quote:Originally posted by Abby: Once when I was working in the bar of a ‘posh’ hotel (not as a hooker, actually working behind the bar) there was an old lady sitting there. After a while she got up and walked out...Leaving a trail of little nuggets behind her through the bar and across the hotel reception...
Maybe she was worried that she wouldn't be able to find her way back.
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quote:Originally posted by Abby: Once when I was working in the bar of a ‘posh’ hotel (not as a hooker, actually working behind the bar) there was an old lady sitting there. After a while she got up and walked out...Leaving a trail of little nuggets behind her through the bar and across the hotel reception...
Maybe she was worried that she wouldn't be able to find her way back.
Once when I was working in the bar of a shitty Loch Fyne there was an old man sitting there...
Similar story but they sure as shit weren't nuggets. They were slick blobs of liquid stink.
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As some of you may remember, I live above a burger bar. Last night, one of the cooks knocked on my door and said "Hey man, we had a £25 order which never got picked up. You can have it if you want". The order contained a Rio 2000 which is made up of a 1/4 lb chicken burger, 1/4 lb beef burger, bacon, mushrooms, cheese and BBQ sauce all in one bun. There were also three 3/4 lb burgers and two large portions of chips.
I started eating and soon realised that I had almost doubled my weight. I'm going to have to double my efforts with the MiscDiet if I ever want to get over this.
I still haven't passed the results of last night's mammoth food fest, but when I do, it's going to be a MONSTER!!!
Here is an illustration of my face when the time comes:
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They had The Poo Shelf in Austria when I went Skiing in Sixthform. Obviously, mature 17 year old males that we were, the four of us in our room had a running Biggest Turd contest over the course of the week.
I thought I had it in the bag by the Wednesday with a particularly fine brown trout, which scored highly in terms of both size and consistency. However I was beaten to the prize (a bottle of schnapps) on the final day as outsider Kev – physically the smallest of the lot of us, but clearly with a bowel like the T.A.R.D.I.S. - produced a vast cowpat, and won simply in terms of volume and rank disgustingness.
First kiss My first kiss was with a neighbour’s daughter, my mate’s sister, my sister’s best friend; at her parent’s annual New Year’s Eve party. I think I must have been about 11, she would have been 10ish. Somehow, I’m not sure how exactly, the two of us and another girl from the street had ended up sneaking into an upstairs room of the house, had turned the light out and were messing about in a sort of innocent/not so innocent experimentation sort of a way. I remember kissing her first, just closed mouth on the lips, and then the other girl, who giggled whilst I was kissing her, the same way. I was starting to get a bit self-conscious, aswell as nervous about being caught, but the original girl remained very quiet and stared at me. Then she asked to be kissed again, well more told me to really, and when I did she slipped her tongue into my mouth. It was weird.
[ 12.01.2006, 09:54: Message edited by: Boy Racer ]
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Heh- thorn burgered himself to death last night as well.
Not quite on a par with Jonesy, but my brother and I still enjoy guffing on the cat while it's happily curled up asleep. Especially in the knowledge that cat noses are like a billion times more sensitive than ours.
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posted
Oh someone asked about New Way of the Day, didn't they? Sadly, he hasn't been able to visit TMO recently because his computer was impounded by the police.
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Oh oh oh. The juxtaposition (sorry, couldn't resist) of cowpat turds with moist kisses is just Classic Bracer. Man.
I'm afraid I can't tell the story, as my current ex-boyfriend reads these boards, and he'd probably have an anyeurism. However I will gladly share it at the Maturo-Meat (or perhaps some more suitable setting.) Remind me when the time comes and I have reached a sufficient level of intoxication, please.
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The strangest thing happened to me when I was younger. I began having a recurrent dream that I was a woman. It wasn't sexual or anything. I mean, I didn't feel I was growing breasts nor having sexual awakenings about boys. It was just, I can't put my finger on it properly, a maternal feeling. I didn't understand it and I didn't feel like I could talk to anyone about it. I mean, it's not the kind of thing a teenager brings up with his friends: "Hey did you see Streethawk last night? Excellent chase, wasn't it? By the way, have you ever dreamed that in a strange way you are responsible for the existence of a fantasy lifeform that inhabits your dreams?" I couldn't talk to my mother about it; I was a teenager, I didn't talk to her about anything, and as for my father, forget it. So, I just carried this strange feeling around inside my head, the feeling that somehow, in a higher level of consciousness, I was becoming a parent.
The feelings increased in their intensity and began to spill over into my waking life. Sometimes I would wake up screaming - my hands stretching out for an imaginary child who wasn't there. If I couldn't get back to sleep I would sing nursery rhymes softly to myself. At least I tried to believe I was singing to myself; I can admit now that I was really singing to the imaginary soul who lived inside me, who was growing in my dreams, who kicked me awake sometimes and…it's difficult to articulate. About six months in, I began to get cramps. Not the kinds of cramps that can be straightened out with a little muscle flexing; violent spasms of pain, razor blades in my gut, slicing me up and turning me inside out, the kind of pain that elbows your voice from your body until you are involuntarily crying out in tortured agony.
"What's the matter?" My mother asked me.
"Nothing. It's just the TV."
I couldn't keep it secret for much longer. I only slept in short bursts now. Barely an hour went by without a kick or a cramp to rouse me from my fitful slumber. I also felt it when I was awake by this point. Periods of elation, followed by acute depression would seize me and I would laugh out loud to an empty room or sob into my pillow. My stomach began to roil and gurgle. My guts were alive like an active geezer stocked with hundreds of slimy, writhing eels, frantically churning the boiling, muddy water. I...I...if I could just do an enormous poo, it would be better. You know that feeling, like you can't possibly imagine being well but somehow, if your body can just manage to spit out something large and solid, you know you can rid yourself of the poison that is eating you alive. It's waste. The sickness, the germ, the madness, it needs to be expelled from your system, dropped like the refuse of a lost ship at sea, to be swept away and devoured by the salt and the waves and the crabs. If I could only rid myself of this microbe - bury it deep within a hunk of human waste and release it into the sewers, I could be free of the pain, and the sweat and the madness. I could go back to being me. I would no longer retain the impossible belief that I was somehow becoming The Mother.
The time came and I knew the cure was near. I ran along the landing to the toilet and locked the door, determined that nothing and no one would disturb my mission. I wasn't leaving this room until it I was clean. It's not nice to go into the details. Suffice to say it was a long and painful process. When it was over, I washed up and raised a hand to the toilet flush. Some people look at them, don't they? In the bowl. Some do, some don't. I couldn't tell you to this day which type of person I am. I genuinely can't remember if I'm an Inspector or a Flusher. All I know is, on this occasion, I didn't want to see it at all - some things are best left to the imagination.
I was feeling physically better already, even if the weird maternal madness had yet to subside. I felt stronger, but…again it's difficult to articulate, I felt…as if something important had been taken from me, as if I'd lost something vital. It was most peculiar. I started to cry. Not just a few tears but great violent sobs of grief. I cried like this for ten minutes before pulling myself together. It would be all right. I was going to be well again. I had banished the infection from my system and I would be right as rain anytime soon. I pulled at the flush but a noise stopped me in my tracks. It was coming from the toilet bowl.
I froze for a second before leaning over the bowl. There was the noise again, a rustling amongst the used sheets of lavatory paper. Jesus Christ, I thought! I'm going mad. The toilet paper was…moving.
If this was some hallucination brought on by my sickness it felt absolutley real. I hadn't taken any mind altering drugs at that point in my life so I had very little to compare it to. It was the fever, certainly, but I had to be sure. I reached into the toilet and moved a wad of paper to one side to reveal two hunks of thick black excrement, hard and gnarled and menacing. They looked like they would hurt coming out. I remembered well that they did. They were moving.
These two heavy lumps of shit were wriggling in the toilet bowl.
I don't know what possessed me - it felt almost natural - but I reached in and lifted them out, carefully - one in each hand. I climbed into the bath with them and rinsed them under the taps. This is what I found:
… … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … …
I named them Freda and Splash and they are my darlings.
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I was living in Germany when I received my orders to report to the Royal Artillery Barracks in Greenwich for my 2 week Basic Training. Whilst there we lived when out in the field on standard British Army RatPacks which inlcuded tea we believed laced with Bromide to stop you getting the horn, and biscuits not online rusks which had a constipating effect - the idea being you are very prone to the Rodney's when in the field, and you have to crap in a bag and carry it with you until it can be disposed without trace to the enemy. Living on these rather tasty biscuits did in fact bung me up for a week, the longest I have ever gone without defecation. Upon disclosing this revelation to my colleagues, I was instructed to go offload when back at the barracks, the result being something not unlike a long and solid resedential shielded telephone cable with the hardness to boot. Fortunately, miltary grade porcelain is equipped with a military grade flush and no explosives were needed in its removal.
I was told the smell was horrendous, but you can never smell your own can you?
I was also taught there my favourite and aforementioned party trick of how to wipe your jacksie army style, which I must turn into a flash animation some time for B3ta.
quote:Originally posted by Vogon Poetess: Heh- thorn burgered himself to death last night as well.
It wasn't death - it was more like a gastronomic nirvana. I had the best burger of my whole stupid life last night at Reds bar and grill in Wimbledon. Just thinking abotu it makes my tummy gurgle. Mmm. The meatiest, juiciest, most flavoursome creation ever to end up in a bun, toppde with chili, tomato, lettuce and mango. Just incredible.
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When I worked in a cinema on floor duty (ie taking tickets, showing people seats, cleaning the place up) I was once called upon to perform the duty of unblocking a gents latrine. I stood there in the cubicle with the manager as he explained what he wanted doing, I needed to reach into the u-bend and check to see what was blocking the pipes - I asked him what I was supposed to reach round the bend with, and he handed me a black bin liner, before leaving and wishing me good luck.
Even through the bin liner plastic it felt too much like I was holding a rather stubbon and strong turd in my clean, bare hand.
I put it down to the fact that I'd had a job handling old people in a spycho hospital and that I've had several dogs that my parents made me house train when a kid that I didn't vomit on the spot.
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mens toilets, oxford road train station, early morning, commuter rush, too many cigs and a large coffee, ooh, er, oh there's no way i'll last an hour to liverpool, toilets here i come. 4 stalls, one with no door, no lights, one with no seat, all very disgusting, picked the best of a worse bunch, no lock on door, hovering over hole, hand in front of me to prevent door opening and my shitting pose being there for all to see. "suck my cock" "look at my cock" "i love cock" graffiti, get toilet roll, glory holes everywhere. no cock or eyes looking through though. sorry for the disappointing end.
eta: small town "disco" i worked in. cleaner once found a shit on the dance floor the next morning. we thought someone had shat on the dance floor. then we realised it was the owners dog. how we laughed.
quote:Originally posted by doc d: mens toilets, oxford road train station, early morning, commuter rush, too many cigs and a large coffee, ooh, er, oh there's no way i'll last an hour to liverpool, toilets here i come. 4 stalls, one with no door, no lights, one with no seat, all very disgusting, picked the best of a worse bunch, no lock on door, hovering over hole, hand in front of me to prevent door opening and my shitting pose being there for all to see. "suck my cock" "look at my cock" "i love cock" graffiti, get toilet roll, glory holes everywhere. no cock or eyes looking through though. sorry for the disappointing end.
As long as we're sharing, my first kiss was very much like doc d's.
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