Robbo
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Registered: 6th Aug 02
Location: London
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Stolen from PH 
I was reading the 'question of the week' on the B3TA website, and found some of the answers so funny that I thought it rude not to post over here for others enjoyment.
Here is one of them:
Cruel fate, cruel timing, cruel world
Only last Friday, I was invited to a mates’s house. When this happens, it's always a neat arrangement. He buys me copious amounts of cider and a Chinese takeaway; I fix all of his and his family’s PC and electrical issues. If there is any time left at the end of the evening, we go out on the piss.
Nice.
Over the last few times, this arrangement has been less and less PC fixing…and more and more just plain going out on the lash. Last Friday was no exception. I turned up at his house at 7:30pm, had hardly cracked open my first can of DBC* when my mate says:
“boocks to PC fixing, I’ve arranged a lift into town at 8 o’ clock. We’re getting shit-faced”.
Yay.
Fast forward a few hours. I have drunk enough cider to sink the Arc Royal and we’ve moved onto Vodka and Redbull, (although none of this is going down too well with the medication I’m on). I’ve been bet £40 to kiss what looked like (from the back) to be just a rather tall young lady, when in actual fact it was a 7ft-something transsexual with arms like Popeye and a 5 o’clock shadow like Homer Simpson. NOT a pleasant surprise let me tell you.
Anyhoo, in other words, a normal Friday night in Pooflake land.
But it starts getting very late. My eyes, ears, arms and legs were no longer functioning properly or as a collective and my internal organs were trying to merge together with a swirling motion in the middle of my head. My inner compass felt like it had some with a magnet running in circles around me. I now had ‘2 hopes’ of getting the takeaway in and I was absolutely ravenous.
Desperate times.
We went to one of those ‘Not-even-close-to-edible-or-even-KFC-and-you-know-it-will-be-rank-but-at-least-they-are-still-open-at-3am’ places.
The pictures of chicken pieces they were displaying looked alright…then again, by this time; the Tranny who could play for England at the back of the scrum would probably have looked alright too.
But what to order? My mate fires straight in. “Gimme 2 pieces of chicken ‘n’ chips” he slurs. In my lack of independent thought, I said “Ssssame fah me”.
We receive our cack in greasy boxes and move over to a small seated area. I open the box to be presented with something that looks like it has just been dredged out of Bernard Manning’s rotting corpse. Despite this, I start to munch wearily away
Then….hold on a mo…what’s this? 2 Spicy chicken wings at the bottom of my now rancid, partly dissolved in its own grease, semi masticated ‘meal’. I hadn’t ordered them…I hadn’t been charged for them…
RESULT!
I perk up a bit as I gnaw away on the slim, grim pickings that are these spicy wing-things. We finish up and stagger straight into a taxi. Upon arrival to his pad we crack open a tinny each but it’s not long before I crawl into bed, totally wrecked. I survived the night. Life is good.
The next morning…
Mate’s 17 year old daughter wakes me up and offers me breakfast. Naturally, I am busting for a piss, so groan loudly and stagger off towards the bog. Suddenly, there’s a shout from downstairs: “Don’t forget, you can’t use the bog, we’ve got a bloke in there doing the tiling.”
Mmmmmf
Really Desperate times.
I try to hold on as long as I can…the build up is hurting and taking control of my mind. I can wait no longer and tap gently on the door. It is opened by a smiling bloke I used to work with (FFS!)
Tiling bloke: “Oh hello PF, Haven’t seen you for a while”.
Me: “Look, I’m really sorry but I’ve gotta go for a whizz”
TB: “No probs mate, I’ll just wait outside”
Now in I go, and struggle to get started, knowing that somebody is right outside the door not only listening, but actually trying to spark up a conversation! I try to apply a little pressure to aid the wee impetus…when…PARP!
Oh Jesus! My eyes open widely as the shame hits home. Not only must he have heard me, but either way, any minute now he was going to walk face first straight into my green cloud of botty gas. There was no air freshener, no nothing. Lummee. So all I can do is turn bright red, open the window and waft my arms around like a madman…Bastard spicy wings.
I finish my half-petrified slash and walk out, not even looking Tiling Bloke in the eye. ‘I’m really sorry’ I mutter under my breath. I’m not sure he heard.
But ‘ah well’, I start to think after a while. ‘It’s not like I’ll ever see him again. him’. I put the incident behind me and go downstairs to lashings of tea and bacon butties.
A few minutes pass by…then it starts…the fart I had done earlier had only served to make way in my poo-cute for the main event that was now knock-knock-knocking on my sphincter’s door…
Burble…..bloop…..groan….blobble.
I couldn’t go back upstairs and squit out what was undoubtedly going to be a huge, smelly ‘Brad Pitt’ with that bloke up there could I?
WHAT THE HELL WAS I GOING TO DO?
We have now arrived at absolutely ing desperate times.
I clench for as long as I can…it buys me about a minute. It’s starting to seethe as the concentrated faeces compounds within my crap-factory. Every movement seems to produce a ‘pfft’ either internally or externally and makes the inevitable one step nearer. The rat’s nose was not so much touching cloth as sniffing down my trouser leg.
Here’s when my mate decides that it’s computer fixing time.
Racked with gut-trouble and swollen with intestinal gloop that felt like I was carry a 9lb bowling ball of a turd, I make my way over to PC number one and realise this is going to take some time to fix. I’m dripping with sweat, gurning, trumping and bent over double, trying to pretend that I had to look at a particular part of the PC case from a particular angle. But it’s all too much….
Me: “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go…I haven’t got time today to fix this”
Mate’s daughter: “Awwww, but it’ll be the new year before we see you again…Isn’t there anything you can do now? Puuuurrrrleeease??
Me: “NO!”
Mate: “Well what about my PC?”
Me: “Look, I’ll come back soon…I’ll come back next week….tomorrow….2 hours even. I’ll take your PCs home with me…I’LL BUY YOU ALL NEW PC’S FOR S SAKE….I’VE JUST REALLY REALLY GOT TO GO…NOW!”
My mate looks a bit disgruntled now as I shuffle quickly down the stairs like Charlie Chaplin, trying with all my might to create some kind of vacuum that could schlurp my stack back up my crack and buy me a few more seconds.
I grab my coat and don’t even put it on…I haven’t got that much time. I look dazed and distant and still now cannot remember what was said to me or what I said at this point. All I could think about was dropping this monster butt-cutlet and how the hell I was going to manage it. I was in Leicester and didn’t have a clue where the nearest toilet was.
Leaving my mate to wonder what he’d said or done the previous night to hurt my feelings, I burst out the door with a quick ‘Byeee’, sit down in my car with a bit of a ‘squish’ and speed off up the road.
Next thing I’m at a busy junction. The level of discomfort has become intolerable. This just can’t go on….I have to do something. I turn the wrong way, just because it’s easier than waiting, I am now delirious and the movement of the car is somehow pushing the brown trout slightly back up my tea-towel holder.
Despite the pain and my state bordering maximum human comprehension, I was trying to think rationally of the consequences of actually shitting myself in the car. Who would know? It’s only a couple of feet from my driveway to my front door…surely there’s nothing in my car that can’t be sorted afterwards with a bit of elbow grease and some industrial strength cleaner?? No??
But here’s the problem with that. I lived an HOUR AWAY. I couldn’t drive for that long with a big squishy alligator in my trollies. No.ing.way.
As the pressure is building up to thermo-nuclear levels, I know I am just seconds away from the unholy when I see a sign for a pub nearby. HOPE! I put my foot to the floor and have a total blind disregard for other road users and pedestrians as I screech my car through the narrow town streets like a scene from Starsky & Hutch.
I pull up round the back of the pub car park with a ticking timebomb constantly nudging my gusset. It’s 11:45am and the back door is open. Thank Christ.
As I get out of the car I consider yet another potentially uber-embarrasing situation. ‘What if I had to go past the bar first? What if I get funny looks and have to stop and buy a drink? This dump will not wait for pleasantries!’
As if to remind me, my arse starts to give….there’s nothing that clenching, or even praying can do now…the bumwaters have broke if you will. It’s gonna BLOW!
I sprint through the back door and the toilets are there on my right…no bar interference...brilliant. There’s gotta be half an inch of gronk hanging out of my clay-hole at this point as I kick the door in. The bog is grubby and dark…There’s no lock on the door….I have long since past caring. I press my leg against the trap door and my pants have hardly left my crevice when….
WAAAAAAASPLAATTTTUUURRGGHHHH! OOOHHHH YEEEEAAAAAHHH!!
The full violence of the blast became evident when remnants of the subsequent splashback actually left the bowl itself (even after pebble-dashing my bum-cheeks).
Minutes ticked by. My bum-hole was left puckering and dry-heaving. I couldn’t get up. I thanked god for the small mercy of there being bog-roll as I slid my quivering carcass off the surely shattered remains of the lavvy.
As I finally managed to bring myself to my feet I then did something that you know you should never do…but you can’t help yourself. I looked back into the pappered bowl to survey the horror and devastation like a visiting dignitary.
From a brown watery cesspit, think of a combination of pig slurry, blood and atomic waste, into which somebody has expertly detonated a hand grenade and you’d get pretty close to what I was looking at.
I shuffled out of the back door and didn’t stop for a drink. In fact I decided that I was never going to visit that pub again…after 5 minutes it already held too many bad memories.
[Edited on 25-11-2007 by Ian]
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Marc
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Registered: 11th Aug 02
Location: York
User status: Offline
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His mate must be rubbish with pc's if hes always fixing it for him 
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Doug
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Registered: 8th Oct 03
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lmao
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BarnshaW
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Registered: 25th Oct 06
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lol?
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Liam
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Registered: 19th Jan 06
Location: Stafford
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Robin
Premium Member
Registered: 7th Jan 04
Location: Northants Drives: Clio 182 Cup
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No pics of the daughter 
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Jamie
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Registered: 1st Apr 02
Location: Aberdeen
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drunkenfool
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Registered: 7th Feb 03
Location: Hereford Drives: Audi R8 V8
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One of the best written faeces related articles ive ever read! hahahaha
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drunkenfool
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Registered: 7th Feb 03
Location: Hereford Drives: Audi R8 V8
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FLOL!! I just explained this story to the spanish girl im seeing, and she told me that when she was on holiday in madrid, one of her mates boyfriends had to shit soooo badly that he did it in teh street and wiped his ass with his sock, then had to walk like another mile back to the hotel
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andy1868
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Registered: 22nd Jun 06
Location: Burscough, Lancashire
User status: Offline
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sometimes you've just got to go, no matter what the circumstances 
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rob_zetec
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Registered: 8th Sep 06
Location: wigan
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fukin lol
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Robbo
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Registered: 6th Aug 02
Location: London
User status: Offline
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quote:
Originally posted by drunkenfool
FLOL!! I just explained this story to the spanish girl im seeing, and she told me that when she was on holiday in madrid, one of her mates boyfriends had to shit soooo badly that he did it in teh street and wiped his ass with his sock, then had to walk like another mile back to the hotel
LMAO!!
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Ben G
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Registered: 12th Jan 07
Location: Essex
User status: Offline
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why not shit your pants in the car then throw them out the window? unless a tramp think's its chocolate
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Tom
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Registered: 3rd Apr 02
Location: Wirral, Merseyside
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mazin
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JonnyJ
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Registered: 23rd Sep 05
Location: Scotchland
User status: Offline
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I thought something was going to happen with the 17 year old daughter.....disappionted
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Cosmo
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Registered: 29th Mar 01
Location: Im the real one!
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Im just going to join the bandwagon here and laugh, as not reading all that
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Dean_W
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Registered: 13th Dec 05
Location: Downham Market, Norfolk
User status: Offline
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Don't find that funny tbh.
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Nick-S
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Registered: 3rd Mar 04
Location: Leigh. Drives: RS Megane 230 F1 Team R26
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my gosh he has far to much time on his hands to write so much bout needing a shit
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