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Following on from Ichbinnaughty and his bowel movements on the match thread why is that when one is laying a cable in a public loo or at work one is very quiet and makes as less noise as possible, yet when im at home I let rip, quite literally, one of my best ever achievements in life was the day I was having an ertha kitt and Mrs P ( and the neighbours ) could hear me in the garden, yet when im at work I have to muffle the noise I mean some people don't care, some of the noises I hear in the work Kharzi are unreal they truly are horrific so the question is are you an all or nothing dumper or are you like me
And Bowles is onside, Swinburne has come rushing out of his goal , what can Bowles do here , onto the left foot no, on to the right foot
That’s there that’s two, and that’s Bowles
Brian Moore
when i was under the Harsh Jackboot of south american Gak in the 90's and noughties. Id Always have to go for a Tom Tit once the order was placed with my Drug Conciliator. I believe this is quite common for those unfortunate enough to have endured this recreational habit.
As a side note ,and to continue our scatological segway, i was on jury service in the mid 90's for a murder trial at the Old Bailey. One of the witnesses was giving evidence and said that he went for a "Tom tit in the Pubs Cubicle".
The Judge, who hadnt left the high society bubble of the wigmore club in 1953, looking pained and confused asked "what a is a Tom Tit ?", the defence rose from his seat and in dirk Bogarde clipped tones replied " i believe the witness means he went for a shit m'lud'.
Much laughter among the jury and a 1o minute recess
[Post edited 24 Feb 2016 12:31]
"...The monkey is never dead, Dealer. The monkey never dies. When you kick him off, he just hides in a corner, waiting his turn."
Its the same as people urinating in the swimming pool. So its acceptable if you are in the deep end but not if you are standing on the diving board. The results are the same
Its the same as people urinating in the swimming pool. So its acceptable if you are in the deep end but not if you are standing on the diving board. The results are the same
I was only thinking about the dangers of public dumping this morning, strangely enough.
I was dropping the kids off at the pool, so to speak, at the local, well, pool.
The local swimming pool has shared male/female toilets which, frankly, I'm queasy about. I realise that the fairer sex have the same bodily functions as us hairy lads but, damn it all, it feels plain wrong to exit a steamy cubicle to a queue of ladies and to have to embarrassingly hold the door open and emit a blushing 'I'd give it a minute if I were you'.
"The opposite of love, after all, is not hate, but indifference."
One evening, matters had advanced with a young lady and the need to secure temporary housing facilities for the night became as obvious as it did pressing as the hubba-hubba stakes started to get interesting.
There was also another more pressing need, and by pressing, I mean the turtle's head was keen to free itself as I was in desperate need of a mud-out.
Room entered and I made the tactical decision to turn the TV on, thus undoubtedly presenting the image that an evening of noisy jiggy-jiggy would be abated by a loud television, when in reality, I wanted ambient noise to deaden the din that taking extremely boisterous kiddies to the pool was going to make.
'Can I nip to the loo?' she asked and being a gentleman, I acquiesced and hoped that she'd be quick about it. Alas, she took a time and exited with a salacious look that presented all sorts of conundrums.
A smooch and a hurried 'Back in a sec' as I shot past into the toilet as she ambled to the love deck and to my horror, started playing with the remote control. Of course, this meant the odd nano-seconds of quiet or worse, if one started to channel hop, seconds of calm.
Meanwhile inside the khasi, as one does when trying to put a muffler on a large bowel evacuation, buttocks were clenched but the brute awesome pressure of a monstrous turd hurriedly leaving ones innards, announced its arrival into proceedings with first, a huge fart and then a deafening burst as a long and protracted effluxion of waste product hit the dumper.
Meanwhile, back in the main part of the room, the TV volume could go no higher!
The first flush wasn't as successful as I had hoped and needed. Not that this was my main concern as frankly, the place stank to high heaven and back. The second flush at least allowed me to continue the already frantic towel waving that I was performing, to turn a room that smelt like a small silage plant into something less toxic.
A quick check to see no skid marks on my reg grundies - I'm quite particular about that sort of thing - none on the Armitage Shanks and I exited with a rather jovial given the situation, 'That's better!'
'Always In Motion' by John Honney available on amazon.co.uk
Nous sommes L’occitane Rs!
I'm same as you PP, try and be as quiet and discreet as possible when releasing a chocolate hostage at work (usually wait for someone to flush or the hand dryer to go off)but you do hear some unreal noises from blokes who seem to try and be as noisy as possible.
To be fair, it was a bit skinny at the ends to achieve such distance but that's not the worrying/sad/impressive bit* he took a bloody picture of it and placed something beside the monster for size comparison purposes.
Couldn't see a woman going to such lengths...physically or professionally in terms of thinking of a comparator at such a time as potentially laying, a world record log!
It gets worse, there's a website called ratemypoo.com a step too far for me, but seriously, a website? * delete as appropriate
[Post edited 24 Feb 2016 13:07]
'Always In Motion' by John Honney available on amazon.co.uk
Nous sommes L’occitane Rs!
I was having a dump at work and my phone rang — I looked at the screen and recognised my mate’s number by the Brighton area code.
Me (whispering): “Hello mate, I’m having a dump, can I call you back later?” Caller (laughing): “Er, okay, or I can call you back when you’ve finished?” Me (still whispering and not recognising the voice): “Who is this?” Caller: “It’s Alex from Legal and General, I’m calling regarding your home insurance renewal…would you like me to call you back in ten minutes” Me: “Yes, please, thank you, bye.”
We had a little chuckle about it when he called back, but it was fairly embarrassing.
The other side of that was me having a dump at work/doing sudoko during a quiet spell, and a bloke arrived in the trap next to me, and called someone and started shouting at the person at the other end of the phone about some sort of issue with his mortgage approval, whilst pooing very loudly and grunting and groaning. I’m all for multi-tasking, but no-one’s that busy.
We only have one small toilet at work and its in the corner of the office anyway. I try and be as discreet as possible when bombing the porcelain sea but I have a few Dutch colleagues and I swear its a competition for them to make as much noise as humanly! They are very proud of it too!
Someone keeps shitting on our building in Cliffords Inn Passage.
Luckily it was frozen yesterday when the receptionist had to clean it, they'd managed to shat up the wall a few weeks ago!!!! I've asked for CCTV to be put up so I can see which vermin, animal untermensch it is.
I'm medium volume at work unless I have the beer poo's (ale drinkers will empathise) then I sound like a gasworks.
[Post edited 24 Feb 2016 13:30]
Beer and Beef has made us what we are - The Prince Regent
I'm same as you PP, try and be as quiet and discreet as possible when releasing a chocolate hostage at work (usually wait for someone to flush or the hand dryer to go off)but you do hear some unreal noises from blokes who seem to try and be as noisy as possible.
I never go for a dump at work. Trust me portaloos on site are like the anti Tardis,Turdis if you will,with Dr poo. I can go for a slash but that's it. My bowels are like clockwork anyway. 6.35 am before work, approx 6.10pm after work.
when i was under the Harsh Jackboot of south american Gak in the 90's and noughties. Id Always have to go for a Tom Tit once the order was placed with my Drug Conciliator. I believe this is quite common for those unfortunate enough to have endured this recreational habit.
As a side note ,and to continue our scatological segway, i was on jury service in the mid 90's for a murder trial at the Old Bailey. One of the witnesses was giving evidence and said that he went for a "Tom tit in the Pubs Cubicle".
The Judge, who hadnt left the high society bubble of the wigmore club in 1953, looking pained and confused asked "what a is a Tom Tit ?", the defence rose from his seat and in dirk Bogarde clipped tones replied " i believe the witness means he went for a shit m'lud'.
Much laughter among the jury and a 1o minute recess
[Post edited 24 Feb 2016 12:31]
Needing a shit immediately after coming up is one of the few things I don't miss about Gary Ablett and his incredible nights out.
On one occasion I was at some horrible warehouse party in deepest darkest Yorkshire, and the queue for the men's toilets was like something out of a woman's toilet frankly. Once inside, the reason became clear: only one of four cubicles had a door on, and everyone seemed to need a shit. It was around midnight, and everyone was coming up at the same time it seemed.
Things were getting desperate, but everyone held on - apart from one gent, one of the biggest, meanest looking bastards I've ever seen, eyeballs on stalks and sweat already pouring off him, in part from the exertion of holding in his load no doubt. This guy made a break from the queue and flung himself onto one of the toilets in a cubicle with no door.
To be fair to him, as his guts opened and the sound of liquid hitting liquid filled the air, his approach was to lean forward, chin in hand, and stare at anyone that dared look his way. Occasionally his eyes would roll, before another burst of fluid left him and his attention jerked back to scanning the queue and glaring at anyone that might be looking at him.
To be fair, it was a bit skinny at the ends to achieve such distance but that's not the worrying/sad/impressive bit* he took a bloody picture of it and placed something beside the monster for size comparison purposes.
Couldn't see a woman going to such lengths...physically or professionally in terms of thinking of a comparator at such a time as potentially laying, a world record log!
It gets worse, there's a website called ratemypoo.com a step too far for me, but seriously, a website? * delete as appropriate
[Post edited 24 Feb 2016 13:07]
TBF I did go through a stage of taking pictures of my efforts, especially when they looked liked King Kongs Finger , it seemed a shame not to when I worked in one particular office i was the only male there so if I was dying for a Pony I would go in the ladies and just leave it in the bowl without flushing , I would find it quite funny to hear the woman in the office having a go at each other and them speculating as to who the phantom dumper was
And Bowles is onside, Swinburne has come rushing out of his goal , what can Bowles do here , onto the left foot no, on to the right foot
That’s there that’s two, and that’s Bowles
Brian Moore
The peerless Viz Profanisaurus refers to this attempt to cover up a foul Dame Judy as a 'Burberry Sh!tbomb'.
Side note - had a panic the other day when, after several enchiladas and a few beers the night before, the resultant, frankly colossal length of crimped dirty spine proceeded to block the khazi to the point at which I am panicking looking at a poonami of horrific proportions and plotting an escape via the skylight.
'What do we want? We don't know! When do we want it? Now!'
Only the other day someone said how diverse this forum can be..ain't that the truth, and long may it continue.. As my mate said whilst reading this thread," all this talk of shite, and no mention of Redkrapp".
Its a private function, therefore discretion is the key in my house, so I've installed a tugboat horn in the toilet to mask the possibility of embarrassment. .
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