Russian Poolette!!

I have, once before, sharted at work and had a hell of a time cleaning it up, but this happened today so I thought I’d share.
You know when you fart and you think it could be wet, so you wiggle a bit in your pants to feel if there’s some moisture bouncing back between your bum cheeks? I’ll have you know, that’s not a fail-safe plan.
At 10am I farted. It felt awkward. I wiggled. Then reached loosely into my pants and found nothing.
At 11am I smelled something. So I checked again. I wiggled. This time, it was damp. I reached a hand down and it was...poo.
A whole hour I had been stewing in my own excrement unbeknown to the horrors that lay below. An hour with the stench creeping into trousers and making its way slowly up towards my face, where the dense compilation of odorous particles silently swam up into my nostrils, providing a slight but shameful confession.
I just sighed. It happens all too often when I ‘test the waters.’ More often than not, I find more than water. It has gotten to the point where some might say I have a problem. I see it as an obsession with a dangerous game I like to call, Russian Poolette. You always know you have the same chance of getting shot or shart, but you play for the thrill of it.
I cleaned it off immediately. And tomorrow, when the challenge is upon me again, I will not shy away. Never.

Post Poo Euphoria

I'd like to start my first entry with a brief introduction to a phenomenon I like to call Post Poo Euphoria, or PPE. PPE is that warm, fuzzy and unparalleled feeling of splendour that gently finger bangs every cell of your body with its gossamer touch in the immediate aftermath of a large-scale bowel evacuation.

It can come in varying degrees of intensity, from a relaxed but breathy sigh, to a knee-trembling, semi-conscious, out-of-body experience that I assume can only be matched by the satisfaction one might get from bolting your lightening seed into Frankie Sandford after doing a 10 stretch in solitary on fucking Alcatraz or some shit.

One day, Frankie. One day you will be mine.

So, to a recent tale of PPE... If this dump was a film, you'd think Michael Bay had directed it. Overzealous and gratuitously explosive. It was as if someone had let off a firework in a cow pat.

As soon as my twitchy, panicking bum cheeks touched down on the seat, it detonated a singular, loud blast. Comparable to inflating a bag of crisps and popping it in someone's ear. Only the bag is full of shit and you hope nobody else heard it.

With that uncomfortable sense of morbid curiosity you get when rubber-necking at a car accident, I turned to look into the bowl. I was ashamed and horrified in equal measure.

There were speckles of waste in every corner of the bowl. I began scraping it off from under the rim with the toilet brush. The physics of it made no sense but I was too shaken to begin to comprehend it with rational thought.

As a precautionary measure, I wiped the back of my legs and outer cheeks for any stray flecks. If it had got under the rim who knows what else it had managed to soil. I was taking no chances, but thankfully I was unscathed and proceeded to finish the cleanup operation.

I flushed and stepped away. It was only then that I was able to take in the whole event. My heart rate began to slow and I felt the tender embrace of the PPE.

As I attempted to flee the scene it was evident that the PPE was taking over. My motor skills impaired, vision slightly blurred. I gingerly hobbled out, legs quivering like a lonely, middle-aged blonde, freshly banged by a horny Greek waiter behind the bins at her 2 star all inclusive resort. I went to have a lie down and enjoy the rush. My body had purged something truly evil and it was rejoicing. Hallelujah.

Fin.

Baron Von Brown Back

EVERYONE! has a poo story ... EVERYONE! But this story of mine is one from a time past, a simpler time, a happier time. I think it was 25p to take a ride on the bus (and they didn't drive bus's like they do now, like coked up people smugglers on the precipice of the law) and you could actually buy 3 items from a shop and still have change from a quid.

Always a keen swimmer, even at an early age I could be found frolicking in the old H2O, I decided to pack myself off to the local swimming baths, growing up in Ireland where the closest local amenity is ALWAYS a pub and ALWAYS fucking miles away I found the proximity of our local pool too good to resist any time I had free time. So there I am, decked in Bermuda shorts and a shit eating grin that would make Amanda Holden look like a part timer I begin my aquatic adventure. It wasn't long into my splash sesh when the old trapdoor of my stomach received the first tentative probings of a brown delivery direct from the colon and so I jumped out of the pool, waded through the ankle high disinfectant and placed my perky posterior upon the porcelain receiver and began to send my faecal fax message.

The act itself took place without much ado, I dare say I shifted up the gears a smidge as I was keen to return to watery shenanigans, but as I finished laying my Fisher Price cable and reached over to the paper dispenser  I felt a twinge of shock when I realised that the normal quilty tactile response from your average loo roll had been replaced with a slick and very smooth almost tracing paper like entity ... all in all this transition did little to stem the tide as I reasoned even in my infancy that this was probably just standard English swimming bath procedure and all English swimming pools used this paper. So on I ventured and took a handful of the stuff and began to introduce this new paper to my posterior, in hindsight and even in adulthood we normally accept that any situation made a new by the introduction of a new entity or variable should be greeted with a certain level of caution but "oh no" not me .... I had swimming to do ... so reaching down behind me and getting as close as I can to my little fruit bowl I bring the paper in and drag it back along the spine of my crevice -  BUT(T) it doesn't stop there ... the combination of the slickness and smoothness of this new paper, the fervour in which I wiped as I wanted to return to the pool asap and the fact that I hadn't amended my technique to consider all these new variables I managed to collect the surplus cack from my offering and proceed to transfer it from the crack of my arse to various places along the small of my back ... it was the FUCKING PAPER!!! ITS TOO SMOOTH!!!

Panic washes over me, this is new, I have never (to my knowledge) smeared shit over myself in a public place without a legal guardian to take charge ... WHAT TO DO?? I reason running into the swimming pool and nonchalantly wiping it at the bottom of the pool, but the lifeguards would SURELY spot me, I then though "Showers" but again decided against this as I would want a shower when or however I managed to separate myself from the remnants of my breakfast. There was only one option I could think of, skulk back to my locker, which was only metres away, but I would have to do it with my back pressed against the wall smearing my shame over the locker room as I went. By the time I reached my locker only a minute of real time had past but by Christ did it feel like a lot longer mid smear, the locker room now at this stage looked like a holding cell for IRA dissidents who weren't keen on the arrangement. For my own personal development I am very glad that I managed to retrieve my towel and get into the shower before another human saw me do all this, but happier still that they bought my face of horror when I stepped out and pretended to see this dirty protest for the 1st time. Lesson learnt ... don't swim at the Northolt Swimarama.

It hurt...hurt a lot

The first post in to the Poo Diaries comes from a broken man! What just came out of me wasn't pretty, two days of backed up pone consisting of Chinese Friday night, Harvester Saturday night followed by a Toby Carvery yesterday. It was carnage, the pain was so intense I'm currently lying down with a red bull to try and get back some of the energy that was lost during the eviction!! I'll end it here with one final thought...never bite off, always see it through to the end because you will only pay for it later on in the day.