Comments on: Tale of the Smear 2007

By: Tmuk

Tmuk — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 16:51:11 +0000

I know I’m late to the party, but I thought I’d share my poo story anyway.
I was about half way though the Benicassim music festival a few years back. Anyone who’s been will know that the campsites are literally a couple of miles away from the main stage, and getting between the two involves a walk though the busy town centre. Being the outrageous scamps we are, we’d all imbibed certain substances on the walk from the campsite, and not long after arriving I started feeling the effects somewhat. One unexpected side effect took the form of a sudden and desperate need to cack. So with rolling eyes, gurning hard, I made my way over to the portaloos and was horrified to see that each had a que of about 50 people in front of them. I managed to beg my way about halfway along (any sense of pride had completely deserted me at this point) but eventually reached a bunch of sods who refused to let me push in. There was nothing for it. I ran around the back of the portaloos, and keeping an eye out for security, hitched my shorts around my knees and let all that horrible shit just squirt out. It was fucking bliss. Once satisfied that I was empty, I pulled my kecks up and only then did the problem become apparent. In my hurry, I’d basically shat all over the things. I gingerly made my way back into the crowds of people to meet my mates who’d been waiting for me. I reached out with one poop smeared hand and they recoiled in horror, staggering backwards, goggle eyed.
To their credit, a couple of them accompanied me back to the campsite (two miles, remember), of which I remember nothing, although I’m told I fell down a motorway embankment and almost rolled onto the hard shoulder. A brilliant advert for Brits abroad.

By: grilly

grilly — Wed, 16 May 2007 15:57:11 +0000

yesterday my flatmate regailed me with a nice one. he had three boys in detention, and three other teachers with him because they were such naughty rotters. one of the boys said he needed the toilet, but they didn’t let him go, because it’s an obvious ploy to have a wander round the corridors - a case of the boy who cried wolf. you can guess the rest.

By: satguru

satguru — Thu, 10 May 2007 22:50:25 +0000

I love these stories, I don’t feel so alone knowing everyone shares a similar fascination with accidental evacuations. Anyway, my best story goes back to four years old, in the portakabin classroom, and the yellow wall looked a funny colour. The teacher noticed and said to the boy next to it ‘Tony, are you OK?’ ‘Yes miss’ ‘What’s on the wall?’ ‘Nothing’. It clearly wasn’t nothing. Smears of circular brown rings a foot wide in galactic formations across a section of the wall. It turned out on further investigation he’d done it in his pants and rather than wait and be found out thought if he removed it and smeared it thinly enough on the wall no one would ever be the wiser. They were though.
I pity the poor caretaker who had to come in and wipe it all off, but oddly I don’t remember leaving the room early, they called his au pair to take him home and I think we just carried on with the lesson with cack all over the wall. Those were the days.

On a similar but non-faecal theme a few years later in primary school the teacher walked up to the boy opposite me who was dropping white fragments on the floor from his trouser area. ‘Alan, what’s that on the floor?’ ‘Nothing’. ‘It’s falling out of your pockets’. She turned his pockets out and they were both full of mashed potato. He didn’t like it and as they often made people finish their lunch he hid it in his shorts pockets, only to drop out as soon as he sat down. I don’t know where he got it all from as there seemed far more in his pockets than we were actually given. He was always a bit of a thick arse and became a hairdresser, although that may not be relevant to his intelligence.

By: Speedwolf

Speedwolf — Thu, 03 May 2007 15:47:46 +0000

About two years ago I went on a two day drinking binge with my father.
As I’ve mentioned him here before I won’t regale you with any stories of him again, besides, it’s my story, not his. He’s just the poo enabler.
We’d been drinking John Smiths Rough (the stuff from the pump rather than that ice-cream like smooth nonsense) of questionable health, but after the first four or so the taste is secondary to the drunkenness anyway. The ever-present Fruit Flies are added protein during mammoth sessions so you don’t have to stop to eat.
So I was feeling a bit worse for wear when I finally got home, in the clothes I’d initially gone out in days before.
I was settling in to a nice long wee, the sort that you usually associate with horses or pregnant cows and other large herbivores, when I felt a little gurgle in my nethers.
I released, expecting a long drawn out fart I was surprised to find a hot brown stream of beer and digested flies firing out of my poor nipsy. There was little point in trying to sit down on the loo or clench at that point as the damage was done and I was into limitation mode by then.
I just showered in my clothes and them threw the slightly less-shitty rags into the washing machine.

By: 4foot

4foot — Tue, 01 May 2007 06:41:45 +0000

I shit the bed only once as an adult. On my honeymoon. A combination of extreme heat, dehydration and the after-effects of an hour eating in one of Marrakech’s less hygienic latrines. It wasn’t a full on squelch. I’d spent 18 hours on the toilet. Finally, I hurled my burst paddling pool of a body onto the bed. I was too tired to move and I needed a fart. I risked it.

It was as though my bum was crying and just wanted to weep one more shitty tear. The tiniest halfpenny pale brown smudge on the sheet.

By: Marquischacha

Marquischacha — Mon, 30 Apr 2007 14:38:27 +0000

I have many stories of poo, being the only child in my family. You see, my father, and his father before him have told me on numerous occasions of their turd accidents. I’m saving them all up (and my own) so that one day I can tell my kids. It’s a bit like werther’s original.

By: the 16th nicholas

the 16th nicholas — Wed, 25 Apr 2007 18:31:53 +0000

Ah, pant poos. Great fun.

I remember when me and my brother played the bum chews game, and BOTH shit ourselves. We were scared of what our parents would say (not to mention the silent accusation of rampant teenage homosexual incest), so we hid the sheets in the wardrobe. And found them 10 years later when we moved, all crusty and brown and nice.

The bum chews game does not involve chewing on each other’s bums.

By: scaryduck

scaryduck — Wed, 25 Apr 2007 12:31:01 +0000

If it’s poo you want, I have emailed you a tale of buttock-related woe.

By: Nobuttocks

Nobuttocks — Wed, 25 Apr 2007 10:12:56 +0000

Me and my h….

My housmate AND I, stayed up till 11:30 last night laughing ourselves stupid at this post & the tales.
Thank you for returning with a post about poo. It doesn’t matter what these new fangled trendy comedians say about irony and pastiche: poo is the funniest substance in the universe and deserves our love and attenton.

I shat myself on the last day of the Reading Festival once. Luckily it smelt mostly of hay, and was so overpowered by the stench of the portabogs that no-one noticed it was me.

By: smahman

smahman — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 17:10:11 +0000

Yes, well done. I have nothing to come anywhere near that scatalogical legend. I did once poo myself whilst doing Karaoke, but it’s just not the same. The full length version of american pie mind. I may have been pissed.

By: badlad

badlad — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 16:15:17 +0000

Well thank fuck for that. A blog entry with copious poo and a name check for Geiger, just when we’d all given up hope. I have a reason for my despair.
MSN are running a blog competition. One of the top ten rated blogs has this entry.
“A ‘tail’ of the unexpected
When arriving back on the train last night I stepped out of the busy station only to see a small ginger cat sitting outside the main entrance! It was certainly not something I was expecting but did make me chuckle out loud. Anything to brighten up the long commute home :)”
This is why you have to keep posting. So people like her don’t take over the net.