Following through - Sport of Kings

Last week.
Apparently I am a *key* worker (complete with a letter to get me past the Stasi check points) so I had to turn in.
I had been lazy and rather than cooking something decent I made do with pasta, steamed veggies and way too much piripiri sauce the night before, reheated in the kitchen microwave. Something about that combination disagreed with me at lunch time and general gurglings were causing me some consternation.
Come 3pm and i sacked it - and so did my lower intestine. I though i would be fine as all I had to do was saunter out in a confident manner and pop into the loo just outside our security door on the floor. Nah.

Because of the virus they were cleaning an hour early so clenching in a way that would make for a great ‘buns of steel’ routine I hurried down a floor. And again as they were still closed too.
I nearly made it. I made the well practiced manoeuvre of slotting home the bolt whilst undoing my belt with the other hand, dropping my trousers as I spun around to seat myself - but fumbled lowering my underpants at the same time as my jeans.
A beginner mistake I know but my sphincter is not to be denied - and whilst no more than a table spoon of near radioactive bum juice soiled my pants it was enough to take near a full roll of bog roll to clean my self up with. Pants were disposed of and thankfully my jeans were fine (I am of the age now where spare t-shirt, sweat pants, undies and socks are in my locker ‘just in case’).

Then went home and had a curry for dinner with a few beers. Ah well...


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Sweat pants.
Is that a euphemism for leather chaps?
 
Last week.
Apparently I am a *key* worker (complete with a letter to get me past the Stasi check points) so I had to turn in.
I had been lazy and rather than cooking something decent I made do with pasta, steamed veggies and way too much piripiri sauce the night before, reheated in the kitchen microwave. Something about that combination disagreed with me at lunch time and general gurglings were causing me some consternation.
Come 3pm and i sacked it - and so did my lower intestine. I though i would be fine as all I had to do was saunter out in a confident manner and pop into the loo just outside our security door on the floor. Nah.

Because of the virus they were cleaning an hour early so clenching in a way that would make for a great ‘buns of steel’ routine I hurried down a floor. And again as they were still closed too.
I nearly made it. I made the well practiced manoeuvre of slotting home the bolt whilst undoing my belt with the other hand, dropping my trousers as I spun around to seat myself - but fumbled lowering my underpants at the same time as my jeans.
A beginner mistake I know but my sphincter is not to be denied - and whilst no more than a table spoon of near radioactive bum juice soiled my pants it was enough to take near a full roll of bog roll to clean my self up with. Pants were disposed of and thankfully my jeans were fine (I am of the age now where spare t-shirt, sweat pants, undies and socks are in my locker ‘just in case’).

Then went home and had a curry for dinner with a few beers. Ah well...


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A full roll of bog roll? What are you, Mafia?
 
...I made the well practiced manoeuvre of slotting home the bolt whilst undoing my belt with the other hand, dropping my trousers as I spun around to seat myself...
Poor drills. Belt, zip and button should have already been undone, waistband grasped in one hand, thumb hooked in shreddies for rapid removal, door kicked shut and seat lifted with free hand simultaneously, as kecks are dropped and bum slotted into position.

No bother with bolt. Anyone wanting a quick perve at that sort of thing is sick enough to crawl underneath or peer over the top anyway.
 
I had a very near miss last week. Been drinking that Westons Organic cider, which tbh is very nice. I've not had it for a while.
Following morning, had breakfast, sat in my armchair watching BBC news when what I thought was a fart tried to escape. I had that millisecond of realisation that it ain't no fart coming out here and the chocolate starfish clamped itself tightly shut.
Now the loo is upstairs, try walking up 14 stairs trying to stop your balloon knot from unravelling. Difficult.
 

Smeggers

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Yesterday, Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) decides we are having boney lamb casserole for dinner. Fine, but she decided to bulk it out with every Farking pulse she could find. There were haricot beans, mung beans, red and green lentils, black-eyed peas, kidney beans, borlotti beans and even baked beans FFS! Aded to this mixture was half a bottle of dodgy Rioja and some even more suspect Merlot. Into the oven it went on gas mark three to have the life cooked out of it.
Four hours later, I am served up with a bowl full of brown, steaming gunk. Not only did it resemble a recently laid Richard, it smelt vaguely like one! I decided to bite the bullet and dug in. To be honest it didn't taste too bad, and with a crusty baguette soaking up the liquid, it was soon despatched to the inner sewage works that are my guts.
Laying in bed, I felt a rumbling in the region of the lower intestine and proceeded to let rip with an enormous protracted fart. Feeling quite proud of myself, I strained for a better effect. Alas, it was my undoing. Having lifted my leg for better effect, a stream of projectile, liquid shit hit the wardrobe some three feet away!
I dashed to the bog but Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) was already in situ! I sat on the bath and managed to aim most of the contents of my bowels into the tub. Upon finishing, I was able to wash the residue away with the shower head.
The bedroom was a scene of utter devastation with shit everywhere. It looked like feast day in the Looney bin! The clean up was interspersed with much running to the bog accompanied by cries of "oh God! Not again!). That wasn't the end to the tale. Wife had given the leftovers to her confounded Bedlington Terrier, so coming downstairs to puddles of dog turd wasn't the best wake up call. We have vowed never to have boney Lamb Casserole again!
 
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Yesterday, Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) decides we are having boney lamb casserole for dinner. Fine, but she decided to bulk it out with every Farking pulse she could find. There were haricot beans, mung beans, red and green lentils, black-eyed peas, kidney beans, borlotti beans and even baked beans FFS! Aded to this mixture was half a bottle of dodgy Rioja and some even more suspect Merlot. Into the oven it went on gas mark three to have the life cooked out of it.
Four hours later, I am served up with a bowl full of brown, steaming gunk. Not only did it resemble a recently laid Richard, it smelt vaguely like one! I decided to bite the bullet and dug in. To be honest it didn't taste too bad, and with a crusty baguette soaking up the liquid, it was soon despatched to the inner sewage works that are my guts.
Laying in bed, I felt a rumbling in the region of the lower intestine and proceeded to let rip with an enormous protracted fart. Feeling quite proud of myself, I strained for a better effect. Alas, it was my undoing. Having lifted my leg for better effect, a stream of projectile, liquid shit hit the wardrobe some three feet away!
I dashed to the bog but Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) was already in situ! I sat on the bath and managed to aim most of the contents of my bowels into the tub. Upon finishing, I was able to wash the residue away with the shower head.
The bedroom was a scene of utter devastation with shit everywhere. It looked like feast day in the Looney bin! The clean up was interspersed with much running to the bog accompanied by cries of "oh God! Not again!). That wasn't the end to the tale. Wife had given the leftovers to her confounded Bedlington Terrier, so coming downstairs to puddles of dog turd wasn't the best wake up call. We have vowed never to have boney Lamb Casserole again!
Have you got the recipe?
 
Yesterday, Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) decides we are having boney lamb casserole for dinner. Fine, but she decided to bulk it out with every Farking pulse she could find. There were haricot beans, mung beans, red and green lentils, black-eyed peas, kidney beans, borlotti beans and even baked beans FFS! Aded to this mixture was half a bottle of dodgy Rioja and some even more suspect Merlot. Into the oven it went on gas mark three to have the life cooked out of it.
Four hours later, I am served up with a bowl full of brown, steaming gunk. Not only did it resemble a recently laid Richard, it smelt vaguely like one! I decided to bite the bullet and dug in. To be honest it didn't taste too bad, and with a crusty baguette soaking up the liquid, it was soon despatched to the inner sewage works that are my guts.
Laying in bed, I felt a rumbling in the region of the lower intestine and proceeded to let rip with an enormous protracted fart. Feeling quite proud of myself, I strained for a better effect. Alas, it was my undoing. Having lifted my leg for better effect, a stream of projectile, liquid shit hit the wardrobe some three feet away!
I dashed to the bog but Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) was already in situ! I sat on the bath and managed to aim most of the contents of my bowels into the tub. Upon finishing, I was able to wash the residue away with the shower head.
The bedroom was a scene of utter devastation with shit everywhere. It looked like feast day in the Looney bin! The clean up was interspersed with much running to the bog accompanied by cries of "oh God! Not again!). That wasn't the end to the tale. Wife had given the leftovers to her confounded Bedlington Terrier, so coming downstairs to puddles of dog turd wasn't the best wake up call. We have vowed never to have boney Lamb Casserole again!
You complete and utter bastard.
I've laughed and farted at the same time. It's either a very wet fart or I've shat meself.

ETA. Just a wet fart.
 
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Yesterday, Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) decides we are having boney lamb casserole for dinner. Fine, but she decided to bulk it out with every Farking pulse she could find. There were haricot beans, mung beans, red and green lentils, black-eyed peas, kidney beans, borlotti beans and even baked beans FFS! Aded to this mixture was half a bottle of dodgy Rioja and some even more suspect Merlot. Into the oven it went on gas mark three to have the life cooked out of it.
Four hours later, I am served up with a bowl full of brown, steaming gunk. Not only did it resemble a recently laid Richard, it smelt vaguely like one! I decided to bite the bullet and dug in. To be honest it didn't taste too bad, and with a crusty baguette soaking up the liquid, it was soon despatched to the inner sewage works that are my guts.
Laying in bed, I felt a rumbling in the region of the lower intestine and proceeded to let rip with an enormous protracted fart. Feeling quite proud of myself, I strained for a better effect. Alas, it was my undoing. Having lifted my leg for better effect, a stream of projectile, liquid shit hit the wardrobe some three feet away!
I dashed to the bog but Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) was already in situ! I sat on the bath and managed to aim most of the contents of my bowels into the tub. Upon finishing, I was able to wash the residue away with the shower head.
The bedroom was a scene of utter devastation with shit everywhere. It looked like feast day in the Looney bin! The clean up was interspersed with much running to the bog accompanied by cries of "oh God! Not again!). That wasn't the end to the tale. Wife had given the leftovers to her confounded Bedlington Terrier, so coming downstairs to puddles of dog turd wasn't the best wake up call. We have vowed never to have boney Lamb Casserole again!

Tonight I cooked>>>>>>
 

panzermeyer

Old-Salt
Yesterday, Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) decides we are having boney lamb casserole for dinner. Fine, but she decided to bulk it out with every Farking pulse she could find. There were haricot beans, mung beans, red and green lentils, black-eyed peas, kidney beans, borlotti beans and even baked beans FFS! Aded to this mixture was half a bottle of dodgy Rioja and some even more suspect Merlot. Into the oven it went on gas mark three to have the life cooked out of it.
Four hours later, I am served up with a bowl full of brown, steaming gunk. Not only did it resemble a recently laid Richard, it smelt vaguely like one! I decided to bite the bullet and dug in. To be honest it didn't taste too bad, and with a crusty baguette soaking up the liquid, it was soon despatched to the inner sewage works that are my guts.
Laying in bed, I felt a rumbling in the region of the lower intestine and proceeded to let rip with an enormous protracted fart. Feeling quite proud of myself, I strained for a better effect. Alas, it was my undoing. Having lifted my leg for better effect, a stream of projectile, liquid shit hit the wardrobe some three feet away!
I dashed to the bog but Mrs Smeg (aka The Leader of the Opposition) was already in situ! I sat on the bath and managed to aim most of the contents of my bowels into the tub. Upon finishing, I was able to wash the residue away with the shower head.
The bedroom was a scene of utter devastation with shit everywhere. It looked like feast day in the Looney bin! The clean up was interspersed with much running to the bog accompanied by cries of "oh God! Not again!). That wasn't the end to the tale. Wife had given the leftovers to her confounded Bedlington Terrier, so coming downstairs to puddles of dog turd wasn't the best wake up call. We have vowed never to have boney Lamb Casserole again!



I am in tears at this as I dare say you were at one point.
 

StBob072

LE
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Smeggers

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I am in tears at this as I dare say you were at one point.
Most definitely. I've just read it out to the missus and she laughed so much she farted. The dog ran out of the room!
 
Today I had the exact opposite, a life changing event.
I sat and strained for half an hour to curl down the biggest turd that I have ever seen.
It looked a roll of kitchen towel, Very very painfull and not an experience that I would like to repeat.
You know that you are in trouble when after twenty minutes you are looking for something to bite and streams of sweat are running down your face.
 
Poor drills. Belt, zip and button should have already been undone, waistband grasped in one hand, thumb hooked in shreddies for rapid removal, door kicked shut and seat lifted with free hand simultaneously, as kecks are dropped and bum slotted into position.

No bother with bolt. Anyone wanting a quick perve at that sort of thing is sick enough to crawl underneath or peer over the top anyway.
Says you. In the heat of the moment the best-practiced drills come undone, and how often does anyone practice an 'emergency evacuation' when the inverted bum volcano isn't ready to flatten a nearby town?
 

Cutaway

LE
Kit Reviewer
Says you. In the heat of the moment the best-practiced drills come undone, and how often does anyone practice an 'emergency evacuation' when the inverted bum volcano isn't ready to flatten a nearby town?
In the heat of the moment the best practiced drills work, when all else turns to ratshit your training will take over.
Which is why there are organisations that are fond of using them.

One such is called the "British Army" - you may possibly have heard of it.
 
In the heat of the moment the best practiced drills work, when all else turns to ratshit your training will take over.
Which is why there are organisations that are fond of using them.

One such is called the "British Army" - you may possibly have heard of it.
Since when did they teach people how not to soil their breeks?
 

Cutaway

LE
Kit Reviewer
Since when did they teach people how not to soil their breeks?
Skirt wearers never received those lectures.

Intervals between practicing drills are up to the CoC, those deemed most useful, regardless of the rarity of occurrence will be practiced more often.
 
Says you. In the heat of the moment the best-practiced drills come undone, and how often does anyone practice an 'emergency evacuation' when the inverted bum volcano isn't ready to flatten a nearby town?
Train hard, shart easy. Why do you think curry night came about?

You RAF Regt toucher of humorous vegetables, you.
 
Poor drills. Belt, zip and button should have already been undone, waistband grasped in one hand, thumb hooked in shreddies for rapid removal, door kicked shut and seat lifted with free hand simultaneously, as kecks are dropped and bum slotted into position.

No bother with bolt. Anyone wanting a quick perve at that sort of thing is sick enough to crawl underneath or peer over the top anyway.
There writes a man with obvious experience of Africa or SE Asia. Remove all references to ‘bolt’ as in many cases it’s at best a loop of string...:)
 
Of course, looking on the bright side...

Every tree's a lavatree.
 

Smeggers

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Train hard, shart easy. Why do you think curry night came about?

You RAF Regt toucher of humorous vegetables, you.
I'm nicking that!
 

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