A warning

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Pacifist_Jihadist, Dec 7, 2010.

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  1. [FONT=&quot]As I sit here mounted atop an ice pack I try to write this tale before my quivering hands finally fail on me.[/FONT]

    [FONT=&quot]For the past few days I have had stomach pains, at first simply put down to an All Bran Slug making its presence known as it makes its way slowly out. But I was to be very wrong. At first it was a mere discomfort but that soon rose to become sharp sporadic pain sometimes wincing obviously to others, pulled muscle from too many crunches I gloat to them. At times I wondered just how a tricky turd could cause such grief, is it even a turd, did a passing veterinarian with a penchant for fisting cows leave his watch up there after finding me in a mess at my front door after the weekends pub crawl? As much as the pain was annoying it was slowly making its way across my lower abdomen left and right closer to its destination and freedom, with freedom arriving tonight.[/FONT]

    [FONT=&quot] With its approach to my delicate rose being announced I made my way to the porcelain throne to finally get rid of the bugger. As I sat with newspaper in hand I push, nothing, so I push again to still nothing. A fussy one eh, cold outside is it, don’t get comfy! I rise slightly and pull the cheeks apart for extra leverage and sit down again to start squeezing. The squeezing hastily stops as a tear trickles down my face, what can best be described as a barb has exited and firmly clamped itself to the outside of my ring, this is no ordinary All Bran Slug. Grabbing an empty loo roll and folding it down i clamp my teeth on it and start squeezing my unwelcome guest out. As each new row of barbs exited and impaled themselves on my hoop, another row slid over my prostate I was in waves of agony and ecstasy that a masochist would pay obscene money for. As it finally became fully airborne I slumped off the toilet with tears streaming. My face pressed against the lino and rear high trying to come to terms with what has just happened as I listen to the gentle breeze of air flowing to fill the void that is now my rectum. The cooling effect of the breeze on my shredded flesh was a blessing.[/FONT]

    [FONT=&quot]After a while I finally worked up the strength in my legs to right myself and a tad longer to summon the courage to unsteadily pear over the crest of the bowl, what I found was startling[/FONT][FONT=&quot], lesser turds must have passed it in the pipe with backs to the wall to inch past and averting their gaze.[/FONT][FONT=&quot] If you were to see this object nestled in long grass you probably think it a stray hedgehog, or even a bizarre pine cone worthy of a place on your mantle piece as the first member of the “old codgers random tat collection”. But to look further you would recoil at the realisation of its true horror. This indeed did start life as an All Bran Slug however it had mutated inside me like a bizarre horror movie baby. With this the flash backs of the weekend struck me, the local munter on one arm and a bottle of Newcastle’s finest in the other and then the flood of nuts to try to sober up before I become paralytic fair game for her and the handcuffs undoubtedly dangling from her bed posts. The undigested nuts had merged with the morning afters all bran forming a disfigured mass with bulges on top of bulges with nuts spiking out the peaks but slicked back for maximum intestinal glide and hoop shredding. All this was then steeled into a solid rod by the Brown Ale to ensure it could not be crimped off into manageable chunks but the full length and girth had to be enjoyed while birthing it into existence. [/FONT]

    [FONT=&quot]A lesson has been learned. It is for your own safety to have a morning after greasy fry up to soak up the drink and thoroughly lubricate the passage, else this could happen to you.[/FONT]
     
  2. Pics? I havent had a good wank in ages.
     
  3. I had a similar occurrence in Dubai last year whilst staying at the Sheraton. My morning SSSS routine was shattered by my chute trying to pass some thing the size of a 1.5 litre coke bottle, but with spikes and nobbles all over it (as I later found out). I had to call for medical assistance and between smothering guffaws of laughter the young Indian doctor who attended prescribed some clear sweet fluid which he told me to drink. I did know the name but cant remember what the stuff is called now. This had the effect of making it impossible to control the things egress from my nether orifice and with an agonising scream I was violated in a way so painful that I almost passed out. The result lay basking resentfully in the bog pan and I was minded to have it preserved for posterity, but there was no one in Dubai who would take on the task of preserving the beast. Someone suggested having it freeze dried and taken back to UK, but I was on my way back into Iran at the time (where there is more than enough shit anyway). In the end I contented myself with hacking it to pieces in order to enable flushing to take place. The docs final advice (in between sniggers) - drink more water.
     
  4. A friend of mine, in hospital, confided he hadn't launched a log in five days. I ranted and raved at him about the consequences of his back passage being filled with impacted concrete and the potential for having a "constipation coronary."

    He now regularly takes stool softener tablets, he assures me.
     
  5. I've recently had a "can't stop won't stop" ring splitter, the density of which excluded nipping it off at any point once it was terminal, not even the egress pace could be reduced. I did consider digital pressure to hold it back some, like a butcher wiith a run away sausage machine

    Feeling your nobbies tearing followed by a ginormous slither and the snapping shut of my nipsy fortold a train wreck of a delivery

    Feeling blood dripping out of your hoop is never good, seeing the pan filled with a behomoth donkey choker beautifully decorated with clots of bloods and still running claret is enough to drive you to shares in Alpin
     
  6. I do remember as a spotty teenager whilst going through the "get fitter and the birds'll be on you like stink on shit" phase.
    I was out doing the 5 miler when I got the urge for a Man United ;rather than doing a Radcliffe as it is now known I elected to hang on till the finish line (my bog)

    It felt like I was passing a paint tin without so much as a run up :-D
     
  7. It's a bastard, ain't it? I passed what I swear was a cricket ball sized turd while on the Isle of Wight - it hit the porcelain with the right 'clunk' as well! I should have floated off the bog... :cry:
     
  8. Submissions to the guiness book of record turds have to be supported by written affadavits from two reliable persons (no Welshmen). The prior consumption of compo before the birth will negate all claims for civilian recognition and relegate the record to the military section.

    Military record turds must be measured using the standard military units of turd mass:

    Dimensions are measured in the traditional way in full lengths and widths of the MOD 90.

    Volume is measured using only the small mess tin, thats how it got it's name.

    Adhesion is measured by pressing the turd against the padded liner of the commanders hatch, a stopwatch is required to determine how long it takes, once the hatch is battened down, to drop on his head. The older woolen blanket whirled around the head method proved too unreliable.

    Consistency is measured using the helmet splat method, a medium unscrimmed helmet is dropped onto the turd from a height of one SA80 with bayonet fitted. The maximum distances for fine
    spray, splash (droplets no bigger than a half digested sweetcorn grain) and splat (gobs as big as you like)
    are then recorded from the epicentre using MOD90 measuring drills.
     
  9. A few months ago I managed to strain a muscle in my neck which extended up onto my skull. Eventually I gave in and was perscribed Co-Codamol supa-strength by my non-sympathetic GP. Not surprisingly a week on those bad-boys bunged my up like a good-un. When I eventually had to release myself from the throws of abdomen discomfort, I couldn't get the bugger out. It felt Cricket ball size and after 10 mins of concerted pushing, it wouldn't emerge.

    Eventually and with some reticence, it was decided I would try to pull the fucker out. So with a well wrapped finger and thumb, I eventually, with much effort, managed to break it up and extract the small lumps enough that I could pass the rest naturally.

    My poor balloon knot was swollen and sore for days. A pain I never have felt in my life. If I ever imagined what the aftermath of being sodomized by John Holmes felt like, this would probably be it. :nod:

    I now consciously remind myself to pop the left-over tabs intermittently when I suffer my recurring ankle pain.