A dawning realisation

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Snoreador, Mar 7, 2011.

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  1. Over the weekend I had drunk a large amount of beer, wine and gin (in separate glasses, I'm boring like that). I had also eaten a lot of rich food. The result: digestive system working overtime, and producing pleasing (to my nose, at least) results.

    So there I was, sitting on the train on the way home. I let out a little gas, seriously tiny, but it was one of those oh-so-violent ones. Just as I was basking in my own glory, I noticed in the seat opposite was a rather old lady. A thought immediately hit me. I was crawling at the windows. I wanted to get out. It didn't bear thinking about.

    This is what went through my mind. What if she was wearing a colostomy bag. What if that colostomy bag had just ripped, letting out the foul rancid material, and associated smell, within? What if that smell had mixed with (or overpowered) mine, and there I was enjoying it, thinking it was mine? I'm still scarred from the idea.
  2. I'm going to be the first to admit that this made me laugh.
  3. Interesting...
  4. After clenching my ring for ages I finally let out a tiny but leathal trump on the Picardilly Line yesterday morning and struggled not to laugh at the disgusted expressions of my fellow commuters. Several covered their mouths with scarves to avoid breathing in my bumdensation. Some old boy had just got on at Gloucester Road and I think he was prime suspect.
  5. You probably gave the game away by not acting with revulsion. Unless you pulled a blinder of a bluff and went for the whole gag / retch thing while secretly proud inside.
  6. No worries, we had a kid in my primary school who had a bag, he was a fucking arsehole, he just didn't have one. I mean just because someone is ill doesn't mean they aren't a complete twat. He bubbled everyone to the teachers and gloated when we were in the shit. He then couldn't understand why we hated him.

    It took several good well aimed kicks, preferably with a good run up, to burst his bag and that was a 1960s low tech variant.
  7. I wear a colostomy, now my wound area is oval in shape, it measures 110mm x 70mm. Now, the colostomy bag I wear is 90mm circular at it's widest, therefore my bag doesn't fit properly which leads to whiffs of cess pool proportions on a regular basis. I enjoy the looks on the faces of anyone I'm in a confined space with when my bag leaks, even better if someone coughs up their breakfast.. Fuck em.
  8. I went the whole nine yards; queasy swallow, corners of the mouth turned down, disgusted frown, visibly not breathing through my nose. Bellowing 'phwoar, what a fucking STINKER' probably would have attracted too much attention, but I was subtle. I'm quite sure everyone blamed the OAP.
  9. Damn, what was going through my mind could be true. It could have been somebody else's poo-smell. I think I'll go and scrub my nostrils. No chance of coughing up brekkie though, I like my grub too much for that.
  10. Just as I read those points about colostomy bags I produced something so foul it broke the "everyone enjoys their own brand" rule, at least for me. Stomach now somewhat unsettled.
  11. That's a bit like going to the toilet and crapping a 'giraffe'; that is, a poo so rancid you crane your neck to get further away from the smell.