Comments on: Whoever You Are, There’s No Reason For That

By: Mr Purple

Mr Purple — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 13:33:27 +0000

er ok then slight misstype no biggi I quite often stand stuff with my nose, eat colour and smell on the toilet

By: Mr Purple

Mr Purple — Sun, 30 Sep 2007 13:29:44 +0000

This reminds me of a story,

I walked into the Gents ak loo’s,bog,toilets etc, and there where these police officers, one had an Alsation, I mean this thing rabid it was foaming at the mouth I swear it was going to escape and bite my nads off, anyway by now the police officers had stopped their conversation and where busy giving me the eye to see what I would do next, I kept cool and and headed for the nearest empty cubicle, did I mention it stand like someone had died in there.

How is it people manage to get number 2 that far up the wall, I mean c,mon no chilli could be that powerful

Mr Purple

By: Another Little Disappointment » Grunt, Laugh, Wank : The Work Toilets Trilogy Concludes

Fri, 27 Jan 2006 12:56:07 +0000

[...] THE STORY SO FAR : He Grunted : I Laughed [...]

By: Another Little Disappointment » I Trumped Seven Time In Two Minute

Another Little Disappointment » I Trumped Seven Time In Two Minute — Fri, 18 Nov 2005 12:40:21 +0000

[...] This entry is karma for my previous “work toilet” entry, in which the man in the next cubible made wild rattling noises and gasped “shit“. This time, it was my turn to be the monster in the cupboard. [...]

By: nickunt

nickunt — Thu, 29 Sep 2005 13:17:46 +0000

It’s like playing Russian Roulette, is going poo where I work. There are 3 traps, each with doors you’d have to crawl on the floor to see under, and a shared cistern so you don’t know which toilet has been recently flushed.
By the time my morning coffee has kicked in and made my poo ready to come out, the chances of finding a un-skidmarked trap that doesn’t stink of someone else’s emptied bowels gets even more remote.
Do I choose the one nearest the entrance, which logic dictates would be the most frequented, and therefore the one most likely to greet me with a waft of foetid bumstink when I tentatively push its door open?
Or do I choose the middle trap, knowing that there’s the potential for someone to be sat on either side of me, listening to each fizz, pop, plop and splash as my tortured digestive tract splutters out last night’s dinner?
Maybe I choose the trap nearest the urinals though, furthest from the entrance, and therefore less likely to have been dumped in - but likely to have been visited by someone half way through doing wee and realising if they keep pushing, that trump that just came out might turn into poo, so they rush to the nearest toilet, spraying poo and drips of wee onto the floor.

Inevitably, the trap I choose is always the wrong one, with shit on the seat, no toilet paper and a fug of arsegas to clog up my lungs. Damn you, Sod’s Law.

By: Raz

Raz — Thu, 22 Sep 2005 12:57:41 +0000

That sounds like something out of The fucking Shining, jonesy.

By: jonesy

jonesy — Wed, 21 Sep 2005 13:13:30 +0000

Also, yesterday evening â€“ no, I tell a lie, Monday evening â€“ there was a WOMAN in there BANDAGING UP a man’s JAW in the classic over-the-head, under-the-chin Jacob Marley style. I have no idea why. There were no outward signs of injury or fancy dress.

By: Log

Log — Wed, 21 Sep 2005 11:18:09 +0000

So are we to understand that you wank into a sink?

No! I’m not a monster! I wash last night’s wank out into the sink. The egg-ferrets are long dead, and it’s much flakier process that you’re imagining.

But it’s not a bad idea. Tomorrow, I am going to have a sit-n-shit wank, and fling it into the sinks.

By: soulless

soulless — Wed, 21 Sep 2005 11:06:49 +0000

So are we to understand that you wank into a sink? That’s disgraceful. People wash their hands in there man. And, apparently, their armpits.

I just do it at my desk, slumped forward slightly so no-one can tell. This has the dual advantage of the erotic excitement of staring at a room of dead-eyed workers with the ball-tingling knowledge that one of them could look up and spot you shaking hands with the devil, and of creating a pleasing and gradually developing stalactite-like formation on the underside of your desk which, on hot days, is moist enough to store stationery in.

By: jonesy

jonesy — Wed, 21 Sep 2005 10:57:43 +0000

I wish I had a private toilet with three urinals and three cubicles to share with my heady morning piss. We have six cubicles, but as I work in a predominantly ladytype environment, three are LADIES ONLY and the others are strictly unisexual. So you’re almost guaranteed to have to shit next to a posh lady with a wheat intolerance and organic, GM-free bum fruits. It makes the whole act rather stressful. One can become quite egg-bound.

Once though, when an upmarket men’s magazine moved in to the office across the corridor, we suffered a spate of half-hearted dirty protests â€“ smears of shit in unexpected places, and once â€“ thrillingly â€“ a tiny, lone turd on the seat.

Also, to add to the misery, the cleaners have annexed the luxurious, spacious disabled toilet, and are using it as a store room. And sometimes they stand in there shouting at each other, while you are trying to loose your bowels. :(