[lorentz]

Chapper's story of his GF's swimming disaster put this in my mind. Genuine story. Happened to my housemate's, colleague's best mate and has been reliably authenticated.

The girl in question was on a business trip in New York and the day before she was due to fly back had been suffering from a touch of a stomach bug. The day of her early flight back to blighty she woke feeling much much better for a good nights sleep; she packed in a hurry and rushed to the airport. In the lull after check-in and prior to being called to her flight she decided to have a quick cup of coffee to celebrate a succesful business trip, and to pep her up after the early start. First mistake.

The flight was called and she boarded without incident, but was a little disappointed to find she was sat in the middle seat between 2 strangers. However they seemed nice, without wanting to launch into conversation so she started to relax and looked forward to getting home. Her second mistake.

The plane took off and with the increased altitude came a difference in cabin pressure, manifesting itself in a need to expel a little waste gas (we all know girls don't fart, don't we!). Still it was a packed flight, she was certain she no-one would think it was her - perfect innocent creature as she was. He third mistake. Three strikes you're out!

Not only did she follow through a little, but the wave of liquid faeces (exarcebated by drinking coffee) slopped over the waste band of her trousers and into the laps of the startled fellow passengers in her row, before slopping onto the floor and running backwards towards the rear of the plane over the feet of the people behind as the plane was still pointing up and ascending.

She had to sit there - seconds like months - stunned, mortified and disgusted before the plane settled down enough for her to scarper to the toilets and attempt to clean herself up. She then had to endure the rest of the flight home in the thinly veiled stench of her own bodily motions, dressed in a spare stewardess's uniform (her own clothes being in her bag - safely checked in, in the hold) under the disgusted gazes of her fellow passengers and the withering, silent contempt of the stewardesses who had to - the best they could - round up and clean up her liquid stools, which like brown mercury had slipped under two or three rows of seats.

As the man Colonel Kurtz so aptly said...

"The horror.... The horror...."

That must have been a loooooooong flight!

[lorentz]

PS

I apologise in advance that this account is not true to Houdini's guidelines for this thread - namely that we must learn to laugh at ourselves. It's just that it's too good an event not to share given enough of an opportunity.

I too have farted once in my life and followed thru (hungover - on the morning of my 26th birthday) but never on the collossal scale described above or with such awful consequences. It's not an interesting story, but I hope it redresses the balance a little.

[Fiend]

Errrrrr I don't have any drunken ones as I don't get drunk, nor any bastardly ones that I can remember.

I do have a couple of kinda unexpected sexual events but I don't know if I can post those for my own (and other's) sakes. Someone tell me that it doesn't fit the thread and let me off the hook, k?

[Houdini]

Someone tell me that it doesn't fit the thread and let me off the hook, k?

The Church of the Laugh, is an extremely broad church, my child.  Always room for another to join our flock.

[Yossarian]

i was rather hoping that someone would come forward with a brilliant dogging story, or a tale about the time they spent a night in a somalian whorehouse...

come on fiend. how were those pretty somalis?

[Fiend]

Okay, okay, I am soooooo going to regret this but since I've gained a fair bit of respect for UKB (and since I've been wanting to get the last one off my chest)...

Note there is no way in hell I am revealing who these were with or even when. Both female though.

#1. In campsite. 69ing. Girl on top, me underneath. Yum yum very nice, breakfast etc etc. As part of the process I have various digits in various places including one up the emergency exit... As the sordid act proceeds to it's inevitable conclusion, girl gets increasingly excited. At the moment of of particular excitment, I remove aforementioned digit to to find that something really needed to exit in an emergency. Namely, a warm friendly squirt of turd, straight into my eye. SHE was embarrassed, I was rather amused, but even so the skulk to the campsite showers has never been skulked so skulkily.

 

#2. In bed. Fucking. Girl underneath, me on top. Very nice. In a radical break from the male tradition this has been going on for quite a while. In fact it could be described as a good long hard shag. Which it was. As the sordid act proceeds to it's inevitable conclusion, the shag is getting longer and indeed harder. At the moment of indeed conclusion there is some particularly excited thrusting....and then a sharp stabbing pain.

Girl: Are you okay?

Me: Actually I'm not...

I withdraw.

Me: Fuck, I've broken my dick.

As I can tell straight away I've torn the little bit of skin that joins the foreskin to the underside of one's dome. It is a very small and insignificant injury. Nevertheless, there is rather a lot of blood in a tumescent penis. And that blood is pouring out my dick, onto the girl and onto the bed. Oh dear. Thankfully it slows to a trickle and I managed to lie down instead of fainting although the temptation is unsurprisingly strong. In the end a bit of TLC, a phonecall to the NHS direct, and a couple of weeks of semi-active rest and it all heals. Still....

 

[Houdini]

Fiend - I could be wrong here; I'm relying entirely on er...  circumstancial evidence....  but I think I've worked out who you are!   


Nay!  Do not be ashamed, my child.  Infact, before I was excommunicated, myself all of my fellow redfrocks found ourselves in equally luxurious disturbing situations...  And it came to pass, that Our Lords' finger did also rend the tissue.   Revelations 69:69

#1 - Made me do one of those weird ultra high-pitched breathy-in Flipper-style squeal-chuckles! 

#2 - Won't comment.  But I'll be logging in & out all day to provide you and your partner some 4-ply wads...


Sweet!    Savoury!!

[Jim]

which I had time to read all this thread. some of these are tres amusent

[Houdini]

Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it...


This one's a two-parter: to understand the second one needs to understand the first...



There are two baccy pouches on the mantlepiece.  I take a pouch in one hand and the GF in the other, we're in a hurry.  Catch the bus to Bangor from 'Beris, then the train to Holyhead: we're off to Dublin to get lost, eat lots, and of course, get pissed.

It all goes smoothly until it's time to go through customs, we are perhaps the last to walk through, and I, being the curious-type, am looking hither and thither as we pass the checkpoint.  I make eye contact for the briefest of moments with a customs official behind the desk, who points at us and asks us to come over.  

The lady asks me to empty my pockets, which I do quite quickly as I know that I've nothing to hide...   I plonk my baccy on the desk, and suddenly begin to think the worst.  Fuck!  Wrong pouch!  The official had begun to delve into the tobacco and found what I'd hoped I'd left at home...

"What's this?"
"I think you know what that is, don't you?"
"I do, but what is it?"
"That's pollen, Maam, probably some of the best I've ever smoked."
"Where did you get it from?"
"Berlin."
"What's it doing here in Holyhead?"
"That's a question I was just asking myself actually..."

She spins on her heels and disappears through the swinging doors behind her, but quickly returns with the Fat Controller.

"What?!"  I exclaimed in astonishment.  "You're going to bust me for a trifling dice of hashish?!"
"Yes I am." Replied the Fat Controller.
"Been a slow week, has it?"  I taunted him.
"Would you come with me Sir?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really Sir..."

The poor GF was looking pretty scared by now, but I managed to flash her a quick wink as I was escorted through the doors and along to the questioning room.

I was asked all manner of questions.  Mostly, these just wound me up.

"Look!" I said, "I've no criminal record whatsoever, and I know that this is fuck all, and I know you can do very little.  Would you mind just getting on with it please?"
"Certainly Sir."  She disappeared and I was left on my own for the briefest of moments, before the Fat Controller came in with another indecently large gentleman, and gave me the score.

"Would you remove your clothes please, starting with your coat, give it to my assistant, please."
"Sure."  

It was time to get naked in front of strange men.

The Fat Controllers' assistant reached into his pockets and donned a pair of surgical gloves...  This freaked me out:  I was convinced they were going in for more.

"Don't worry, we won't be doing an internal search.  This are just to protect me from anything I might find."

Suddenly the world felt a brighter place, and I slowly stripped off and handed the assistant my clothing - all under the watchful darting eyes of the Fat Controller.

"Would you raise your arms please, Sir"   (I would indeed!)
"Would you turn around please, Sir"   (I could do that!)
"Would you bend over, Sir"   (I was confused...)
"Excuse me?"  I replied.
"Would you bend over and part your buttocks please, Sir."  He clarified
"Be my guest."

I'm pretty flexible, me...  I bent all the way down til my head was between my knee's and gave him a good clear view of my asshole.  Making sure I caught his eye, upsidedown.

"Thankyou Sir.  Now would you lift your scrotum for me Sir?"
"Yes, indeed I will."  Lifting my meat and two veg so the lucky chap could get a good look at the half pound of crack that wasn't there.
"Do you enjoy your work?" I asked the assistant, cheekily.
"Not always, Sir"  He answered, dry as you like.

He seemed to take the greatest exception to handling my socks. I didn't blame him, they'd been on my feet for at least two days.    They were minging.

I was allowed to dress, and I settled in to receive the Far Controllers' spiel.  By now I was beginning to enjoy myself.  All the fear of the previous 15 minutes had evaporated and now it was just the Fat Controller and I.  He still looked pretty narked from my quip about it being "a slow week".  I knew he would do the worst he could...

Turned out it was 2.09g of awesome pollen.  Good shit: it needed only a breath of flame before it would crumble effortlessly into a joint; it was the remnants of a small slab I'd purchased in Berlin at the Love Parade.  It wasn't expensive at the time, but it had transformed itself into the most expensive smoke I'd ever toot.

The Fat Controller gave me his terms.  I was to pay a ton there and then, or within 28 days and still be in possession of a clean record.  Or - I could contest the fine at a county court (which I knew I would lose) pay the same fine, but walk away with a black mark on my record.  I paid up there and then.

Eventually I was released.  They didn't take my prints or photograph me.  However I, or rather we, had missed our ferry and had to return to the hills straightaway.  To make maters worse I lost some shit hot RayBans on the train back, and had to deal with a less than happy girlfriend who thought the holiday in Wales was over there and then.
We returned the follwing day and without even a packet of straights in our pockets.  Thankfully Dublin turned out to be a blast.  But I was about 150 quid lighter, all things taken into consideration...  

And two strange men had seen my willy.

[Bubba]

[Palomides]

Alright, I'm in. But this is pretty mild compared to others.

During a training course in Paris, the smarmy account manager took us out for a meal. I rather unwisely had a meat fondue thing.

God knows why, but the ingestion of too much hot oil and barely cooked meat triggered a rather urgent faecal moment. I managed to comprehensively fill my pants with liquid shit whilst walking to the toilet (situated at the back of the kitchen). Each hurried step squirted out a little more. Happily I didn't dribble in the food preparation area.

After cleaning up as best I could, and consigning my underpants to the small bin, I returned to the table, tied my sweater around my waist to conceal the brown stains, expalined I was feeling a little unwell and went outside while the others finished.

After about an hour wandering around a wet Parisien suburb the others finished and smarmy account manager insisted that I talk to his friend the drunken restaurant owner. He kindly pressed upon me his remedy for not feeling well - a glass of neat pastis. Yes, that really helped.

The final stage of the evening was long drawn out and uncomfortable, as I loitered as far as politely possible from my colleagues in a bar, and then on the rainy streets for THREE FUCKING HOURS as we tried to find a taxi (smarm-boy having dumped us after the restaurant). I cannot recommend walking around for a whole evening in chafing, shitty trousers with no pants on.

The shower back in the hotel was one of the best I've ever had.

[BenF]

Wow, what a thread.  I figured it was all about the naff gameshow and ignored it until today.  I've been spraying wad points since I started reading it.  Mega wad points for Fiend in particular, good self-effacing stuff there dude.

My life has been full of embarrasing moments, but I ain't got time for much right now having spent my lunch hour reading all about everyone elses woes.  But here's a couple of pretty lowkey poo related ones from my past.

1)  Early on in my days as a swimmer I remember being told off by my coach for some probably daft and childish act.  I was never a child to take critism very well, always crying the moment a teacher even began to suggest that I had done wrong.  Anyway, there I was, on the side of the pool being told off with maybe twenty other kids looking on, when some observant fellow swimmer noticed that rather than crying I was this time using my behind to show my contrition.  All very embarrasing in my formative years, being carted off down the pool side with poo running out of my Speedos and down my legs.  I was only about 25 8 at the time though, so it's a bit of a cop out story really.

2)  In the Alps, aged about 18, heading upwards through the woods to the Aiguilles Rouges.  Sudden need to have a fart proved to be rather more than a fart.  Luckily I realised just in time and ducked behind a tree and away from my mates so they missed the explosion of liquid out of my behind.  Had to bury my underwear and the shorts I was wearing.  Waste of good (previously) clean clothes that.


Will try to think of some more and post them if they're embarrassing enough.

[Houdini]

yeah. come on you fuckers... you must have done something wrong, once.

I've got soooo many.  Quid pro quo....

in chafing, shitty trousers with no pants on.

Ãœber-wad! 

[Monolith]

the other month I did a similar thing. something that we call locally a 'shart' (an obvious cross between a shit and a fart).
the moment I set foot in the local respectable bar, out came the shart. Why does this happen!? Is it a loss of bowel control or indicative of something more serious?

[Houdini]

Why does this happen!? Is it ... indicative of something more serious?

For Every Arse Rips

[Monolith]

nice! was hell on earth at the time, away from home. I'm amazed Palomides survived for a day on his Paris trip. Mind you, given some of the whiffs I recently encountered in Paris, it may well have blended in!

[andy_e]

Fiend has something to tell us...

[Yossarian]

Why does this happen!? Is it ... indicative of something more serious?

For every arse rips

Liberally Oozing Vented Excrement

[Houdini]

Why does this happen!? Is it ... indicative of something more serious?

For every arse rips

Liberally Oozing Vented Excrement

Heaving All Turds Egested

[chappers]

When I should be packing to go to Thailand tomorrow…
I was sat in the car eating a sandwich with “hippy Dave” from this very forum when he came out with... “I really should post that story about pissing up on ukb.”

“what story about pissing???”

it turns out that Dave had been out bouldering on the coast in Devon and needed a piss, so off he went and balanced himself precariously on top of a rock, and pulled down his trousers (elastic waist Prana jobs). Happily taking a piss when he suddenly loses his footing due to the wind or something (cant really remember), and readies himself to hit the ground by holding out his hands, which causes his elasticated waist to nip upwards, and with it his still pissing Johnson. Which shot a jet of warm piss straight into his mouth!
By all accounts it didn't taste too good…

[Bubba]

Fuck me - a mouthful of yer own piss

[Fiend]

Fiend has something to tell us...

UKB isn't ready for it I'm sure...

[lorentz]

Cue inevitable pantomime chorus...

OH YES WE ARE!

Spill beans dude, share the humiliation and ease your pain - safe in the knowledge that we laugh with and not at you.

[Palomides]

UKB isn't ready for it I'm sure...

You mean ready for it again...


Some of us read real fast. 

[Palomides]

Sigh, how many more posts before we're onto page 6, and I don't get my contribution at the top of the page??