Following through - Sport of Kings

Discussion in 'Now That's What I Call NAAFI Bar' started by error_unknown, Oct 15, 2003.

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  1. Whats your best following through story?
    Don't be ashamed, let it out (down either leg)

    Since drinking my first bottle of Strongbow at 14, i've been a victim of the booze induced squitters. Anyone else?

    For me, it would usually be whilst I was at the bar getting the beers in. In that lovely moment immediately after the landlord had taken my order, i'd relax and treat myself to a trump, knowing that it would disperse by the time I got back to the table with my beer. Despite considering myself an Olympic standard farter, i'd get caught out every now and again, and jettison an eggcupful of liquid gold into me trolleys. Never enough to make me go home, but enough to make me stink of sh*t for the rest of the evening.

    When I left the forces, I thought i'd leave my dirty-gruds past behind me, (usually in the pub car park). But no. I was walking into town about two years ago to meet up with a mate who'd just got back from Bosnatraz. I'd drank a lot of Guinness the night before but didn't think I had any cause for concern, until I was about ten minutes from the pub. I got a brief pain in my stomach, and within 15 seconds was joining the Involuntary Defecation Display Team. There was at least a kidney pouch full down each leg of me trousers. My undercrackers had performed some basic filtration keeping the bigger bits close to my hoop.

    I sh*tty-walked all the way back home, and dumped all my clobber into the wheelie bin, before quickly getting scrubbed up and putting some fresh clothes on. I rang my mate to let him know i'd be half an hour late and told him the reason.

    He was very understanding and stated that he'd had a similar misfortune only the week before.

    Does anybody else have any amusing "Oh look, i'm covered in my own shite, perhaps i'm an alcoholic", stories???
  2. Mine was quite recently. I was working in Holland getting ready for an Op. I'd started taking anti malarials and had missed a couple of days. So like all squaddies, i bungged 2 days worth down my neck plus the full pack of the twice weekly yellow pill. I was also hung over to buggery and it didnt seem like such a big deal.

    That was until i needed to fart. I was stood making a cup of splosh, cocked my leg, let one rip and planted half a litre of muddy water down the backs of my legs. This caused much hillarity amongst my crew and i had the shame of walking back to the accom smelling like my arse and with huge shite staines down the back of my deserts.

  3. Have told this story before on another thread but as its relevant will do it again.

    Stood in a chip shop mid summer dressed in shorts, flip flips and a T shirt,

    I ordered my scoff and was stood in line when the urge to trump became too great, in the manner of a professional farter I pointed my backside at the door and tried to let out a slient pfooof from my rear.

    Everything went wrong, A loud guff flew out of my arse followed by half a gallon of runny stella poo, as I wasn't wearing undercrackers, the filteration powers of my shorts were poor, Down the back of my leg resembled the contents of the curry tray and it leaked between my foot and my flip flop

    What could I do, shit on the floor, caked in the stuff, I did the only thing I could.......... ran away!

    To this day I havent been back but have been recognised a couple of times when out with the doris.
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  4. i have a few poo pants stories, he comes another

    On arrival at my unit I was dicked to go to Norway on the Biathlon team, this involved a drived from minden to Kristianshaven then a ferry to Oslo, the crossing was about eigth hours so usual squaddie past time of getting smashed dead quick started, as the nig I was unaware that my drinks were being added to with all sorts, from piss to vodka and bogeys.

    I remember nothing more other than waking up in a very small cell covered in my own piss, poo and puke...

    when the purser came to let me out, he took one breath from my cell and barfed all over the floor.

    Because I had shat myself ealry on in the evening and had been locked up for a while, the stool in my shreddies had become molded to the shape of my arse and set solid, I had to drive with a perfect globe shaped arse from Oslo to Lillehammer. then chip it a way with a spoon.
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  5. I tell you what as well.

    Where I actually cacked myself, was on Regent Road (M602) into Manchester. It was right outside the window of Porcelanosa, I sh*t you not. All those lovely display bathrooms and nowhere to rest my tortured ricker.

    The irony wasn't lost on me.
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  6. Hook of Harwich ferry on the way back from sausage land, vast amounts of Stella quaffed both before getting on board and for several hours after getting on.

    Sitting in the restaurant with 4 or 5 other guys when the urge to release a few of Aunti Stellas vapours overcame me.

    The resultant explosion leaves me with about a pint of golden cleverness seeping through my boxers and running down my legs. All of the aforementioned guys jump out of their seats calling me all the cnuts under the sun.

    I then have the problem of what the fcuk to do. All of my other clothes are in the car, which of course you are not allowed to go to while the ship is sailing.

    I end up having to go into the duty free shop, coated in sh1t and stinking like a sewer to buy some more jeans. Then a trip through half of the ship to get to the bogs.

    Ended up wiping most of the emmissions off with the clean bits of my jeans and then wiping down with wet bog roll.

    Soiled jeans were then carried outside and hoyed into the sea. The rest of the guys obviously then thought it was their duty to tell everyone that would listen what a dirty minging cnut I was.

  7. Come to think of it, the time before that I hadn't been drinking either. Maybe i'm just a shite-the-bed type of person.

    I was on a UN tour in Africa in '94. I woke up in me sleeping bag at 4am and wondered "what the fcuk have I woken up for?".

    It was then that I realised that i'd decorated the inside of my wanking chariot with a thick brown broth. Worse still, it had obviously happened a while earlier and i'd managed to cam myself up good and proper. It was horrific. Apparently, it was some murderous stomach bug that was doing the rounds. I couldn't get a shower until they switched the fcukkers on at 10am either. Fortunately my roommates were sympathetic. The bastards hoyed all my kit out into the corridor and wouldn't let me in the room. Every now and then, one of them would pop his head out of the door, wrinkle his nose and shout.

    "Yeah, he still stinks of Sh*t"
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  8. I have a particular accident blackspot on the M6 near Junction 28, have fired a malteser into my shreddies three times in the very same place

    Now make s a trip southbound a lottery and breath a sigh of relief as i pass without popping a wheelspin in my calvin kleins
  9. Don't know how but woke up on the floor with my head in a pool of runny shite after a rather good night out OTP when on my kraut wings course. Shit all over my body, hair, bedding, walls, get the picture.

    The Kraut sent round to wake us up for that days parachuting opened the door and nearly fainted, he then stumbled to the karsi to throw stomach for it the jerries :lol:

    Can't beat a good shite for the bloke who drank a pint of piss with a floater in it..........and then took a bite out of it 8O thats for another day
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  10. And another

    Drunken night

    Travelling home, looked at taxi driver, how much if I puke............. he jokingly said £30.......... BARGAIN I said and covered him and his cab in a technicolor yawn

    When he threw me out of the I was too drunk and proud to do anyhting about it, he screamed I had cost him a nights earning s and had to clean his cab

    I looked at him and told him he had to clean his seats to as I was comando and had followed through and was caked in fizzy gravy, and swamped to boot.......... never spilled any of my kebab.

    In the morning when I woke up could see muddy trollies at the end of the bed so did the old trick and put them in a rovers biscuit tin and posted them to a pal :D
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  11. At the end of the first week of basic training we had our first proper physical exercise scheduled which was to be a 6 mile cross country, anyhow it also coincided with the first weeks cook house food working it's way through my system, about 2 1/2 miles into the run i suddenly felt a deep inner movement, so i dashed into the bushe's hoping to have a tom tit and find a suitable leaf.
    Unfortunately the stragglers in the meantime had caught up to where I was with one of the PTI's at the back beasting them all the way. He spied me crouched in the bushe's and thinking I was trying to get out of the rest of the run charged up scream death threats and oaths at me, my natural instinct was to run which i did whilst trying to get my shorts and keck's back up.
    I had to do the rest of the run in shitty pant's plus being at the back being beasted by the PTI for being a bluffying cnut. When we got back to the billet I had to dash to the bog's to try and remove the caked on shite from up me crack which also removed a certain amount of arrse hair.
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  12. Not exactly a follow-through, but, this happened to a mate of mine, honest! On exercise, after a week or so, the old curious tortoise syndrome struck, so off he went on a shovel recce. He pulled down his tank-suit and assumed the position, totally forgetting the proximity of the tank-suit hood to the target area. He was forcibly reminded of this when,
    on pulling his gear back on, he was struck on the back of his neck by a
    goodly portion of recycled compo. It was weapons-grade poo, too!

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  13. Before he gets chance to delete some of the 4 that he has posted (as he has just told me on the phone that he is going to :D ), it would appear that MDN has a bit of a problem controlling his bowel movements.

    I would suggest that a trip here

    to buy some of these


    may be in order :D
  14. Not a follow through story, but after being on exercise for a number of weeks and being accustomed to shitting in the field. Got home, quick hump, shower and reported, “balls empty” to the correct authority and back out on the peeve with the boys. Returning home very late with about 15 pints and God knows how many shorts on board gets into bed with the misses only to find my guts wanted to discharge the previous weeks intake of compo assisted with copious amounts of Fosters and Vodka. In my drunken stupor, thinking I’m still on exercise finds the nearest corner and squats only to be aroused, not by the screams of STAND TO, but, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING” Being captured in a very disturbing position and not a one for being stuck for words I replied “having a fcuking shit, get my combat jacket from the wagon, there is some bog paper in one of the pockets”
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  15. Last day of basic training-end of course piss up the night before followed by (old style-in boots) BFT the next morning. Just at the end of the warm up mile and a half I let go only to follow through quite drastically-PTIs yelling "combat jackets off-mile and a half best effort staaaaaaaand by"

    So I shoved my hand down the back of my keks, scooped out as much as possible (while removing my combat jacket an standing by as per instructions) and managed to deposit the poo in the grass in front of the gym just as the gym queen yelled GO.

    Suffice to say by the end of a mile and a half I was Caked in the remainder and everyone who was behind me got in front rapidly.

    As we fell out the OC piped up from behind the squad-JEEZUS what's that f***ing stink

    Most of what I had on ended up in the skip-happy days