kept quiet. I did notice that his arms were behind his back and I wondered what he was hiding.

I didn’t have to wait long. From behind his back, Ashley brought forth a pint glass, and in it was the single biggest log I think I have ever seen. It was a thing a rare beauty; long, thick and perfectly smooth. It was so big that it was jutting out of the top of the pint glass. It reminded me of an iceberg in a way, with most of the mass below the brim of the glass, but with the dome of the log peering over the surface.

I was on the floor.

I’m not sure why I found it so funny. I think it was the thought of him crimping off such a magnificent beast into a pint glass. Tears streamed down my face and I clambered to my feet, trying to regain my composure. My other mates were laughing too, and we were all thinking why he had committed such a crude act.

Ashley closed the door once again, and emerged shortly afterwards, joining us in the queue.

“I hope you’ve tipped that out and flushed it away you dirty fucker”,said I.

“Nope. I’ve left it in the glass! It’s by that little flushing handle thing! Ha!”

Ashley was obviously proud of his newborn, and funny as it was, we told him that he better get rid of it. Grudgingly, he turned and went to go back to the portaloo, but it was too late, two girls had nipped in and closed the door. By this point, I was absolutely pissing myself laughing again, thinking of their reaction on finding Ashley’s mess.

“Maybe they’ll think it’s one of those toilet attendants – it’s big enough” said my brother.

We all started sniggering. I was caught in a loop of trying to stop laughing, and then remembering what I was laughing about, which made me laugh even more. I think we’ve all been there.

Then, without warning, the door flew open and the two girls ran out covering their mouths. One ran to a nearby wall and promptly threw up, whilst the other one was stood next to her, still covering her mouth, shaking her head in a disapproving manner.

We all did what any gentlemen would do in that situation. We turned and legged it onto the dance floor, pissing ourselves with laughter.

Bum is the answer…

8 Jul

Like many of my childhood stories, this one happened in the Summer Holidays. I’m not sure what it is about them that meant that as kids we felt compelled to get up to mischief. Perhaps it was the sense of adventure we felt, spending all day in the park and woods, with no other cares in the world.

 

My brother, cousin, our friend Ash and I were all heading up to the woods. It was the norm for us to bare our backsides at passing cars as we walked along the roads and today was no different. Quite what the drivers and passengers of the vehicles that we flashed our pale white arses at thought of us is anyone’s guess, but I doubt many were impressed. Ash in particular was having a ball, taking the opportunity to be a real daredevil and keep his bum exposed for as long as possible.

 

The road on the hill leading up to the entrance of the woods we were going to was (and still is) very steep, so our jovial antics ceased whilst we walked the mile or so up it, mainly because we were too knackered to run away should a car stop. We walked in single file, deliberately trying to trip one another up; when from behind us we heard a car coming. We stepped off the road and onto a grass verge so that the car could pass easier, but the car didn’t pass, it slowed right down and then came to a complete stop a few metres ahead of us.

 

We were all thinking the same thing. Was this some disgruntled driver that we had exposed ourselves to that had come to tell us off? We carried on walking, heads bowed, in silence.

 

“Excuse me boys, I’m looking for the Plough pub. Do you know where it is?”

 

Phew! I felt relief at the fact that we weren’t going to get a bollocking. I looked at the driver, it was a middle aged gentlemen. Being the oldest I stepped forward to respond. I knew exactly where the pub was, it was only a few hundred yards up the road and on the right hand side. I was about to open my mouth when Ash sprung forward in front of me.

 

In one swift motion, he dropped his shorts and pants, bent forwards so that his crumpled ring piece was facing the driver, and pulled his bum cheeks apart. They were spread quite impressively.

 

“THERE’S YOUR ANSWER”, he bellowed, his beaming face looking at the driver from between his legs. The rest of us were already at full pelt, running for the sanctity of the woods. Trying to run whilst you’re pissing yourself laughing is a very hard thing to do, but when running uphill, it’s even more complex.

 

My brother, cousin and I made it to a small path just off from the road and waited for Ashley. We were all in hysterics, in awe of what we’d just witnessed. After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably closer to a minute, Ash arrived; out of breath, but in good spirits, waiting to receive our plaudits.

 

“What did he say?”asked my cousin.

 

“Nothing. He just sat there and looked a bit shaken” said Ash.

 

We lingered where we were for another five minutes, hoping the car would drive pass, but it never did. After a while, we braved venturing out and we walked the rest of the way to the woods. I’m not sure what the driver did, I can only assume he turned back on himself. One thing I often wonder though is what the fuck were we doing? I do miss those times.

Swim Class

7 Jul

Picture the scene; a group of 9-10 year olds, all shivering, teeth chattering as the teacher tries to encourage them to swim into the depths of the murky water and retrieve the rubber block from the crusty veruca laden pool floor. The children are pale, and try mercifully to dodge any dead insects that may happen to float past their open mouths as they come hastily to the surface for an intake of oxygen. We’ve all been there, and whether it be the horrible water we were made to swim in, the weird green water we had to stand in before entering the pool, or trying to sneak a peek through the cracks in the changing rooms to catch the opposite sex stark bollock naked, we’ve all got different memories about swim class at school.

I hated swimming – there was no pleasure to be taken from getting into freezing cold water whilst receiving orders from a miserable teacher, who wanted to be inside as much as I did. It was on about my third of fourth swim class of the year that this story happened, and it is one that I look back on with mixed emotions. On this particular day, it was raining and windy, yet we were made to go swimming anyway. The water actually felt warm for once; probably because it was so cold in the old, wooden shack that passed for a changing room. I remember feeling as if I could crimp off a poo before I entered the water, but not wanting to make my excuses to go to the toilet, I kept quiet. ‘It isn’t that strong an urge’ I thought to myself, and so I just clenched as tightly as I could as I tried to do a length of the pool in unison with half of my class mates. This is more difficult when you’re all doing backstoke, and arms and heads are colliding with one another, as well as the sides of the pool. When I finally reached the other end, the ‘slight urge’ to poo, had now become a desperate one.

I still don’t know why I didn’t ask to go to the toilet – probably the fact that everyone would know I was off to lay a brown bog trout, so I stood in the waist high water and crossed my legs, inhaling as much as I could, hoping to suck my ever-nearing poo back up into my anus. I watched as other members of the class were made to dive under the water and fetch a 10p piece, and then I felt it. Reaching around to the back of my shorts, I gently ‘cupped’ the fabric and felt the unmistakable heaviness of a fresh log. It had slipped out without warning, and I had a predicament literally on my hands. I couldn’t waddle out of the pool, with my newly acquired tail protuding proudly from the back of my shorts, so I suppose I did what any 9 year old kid would do – I pulled my shorts to the side and dangled my leg about, until my newborn dropped free. This was harder than I first thought it would be, as my swim shorts had that tight netting-like layer. I thank God that I wasn’t wearing speedos.

My plan was going well. I had released my poo, and the next step was to give it a swift kick to the side and then carry on swimming as normal, except my plan didn’t get this far. To my horror, it floated slowly, agonisingly, to the surface, spinning as it rose in the water. I turned my back on it, hoping to hide it from view. With the realisation that I was ever closer to being caught for dumping in the pool ( it was nearly my turn to dive for the 10p), I turned back to face it, and it one swift motion, scooped it out of the water and discarded it on the side of the pool, where it sat like a giant dehydrated slug until the end of the lesson. I still don’t know how I didn’t get caught, but now I make sure that I always use the toilet prior to getting in a swimming pool.

Some Dirty Bastard has shat on the seat…

7 Jul

…were the words of disgust from the bargirl as she stepped out from behind the bar, face contorted with disbelief, coat hanger in hand. A few of us went silent, pints held inches from our open mouths.

“Erm, what’s the coat hanger for?”, someone asked. “Are you going to hang it out to dry?”

There was stifled laughter amongst my group of friends; I tried my hardest to get the image of a turd hanging gracefully on a washing line, swaying in the wind, out of my head.

“No. I’m going to knock it in with it.”

We fell about laughing. As the bargirl ventured into the murky gents toilets, talk turned to the culprit of such a heinous (but quite amusing nonetheless) crime. One friend, Ashley, was particularly quiet and wasn’t joining in much. Whilst most of us sniggered, and found the episode thoroughly enjoyable, he had gone quite coy. Fingers were soon pointed in the direction of Ashley.

“Shut up, she’s fucking livid” Ashley said, starting to turn crimson.

“Did you do it? Did you?”. We were all eager to hear his story, but after much probing, there was still no owning up from Ashley, despite all evidence pointing to him. He’d been to the toilets recently, and for quite a while. We carried on with the questioning until the bargirl returned from the gents, hand over her mouth, gagging.

“I can’t do it. It’s making me heave”.

With the evidence literally still sat there waiting, we ventured in to see the damage. As we piled into the gents, there were cries of both horror and joy. There, on the back on the toilet seat, was a perfectly formed baby toilet truffle, about 5 inches long. The damage to the fecal matter from the hook on the coat hanger was visible with a few vertical ‘stripes’ down the side of it where the bargirl had tried to hook it off the seat and into the bowl. This turd was sticking around it seemed.

With none of us brave enough to try and shift it, we spilled back out into the bar and returned to our pints. Simon grabbed Ashley’s phone from his hand,

“Just need to text…WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT??!!!”

Ashley’s head dropped. We all gathered round. There was the all the evidence needed to convict him of the crime right in front of us. A photo, taken on his mobile, which he’d been trying desperately to delete. We ribbed him mercifully.

“Why, Ash? Why?” one of us enquired.

“I just thought it would be a laugh, but then I saw her reaction”, he motioned towards the bar “and thought better of it.”

I wasn’t sure what to think, but things took a further twist.

“Ashley, in this photo, the shit is on the right hand side, but in the toilet, it’s slap bang in the centre. Why?”

“It looked better in the middle”, came Ash’s reply, and with that, we collapsed into fits of giggles once more

Damn the Dark

7 Jul

It had been a great night. Alcohol had been consumed in vast quantities, cigarettes had been smoked in abundance, and rug had been cut on the dance floor. ‘What would really top this night off’, I thought to myself, my drunk thoughts tripping over themselves, ‘would be a shag. A sweaty, lust-filled, over-in-minutes, shag’.

 

Fortunately, I had made it to the relative safety of my home with two girls, Nancy and Lisa, who I had been with all night as part of a large group of friends. Unfortunately, they were only with me as they had travelled from Cardiff (I live in Bucks) and they needed somewhere to crash for the night, and they had made it perfectly clear that they were up for no naughtiness (especially with me). We’d been sat around on sofas in my front room for half an hour or so, the girls wrapped up in duvets whilst I ate a greasy kebab (fnarr!); and all the while I was trying to charm the two Welsh ladies into bed but they were having none of it.

 

They were both tired, and had started to sober up slightly so my chances of a quick fumble with either girl had all but vanished. Then talk turned to ghost stories. Lisa started off with a story about her local church being haunted and that she’d actually seen a ghost there. Nancy got scared by this, and pulled up her duvet around her neck.

 

“Please don’t talk about ghosts”, she said quietly, “I won’t be able to sleep, especially in the dark”.

 

Lisa and I laughed and carried on regardless, talking about various clips and stories we’d seen on the internet. As we went on, I could see Nancy literally start shaking with fear, her eyes filling up with tears.

 

“Guys, seriously, I’ll need the lights on now otherwise I won’t be able to sleep on my own” she said, pleadingly.

 

My drunken brain hatched a plan. I’d cut the electric, plunging the house into darkness, and Nancy would have to have someone in bed with her. That someone would be me. I excused myself and went to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the circuit breaker. Everything went dark; lights went out, the TV went off and the kettle stopped boiling. The only thing that broke the tranquility of the dark was the screams emanating from the front room. Nancy and Lisa were shrieking.

 

“It’s ok, it’s just a power cut”, I shouted as I returned, feeling along the walls to aid me. “Happens all the time round here”, I lied. 

 

Lisa and Nancy lay side by side on the King size bed, with me on the outside next to Lisa, wearing just my underwear. Nancy had point-blankly refused to sleep in the room I had provided and Lisa was also too scared to be left alone. The dark has a habit of playing tricks with people’s minds, it amplifies the vulnerability of situations, and this had played to my advantage. All the talk of ghosts, and now the ‘power cut’ had scared the girls quite splendidly, and they wanted me around to ‘protect them’. As we lay in pitch black darkness, the only sounds I could hear was the soft breathing of the girls, and the clock ticking on my wall. I didn’t know if either Lisa or Nancy were awake, the conversation had died out 20 or so minutes earlier, but I did know that I was horny.

 

Their sweet, fruity perfume tickled my nostrils as I inhaled, and in moments my gristle truncheon was standing proud as I thought of undressing each girl slowly and having my wicked way with them. I tucked my bobbing member under the elastic of my boxers, keeping it flat against me so that Lisa would not bump into it. I would not have minded if she did, but I didn’t want her to think I was some sort of sexual pervert. I wanted to play it cool. I lay silently for what must have been about 10 minutes, fighting the urge to start kissing Lisa on the small of her back. I wanted her to roll over and feel my erection and get turned on, getting carried away with the situation, so we could hump like animals throughout the night.

 

‘Nancy would join in’, I thought. ‘Yeah, she definitely would. First she’d play with herself and then she’d join in’. We would wake in a sticky, sweaty mess, holding each other, and start all over again.

 

Then I farted.

 

It was a loud, reverberating fart, that if I hadn’t been in the company of two females, I would have been proud of. I would have laughed at it. It was a kebab-backed, deep, meaty fart; a hearty *pop*, like a shotgun. My guts twisted and churned and I placed my hands on my stomach as if to hold any further anal explosions in. Luckily, Nancy and Lisa didn’t say anything; their breathing remained constant – I hadn’t been heard.

 

My bowels felt like they were rolling over in my belly, as my sphincter clenched tightly. ‘Dodgy kebab’ I muttered and I got up out of bed to feel my way to the toilet. As it was a cold night, I reached down for my dressing gown, dressed and crept slowly and silently out of the bedroom, being careful not to stride too far in fear of fecal matter seeping from my anus. The relief as I sat on the porcelain throne was instant. Vile smelling, sticky fluid poured from my back passage, hitting the water with a great force causing splash-back. It tickled slightly. The stench was putrid. Once I was sure I was empty, I wiped and went back the bedroom, where the girls were still asleep, whimpering quietly to myself. The next thing I knew, it was morning. I had fallen asleep and missed my chance.

 

I woke to glorious sunlight seeping through the curtains. Nancy and Lisa were still in bed, talking about the night before.

 

“Morning ladies, fancy a cuppa? I should be able to find the emergency backup switch now there’s some light”.

 

Nancy wanted tea, Lisa an orange juice, so I felt down to the floor for my dressing gown. As I picked it up I span my legs out of the bed and onto the floor, and then lifted the dressing gown to cover my morning wood. With my back to the girls, I slipped it on.

 

“Erm, why are you wearing my dressing gown?” Lisa asked.

 

I looked at what I was wearing. A pink fluffy dressing gown. I looked over at the door and there hung my BHS blue dressing gown. I turned to look at Lisa and her face dropped –

 

“What the f*** is that on my dressing gown?” she shouted, pointing at me accusingly.

 

Dry, crusty poo clung to the dressing gown like a limpet. The splash-back had been powerful.

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