The world is not ready for us piss-liberal renegades, i tell thee.

I was going to write more, but I’ve suddenly become busy.

Imagine yourself doing wee on the face of the person next to you. That works.

And Nobuttocks - was the urine quite thick when it came out? Like Verbal Kint in The Usual Suspects says when he got dehydrated and it came out like snot? I can make something that has the consistency of snot come out of my pee-hole, if I agitate the skin on my winkle. Does this make me a freak?

The strange thing is that by morning, when I woke up in an Austrian service station car park, I couldn’t go. My bladder felt full, but had stopped aching completely.
I had to spend two minutes by the urinal, trying to cajole the wee out of me (imagining waterfalls, blowing on my bell, washing my hands and rubbing water on my willy etc. etc). It was only by painfully tensing (and manually pushing on) my bladder that I managed to force-squeeze it out.

Can anyone recommend some techniques for weeing “when you just can’t go”?

Bring back Tales of the Smear!

Eurgh! Get off me you bummer!

If you did come round my house, I’d barb wire that sink. There’d be tiny little spotlights at the corners and a siren if there were a breach. It’d be like Colditz, in sink form.

In fact, I’d add tippex to the COLD tap label so it spelt COLDITZ.

Well, actually, I like you, Speedwolf, so it would have been better if someone had gone in after you, and ended up wearing your dirt as some kind of a hat.

There’s no twosies without onesies after all.

I’ll wrack my brains and see if I can come up within something more fitting.

As I descended into the basement, where the toilets were located, into Le Petit Garcons I noticed the that only cubicle was just for all intents and purposes a tiled cupboard with a door and hole in the floor.

Not being in a position to really be fussy I stepped in and closed the door behind me. I switched on the light, which was at shoulder level, turned about, dropped my undercrackers and squatted over the hole.

I was mid strain when the light, which it appeared had a timer, turned itself off. Panic set in. Squatting in the dark over a filthy hole in the cellar of a seedy cafe with four inches of yesterday’s croque monsieur and Stella Artois making it’s bid for freedom with my trousers round my ankles I was presented with two options.

1) Finish the drop-off and pray I didn’t teeter over or lose a shoe into the yawning abyss
2) Turn the light back on to help me aim and risk depositing the mess in my pants.

I chose the former. Luckily I didn’t muck anything up (pun intended) but am scarred to this day by this harrowing experience.

Like on an aeroplane, ferry toilets don’t work on the same displacement principle as normal toilets, where the extra urine forces the water it displaces around the U-bend. No. These toilets will just fill up until you flush them and a vacuum causes your effluence to be taken away to a cess tank. Not knowing this, my friend had a standing-up piss into the bowl, then decided that he’d enjoyed it so much that he was going to have a shit as well, and so naturally sat down - but without flushing the toilet. As the glistening bum-snake crept from his anus into the water, it displaced so much water that the level rose, until his spuds were dangling into about 8 litres of pissy, shitty liquid.

Then he told us all.

I think sink pipes lack some kind of vital coating.

Don’t feel too bad about pissing in your friend’s sink, though; it was probably his pissing in it that lead it to become clogged with his man guano.