It has to be the work of the devil. :evil:

I cant think of anything better than taking up residence on the trumping pot and having a good dump.
When you feel that shift in your bowels instinctively you begin to nurture your expectant jobbie, knowing that for just a few precious minutes nothing matters, savoring every second.... and then you get it, that sweeping sense of relief as the babies arm plunges into the bowl.

After a day hammering the shops, i was looking forward to getting home and mounting my porcelain charger to deposit the 7.99 all you can eat buffet (Cheese Burger, Pasta, Potato Wedges, Chilli, Chicken Wings, Chicken Thighs and a 12" Pizza just about got my monies worth).

Anyway my point... finally get poised on the pot when the little one wakes up screaming. I had two choices, rush job or rain cheque. I opt for the latter as i shuffled along the landing, trollies round ankles bum cheeks firmly clenched.

Eventually getting the snot goblin back off to sleep i head back to the bog, pausing for a quick recce of my knicks incase id crimped the turtles head off in the panic.. phew all clear.

So there i sit... and sit... little push, nothing... and again nothing.... hands griping the bowel for a gut wrenching strain... still nothing!!!!! My beauty, my stress relieving turd had crept back up my colon and was refusing to play.

Gutted aint the word... so here i am, my arse bunged tighter than a pedophiles date.

Am i the only one who dreads this cruel affliction?
Toilet time trauma.

Nothing worse than squeezing and nothing popping out other than the veins in your forehead.

If anythign my affliction leans 100% the other way and I struggle keeping it in.

Bite the door handle and scream at your innards until it gives in and creeps out. Alternativly get some Mr Muscle drain cleaner, do a handstand, carefully insert a funnel and pour the contents in to your bunged up hoop.

If you need a hand.... gimme a call, I have a tardis ready and waiting for any anal dilemmas that may occur
You are on ARRSE, the army rumours service....the army eats rats...rethink the question. You could build a house with enough compo turds.
307 said:
You are on ARRSE, the army rumours service....the army eats rats...rethink the question. You could build a house with enough compo turds.
What kind of mind altering drugs are you on?
You lot don't know constipation. You don’t know the hell that is Pregaday.

One little tablet that will provide both mother and child with all the iron and folic acid they need during those happy month's of pregnancy to encourage the healthy red cells...

Well let me tell you, folic acid farts are lethal!
They stink like week old gas being expelled from the bowels of a rancid corpse,
There is no deadlier gas.

And iron, iron is designed to back you so far up you can feel it bulging into your spinal column where the precious little alien invading you has kicked your intestines to for the duration.

If you ever wondered why women get frisky for bum loving during the later stages of pregnancy it has nothing to do with position or fear of having a baby with c*ck indents on the crown of their heads it's the man glue!

We need it to lubricate up that four-foot long turd we've been carrying around since week 32!

Dear God the memories!

Beebs :cry:
In an experiment over Christmas I sealed up my hoop by running a hot butter knife across my starfish.

This was the only way I could get to grips with this thread.

The first and second days passed without notice, in fact the only person that noticed was the Doris who asked why there weren't any skids or mud marks in my shreddies...

Day three and four started to become painful and day fave i had sh1t backed up so far the cotton but I cleaned my ear with came out coffee coloured

I went to sit on the pot and forced, trying to break the thin skin that held my innards in..... In the end I had to pierce it with a centre punch.... a 3mm jet of fizzy gravy went out the bathroom door across the landing and splattered the spare bedroom door.... I managed to tap it off and made a poo mural on a fence panel and had enough laft over to retarmac the road from Blackpool to Widness

Class, as always. Just trying not to laugh out loud in my place of work.

christmas is the ideal time to get constipation , the diet ranging between roast dinners , cold buffets , and mountains of peanuts , choccy mints , and pringles (if i never see another pringle it will be too soon) can produce severe congestion on the marmite motorway.
i read the first 300 pages of "Berlin , the downfall" whilst waiting for my first poo of the festive season , it was stuck fast to my insides like someone had been putting solvite wallpaper paste in my gravy , i tried everything , the spine of the book still has toothmarks in it from my straining , and the missus said it sounded like i was auditioning for the worlds strongest man , i needed to put my legs up on the bath three times because they'd gone blue and i had ankles like a 90 year old lady , eventually with a sound like a schermully being fired a pebble fell into the bowl , only a small one , but it had the density of plutonium , this seemed to be the chock holding the rest in, and HMS plop left the slipway to much cheering and flag waving , and my god what a beauty , several hues ranging between beige , and ebony , with the texture of a cadburys picnic , tears of pride and pain only added to the stinging in my eyes caused by the resultant release of backed up gas caused by copious ammounts of lager and fizzy pop , and the resulting anal gape took three hours to return to normal size , unfortunately the bowl resembled an accident in a chocolate spread factory , and i had to resort to emptying an old car battery into the lav and leaving it overnight.
Take a tip - don't try too hard to force the issue... nobody smiles with piles.

Now THERE's another subject worthy of a thread !

(By the way if you've never tried them, senna tablets from Boots are excellent for dislodging the first end-ex movement. Take one as you recover somewhere warm and wait. You get some room clearing wind, then you get the whole lot in one go, with no pain. Well worth exhibiting in the kraut plumbing systems too!


The day after Boxing Day I woke up feeling moderately off form and went for the 'Morning Constitutional' in the downstairs bog (the lovely Mrs Chickenpunk practises 'apart-shite' and won't let me drop my guts in the en suite). A slight sweatiness about the forehead told me that I was in for a squirter so I sat down with some amusing reading material and waited for nature to take its course, but much to my perturbation nothing emerged other than a sour and dribbly fart. Hmmm, in a state of puzzlement I cleaned up and headed to the kitchen to get the kettle on and begin the assembly of a festive bacon sandwich.

The streaky bacon was on the grill when another peristaltic wave hove into view and I headed back to the crapper, but still nothing other than copious volumes of rancid arse-gasses. I got back to the kitchen in time to save the bacon sandwich and ate it in a contemplative mood.

I was just licking the last remnants of HP Sauce off my lips when another abdominal cramp arrived, and this time there was a definite hint of sphincter activity. I sped back to the bog and just got there in time as a small plug of hard, black turd shot out at high velocity, stinging my ring and leaving a small cloud of steam floating above the surface of the bowl. However, this nasty 'bum goblin' was immediately followed by an eruption which resembled Minestrone soup being squirted from a firehose. Unsurprisingly, I felt much better after this and had another bacon sarnie.

Looking back, I attribute the 'arse-plug' to tea-time on Christmas Day when, despite the fact I was feeling stuffed, I ate an entire large bar of Toblerone which 10-year old chickenpunk junior had given me, knowing that he expected me to give him at least half as it is his favourite chocolate. This was washed down with three bottles of Guinness FES. The follow-through rusty gravy was, I suspect, the result of troughing 'Turkey Left-over Casserole' on Boxing Day.

Anyway, I just thought I'd share that with you all :D
Its a common Xmas problem...just showed this thread to my colleague as the poor mare has been backed up for 5 days now. She has been on the senacot and everything but nothing can shift it.....she too is suffering from many expectant trips to the shitter only to be greeted by a small, abeit pungent, guff.

She looked so disapointed until I showed her that she is not alone.

I on the other hand am having the opposite problem....I am holding in an accumulation of farts, due to eating vast amunts of peanuts.....tempted to try and sneak it out but can't for the fear of causing serious damage to the poor bugger next to me. 8O


307 said:
You are on ARRSE, the army rumours service....the army eats rats...rethink the question. You could build a house with enough compo turds.
Eloquently put.
I just can't get this constipation thing at all.

You don't know you are born, really you don't.

I battle on a weekly basis not to follow through or just straigh sh1t my pants.

The thought of being bunged up and not placed in the anal danger zone sounds like a heavenly state to be in.

You lucky lucky bas-tards :D
How bad are you.

1.panic if you cant see the "toilet this way" sign

2.dont do long journeys wothout bum wipe and spare trolleys

3.scared to cough.

4.all of the above :D
The urge to cack can hits me like a Tsunami...... gives me little warning and if I don't act sharpish there's gonna be a whole load of drama!

When the urge hits it makes me stand rigid, bolt upright with fear in my eyes. Then the panic hits and the hunt for the nearest porcelain takes over...........

When patrolling etc a soldier thinks where he will go if he gets bumped... I still thing on a paralell line, and I have a mental map of all the countries trumping pots etched firmly on my mind and the flash to bang time between twinge and vacation is pretty impressive.

Of course there is the exception to the rule and over the festive season I did blow mud just the once :oops:
Like MDN, I would consider constipation a godsend. Only last Tuesday, I felt the familiar pangs, that meant I was going to knock whilst taking the risk of an indecent exposure charge. I managed to sneak into the woods and spurt one out, before it broke my back. For the sh-it hunters amongst you, it can be found near spot height 192 at NGR NY 6985 2285 (OS Landranger series 91 Appleby-in-Westmoreland.

The relief of getting away with it inspired me to come up with a poem, entirely underived from a previous work.

IF I should die, after having this sh-it, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a Cumbrian wood
That is forever Convoy. There shall be
In that soiled earth a smellier dust concealed;
A dust whom Ginsters bore, shaped, made aware,
Whom England gave, once, her flowers to fertilise, her bridleways to boobytrap,
A body of England's, breathing fetid English pub air,
Washed down by the Guinness, blest by the suns of home.
AFKAC said:
her bridleways to boobytrap,
Have just spent three minutes rolling around the floor laughing at that.

Good to see the Rigger back and posting too.

IS the NAAFI looking up? Can it be possible to have a fist full of quality threads running at the same time.

If I wasn't frightened of getting caked in excrement I'd suggest a group hug :D
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we constrained our sludge,
Till on the haunting floors we dropped our kecks
And through our matted arrse hair, it began to budge.
Men used their dossbags. Many used their boots
But limped on, poo-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with sh1t-cramps; deaf even to the hoots
Of sloppy, released torpedoes that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick brown light,
As under a brown sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; “It's Alright Share a 3 stall toilet
With That Cnut AFCAC"
God Send? 8O

It took me two days to shift the squater that had taken up residence in my colon and my hoop was left feeling like a battered blood orange.

I did well up with a little pride though... it took serveral flushes to shift the monster :D
cait said:
God Send? 8O

It took me two days to shift the squater that had taken up residence in my colon and my hoop was left feeling like a battered blood orange.

I did well up with a little pride though... it took serveral flushes to shift the monster :D
i can think of worse places than being a squatter up your hoop cait :twisted:
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