toilet humour

Poor Linsi! Reminds me of another time when I was driving (well HE was driving) back to A'dam after a weekend away. Was bursting for a pee, so he kindly stopped in a lay-by where I'd be 'covered' by the car. So, there I was, knicks round me ankles, enjoying the relief, when the bugger drove off! Now bear in mind this was a highway, in the rush hour, in broad daylight! 'Course, he thought it was hysterically funny. Took me a year before I spoke to him again...

When I was at college I shared a house with some medical students and one of their friends was caught short at a nightclub. The queue for the men's was really long and the place was packed so that everyone was squashed like sardines so it was a struggle to move around. As he was stuck on a stairwell he though he might as well just wee out of the window. Unfortunately for him, it was a sash window which lost it's hold as he leant against it and BANG! down it fell, squashing the poor guy's john thomas as it went- luckily (?) for him, it only caught the end but he passed out with pain and was rushed to hospital where he was operated on and although his old fella was blackened for a couple of months and he could urinate out of both sides for a while, structurally he was ok and lived to fight another day. Unfortunately for him his peers were all working in the hospital and it was a priceless story. This is a true version although it became so embellished during re-telling that some people heard that the whole of the bloke's doo-daa got lopped off.Apparently he even got retold the story a year later by someone who didn't know it was him

also in mexico....after suffering for hours on a bus, I ran for the toilets...i didn't care that there were no doors on the cubicles so you could see the guy in the opposite cubicle....and i noticed a guy with surely a contender for worst job...he had a plastic bag full of loose toilet paper which he sold...he gave me a couple of sheets initially, but knowing I would need quite a lot...he was persuaded to give me more.... and bliss returned......

Great story, Jane. Martin, I've had to buy paper before off some wizened old lady in the bogs. You're right, they only sell you a couple of sheets at a time. I'm like, "I'll need a lot more than that for one of my bombs, love." Cost me a fortune. Still, if you don't carry your own toilet paper when travelling, what do you expect?"

I was once "caught short" in Mexico, I went to the toilet and discovered ,"afer the event" that there was no toilet paper, apart from, the used stuff in a bin next to the loo....so I had to tear off the clean bits from the used tissue..... waste not want not...etc

Now we're rolling on the subject...... and there I was thinking I was the grim reaper of discussion thread-dom, managing to kill every thread I enter stone dead.... (I'm asking to be ignored now aren't I.) When I was living in Hong Kong, in dive bars open all night it was commonplace to go into the cubicle and find thick muddy flip-flop marks on the seat from ladies of SEAsian origin more used to squatting than sitting- i'm a hover-er anyway but heaven forbid the time when one might be too inebriated to remember and end up with track marks on your botty. Nice.

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The first time I had to hover was in a real old-fashioned French bog, you know, the hole-in-the-ground. Now I've got bad knees and cannot hover like most people so I worked out that if I put both hands on the wall behind I could inch down the wall into a squatting position, just about over the hole in the ground. Fine. Do the biz. Come time to wipe myself I am flummoxed. Both hands on the wall taking all my weight. So balance on one hand, tear toilet paper with teeth, great difficulty, loads of time but finally reckon I've got myself sorted. Two hands inching back up the wall carefully taking my weight on slightly arthritic knees again...bingo, standing position. Only to find that my initial positioning over the hole-in-the-ground was not as judicious as I thought and I had crapped into the back of the turn-ups in my trousers.

Quite right, Karl - an absolute essential. That and the bloody books I used to lug around. Never had room for clothes...

Well, at least you had turn-ups to catch it in! Those 'holes' (mostly in the south, although there are still some in Paris etc) are Arab-style rather than old-fashioned French bogs. Could tell you some tales about them! Moroccan/Algerian/Tunisian bogs with which I'm very familiar(at least the ones in the in the medina), are not renowned for their abundance of loo paper (in fact it costs a fortune, 'cos no-one uses it except tourists who very rarely venture there anyway), so the general idea is to..um..wipe yourself with your LEFT hand (as the right one is used for eating). It's very infra dig to clean yer @!#$ with yer right hand...Allah will definitely NOT smile upon you. And in the small villages, fields or cacti (preferably not a prickly one) are the bog of choice. Or, rather, there IS no choice. Friend of mine (large...VERY large... American bloke, although I'm not sure what his nationality has to do with anything) managed to lower himself onto the hole ok, but couldn't get up again. Took 4 of us to...um...relieve him. Another (Amercian) girl I was travelling with once, decided to take a piccy 'for the folks back home' of a very wise, old, djellabe'd Haj sitting peacefully in a field quietly smoking and contemplating life and the meaning thereof... 'How cute,' she said, as one does. Unfortunately, what he was ACTUALLY doing was having a crap. I wonder what ever happened to her...?

I remember taking a three-day bus ride to Greece on a coach that had no toilets. Your only chance to relieve yourself was whenever they stopped to gas up. I was absolutely ready to explode when we stopped at a place in Yugoslavia. I had to wait ages outside the bog and when the door eventually opened two intercontinental tramps walked out. I rushed in - worrying about losing the bus and my gear - and rushed out again. It was the hole in the ground thing, sure enough, but it was absolutely covered in @!#$, all over the foot pedestals and everything. I can't imagine what those two had been up to in there. Squeezing my @!#$ cheeks together, I walked on back to the bus, hoping it wouldn't be too long before it needed more petrol. I learned serious bowel control on that trip, I can tell you.

Last thursday I decided to walk home from work rather than drive. The notion occured to me the night before. I was going through yet another of my "must get fit" phases. I figured that if I did this once a week I would get my 20 mins of *recomended daily exercise* in one foul swoop! It would take on average three and a half hours to walk from Derby to my house, but I thought that if Darren met me half way on route from his work to home, my mission would be reduced to a reasonable two hours at most. I emptied my bladder and started the journey... Needless to say that an hour and half in my trek, my bladder began to swell again. I tried to call Darren to hurry him up as I didn't think I could wait much longer, but I couldnt get through (no signal). The country lanes and streets were dark enough so I figured that I could hide behind some bush or hedge and have a quick wee. I found a suitable spot and with some difficulty held my bag and ass an inch or so off the ground to avoid the mulch of leaves and fallen twigs. Things were going swimmingly *ahem* but during half flow, the rush hour of cars decided that now would be a good time to come down that particular road. I now know how the startled rabbit feels when caught in the headlights! I can't stop when I have started and was therefore subjected to a full on "wee-show" to the horror of the business men on their way home. To make matters much worse, a fucking tractor with spot lights did a 3mph cruise past me and the cheecky sod driving the bloody thing shouted "can't you wait till you get home?" I was just about to yell to him that *home* was two hours away, but he had buggered off. I never did that walk again. I know that many of us have done a similar thing when pissed out our skulls after a night on the grog, but to do it sober well, I am disgusted with myself!! (I did feel better though after, and could have walked at least another three miles!! :O)