Following through - Sport of Kings

I've just fended one off.
Awake at silly O'clock, rumbling guts. Rolled over and went to release a fart under the duvet, it was quickly apparent that it wasn't going to be a fart.

Jumped out of bed and made it too the bog just in time. Swmbo would have gone ******* Banzai mental if I had shat the bed.

I'm sat downstairs with the dog just in case another offensive is launched my arse.


I'm staying awake.

Watch, and shoot.
 
D

Deleted 15400

Guest
I'm 53, I used to be able to fart at will, in fact I was a bit of a flatulence conessuir. Sadly as age has crept up on me I can no longer let RIP with gayy abandon. Each fart has to be carefully considered only released once I am satisfied there is no danger of follow through....
 
I'm 53, I used to be able to fart at will, in fact I was a bit of a flatulence conessuir. Sadly as age has crept up on me I can no longer let RIP with gayy abandon. Each fart has to be carefully considered only released once I am satisfied there is no danger of follow through....
Similar disposition, then the Quacks went and chucked in a concoction of Neurological Pain killing drugs.
They tend to affect ones motor skills, below the waist in particular...

Recalibration of one's senses has been a somewhat hit and miss affair!
 
D

Deleted 15400

Guest
Similar disposition, then the Quacks went and chucked in a concoction of Neurological Pain killing drugs.
They tend to affect ones motor skills, below the waist in particular...

Recalibration of one's senses has been a somewhat hit and miss affair!

I feel your pain...
 

colinmc400

War Hero
May as well re-generate this thread with my tales of unwanted sharting. One was funny and beer related and the other remains rather embarrassing, as i was a patient in ICU, as a result of a motorcycle crash.

1. Home for Christmas leave and catching up with mates still stuck in their civvy timewarp. Spent all day in a snooker club, as it started serving ale at 10.30 and was cheaper than any pub. By 5pm i am ratted and gets the bus home, with a promise to meet them in town later. Quick dhoby and change of gear and a bowl of my Mums chicken soup (bad move) to fortify me for the next phase of the battle. Hops on the bus into town, still mostly pissed from phase 1. My Mums soup had lots of peas and barley in it and was noted for its ability to produce lots of trouser trumpets and i never really give it much notice as the pressure started to build in my stomach. The bus started off empty, so i could let fluffy off the chain without too much worry, but after about 15mins it was almost full and i had a young lady sat next to me. I thought i could slowly let it out, as they weren't too ripe, so started trying to pucker up to control the flow. Clearly my beer fuddled brain wasn't fully in control of matters down there, as the next thing i knew i was filling me strides with warm do do's. Trying to pinch it off to make it stop, just made it worse and pretty soon i could start to smell the warm, fresh contents of my insides and out of my periphery vision could see the young lady next to me, starting to peer in my direction, with a less than happy look on her face. I didn't think an offer of "fancy a bit of *******", would get me very far, so decided to hit the stop button and get the hell off there. Now 15mins on a bus, even with numerous stops, still left me with a 1/2 hr walk back home again. Maybe walk doesn't do it justice, as i swapped between the speed of Linford Christie, down to looking like an 80 year old double leg amputee having some sort of fit, once my insides started squirting again.
I gets back to my Mums house, knocks the door and when i see her approaching the door, i calls in the letter box, "can you just open the door and throw me a bin liner out please and oh, run the bath as well?" I stripped naked and ditched all my clothes in the bin liner and dumped them in the wheely bin, before dashing into the house. I had started to see the funny side of it as i sat in the bath trying to wash the debris off my lower half and then promptly blamed my Mums soup for having created a thermite reaction in my stomach.
I stayed home, too embarrassed to go back out.

2. I had a bad motorbike crash in 2011, coming off second best to a pick up truck. Lots of broken bones, punctured lung etc and a decent stay in ICU. They had me intubated and in an induced coma for a week or so. A couple of times they lightened the anaesthesia and let me wake up a bit, so see how i was going. On two of those occasions i have a vague memory of feeling the need to guff, but feeling like i had no control of my balloon knot and then a warm feeling underneath me. My wife is a nurse and afterwards she confirmed that i had indeed shat myself on two occasions and they had to knock me out again, to get me cleaned up. OMG i was so embarrassed when i was well enough to talk to the staff, before i went home. They really shouldn't have to clean up after animals like me!!
 
Embarrassed about following through @colinmc400 ? Gheyer.
 

Cavuman

Old-Salt
colinmc400, your story is highly amusing and your phrase "let fluffy off the chain" belongs in the Metaphor Hall of Fame. My wife and I are still laughing; I'm not so sure she will be so amused when I follow through! :eek:

- Ed
 

Cutaway

LE
Kit Reviewer
colinmc400, your story is highly amusing and your phrase "let fluffy off the chain" belongs in the Metaphor Hall of Fame. My wife and I are still laughing; I'm not so sure she will be so amused when I follow through! :eek:

- Ed
You might like to listen to some old numbers by Jenny Talia, (from Australia - Kevin Bloody Wilson's daughter,) reference that phrase.
 

Old Stab

LE
Book Reviewer
Not me.. Thankfully.
Bloke working with me today. Driving around delivering stuff for stores around the local Dr's surgeries etc. Me driving. Him being my bitch essentially, he smokes and back at base popped out for a fag.

5 minutes later he walks past looking Grey and concerned. "You OK" I ask.

All I got as a reply was "nngghhhhh" and he had that I've shit myself waddle. "Have you shit yourself you dirty bastard" I shouted.









I had a single digit salute.
 
Not I, but a recent incident between lock-downs which in no way matches those above. Names changed.

I habituate a proper gentleman's drinker, occasional ladies come as guests or partners, which is nice. Bill, 50's, has been on the Guiness all night and chatting with lady guests then pops to the loo and, at the slash panel, decides to lose the fart he'd been wrestling with to protect their dignity. He felt quite uncomfortable, and staggered to a cubicle where he dropped his pants to find a savage and runny follow-through with occasional lumps spreading out of the gusset into his trousers. I'm sure we've all been there.

Anyway, he's wearing fashionable beige builder's boots, 11-holes fully laced-up, and decides he'll never get them undone in order to disrobe, so starts trying to break the 'neck' of his underpants but the elastic is too strong and, contorted in the cubicle, he can't get a decent grip. He hears someone else come in and, as we're all good mates, shouts a drunken challenge which is replied by young Ben, a known mate and occasional sharer of Bill's illicit chemicals in the car park. Bill explains his problem and Ben, relatively sober by comparison, said "FFS, get out here" to try to help. Now the pair of them are stood in the plain view area of the gent's loo. Bill says "Just snap the waistband elastic, they'll tear off then", so Ben gets on his ******* knees to try to rip these disgusting shreddies, with all liquid shit on his fingers but it won't rip. Bill says, "You smoke, use your fag lighter to burn it through". Ben is now amazed that he even volunteered to help, but he can't get any shittier so he gets his fag lighter out, scrolls up the waistband, and sets light to it, a slow process with a small flame.

Eventually the waistband starts to burn, but only drips flaming globs of plastic onto Bill's shit covered calves, which causes him a lot of pain so they both slap the flames out with shit-covered hands, burning their fingers as well. The situation can't deteriorate much further, but nobody has come in yet so BIll sends Ben to the club kitchen to get a knife. Bill stands alone, pants to his ankles and now covered in shit and burnt hair, smelling like a bad kebab shop, in the middle of the bogs waiting for Ben to get back but, like a good lad, Ben's tried to wash his hands before going in the kitchen. He returns with the biggest knife, but blunt as ****, kneels down and eventually saws through the waistband on both sides, leaving Bill to get some ******* discretion by retreating to a cubicle, flushing the pan and using that clean (but blue-loo) water to try to get himself clean but ruining his beige trousers. Ben, the younger, realises he's been fitted up because he's still got Bill's appalling pants in his hand, so he tries to lob them out of a window which only opens four inches for security, then takes a ten-minute hand-washing session.

Hours later, Ben gets romantic company with a lady guest his own age and has taken her upstairs to a private room, where the window is open. Ben says nothing beyond "Going to freshen up" as he runs downstairs, through all the doors and corridors to get out the back to recover the CBRN trolleys and fling them in a bush some distance off, then return to the bathroom and a grateful lady.

To the absolute credit of Bill, and later Ben, Bill came in the next day and told maybe a dozen of us he'd rather we knew from him than listened to gossip which might come out if young Ben was put under pressure, and told us the whole story himself.

Integrity, integrity in action. I'm so proud of them.
 
May as well re-generate this thread with my tales of unwanted sharting. One was funny and beer related and the other remains rather embarrassing, as i was a patient in ICU, as a result of a motorcycle crash.

1. Home for Christmas leave and catching up with mates still stuck in their civvy timewarp. Spent all day in a snooker club, as it started serving ale at 10.30 and was cheaper than any pub. By 5pm i am ratted and gets the bus home, with a promise to meet them in town later. Quick dhoby and change of gear and a bowl of my Mums chicken soup (bad move) to fortify me for the next phase of the battle. Hops on the bus into town, still mostly pissed from phase 1. My Mums soup had lots of peas and barley in it and was noted for its ability to produce lots of trouser trumpets and i never really give it much notice as the pressure started to build in my stomach. The bus started off empty, so i could let fluffy off the chain without too much worry, but after about 15mins it was almost full and i had a young lady sat next to me. I thought i could slowly let it out, as they weren't too ripe, so started trying to pucker up to control the flow. Clearly my beer fuddled brain wasn't fully in control of matters down there, as the next thing i knew i was filling me strides with warm do do's. Trying to pinch it off to make it stop, just made it worse and pretty soon i could start to smell the warm, fresh contents of my insides and out of my periphery vision could see the young lady next to me, starting to peer in my direction, with a less than happy look on her face. I didn't think an offer of "fancy a bit of *******", would get me very far, so decided to hit the stop button and get the hell off there. Now 15mins on a bus, even with numerous stops, still left me with a 1/2 hr walk back home again. Maybe walk doesn't do it justice, as i swapped between the speed of Linford Christie, down to looking like an 80 year old double leg amputee having some sort of fit, once my insides started squirting again.
I gets back to my Mums house, knocks the door and when i see her approaching the door, i calls in the letter box, "can you just open the door and throw me a bin liner out please and oh, run the bath as well?" I stripped naked and ditched all my clothes in the bin liner and dumped them in the wheely bin, before dashing into the house. I had started to see the funny side of it as i sat in the bath trying to wash the debris off my lower half and then promptly blamed my Mums soup for having created a thermite reaction in my stomach.
I stayed home, too embarrassed to go back out.

2. I had a bad motorbike crash in 2011, coming off second best to a pick up truck. Lots of broken bones, punctured lung etc and a decent stay in ICU. They had me intubated and in an induced coma for a week or so. A couple of times they lightened the anaesthesia and let me wake up a bit, so see how i was going. On two of those occasions i have a vague memory of feeling the need to guff, but feeling like i had no control of my balloon knot and then a warm feeling underneath me. My wife is a nurse and afterwards she confirmed that i had indeed shat myself on two occasions and they had to knock me out again, to get me cleaned up. OMG i was so embarrassed when i was well enough to talk to the staff, before i went home. They really shouldn't have to clean up after animals like me!!

More importantly, how was the bike?
 

colinmc400

War Hero
More importantly, how was the bike?
Well for a start i fancy it saved my life, as i put it down in front of the pick up and it rode up over the bike before smacking me in the chest. I reckon i would have been splatted if the bike hadn't taken some of the impact. The insurance assessor wrote it off and it was subsequently sold at a salvage auction a couple of months later. I had a call from the guy who bought it and it was really only the bars and top triple clamp that were damaged and he had it back on the road in no time. Me on the other hand, took 6 months before i was back at work.
 
...The insurance assessor wrote it off and it was subsequently sold at a salvage auction a couple of months later. I had a call from the guy who bought it and it was really only the bars and top triple clamp that were damaged and he had it back on the road in no time...

Oh that’s ok then :)
 
Not I, but a recent incident between lock-downs which in no way matches those above. Names changed.

I habituate a proper gentleman's drinker, occasional ladies come as guests or partners, which is nice. Bill, 50's, has been on the Guiness all night and chatting with lady guests then pops to the loo and, at the slash panel, decides to lose the fart he'd been wrestling with to protect their dignity. He felt quite uncomfortable, and staggered to a cubicle where he dropped his pants to find a savage and runny follow-through with occasional lumps spreading out of the gusset into his trousers. I'm sure we've all been there.

Anyway, he's wearing fashionable beige builder's boots, 11-holes fully laced-up, and decides he'll never get them undone in order to disrobe, so starts trying to break the 'neck' of his underpants but the elastic is too strong and, contorted in the cubicle, he can't get a decent grip. He hears someone else come in and, as we're all good mates, shouts a drunken challenge which is replied by young Ben, a known mate and occasional sharer of Bill's illicit chemicals in the car park. Bill explains his problem and Ben, relatively sober by comparison, said "FFS, get out here" to try to help. Now the pair of them are stood in the plain view area of the gent's loo. Bill says "Just snap the waistband elastic, they'll tear off then", so Ben gets on his ******* knees to try to rip these disgusting shreddies, with all liquid shit on his fingers but it won't rip. Bill says, "You smoke, use your fag lighter to burn it through". Ben is now amazed that he even volunteered to help, but he can't get any shittier so he gets his fag lighter out, scrolls up the waistband, and sets light to it, a slow process with a small flame.

Eventually the waistband starts to burn, but only drips flaming globs of plastic onto Bill's shit covered calves, which causes him a lot of pain so they both slap the flames out with shit-covered hands, burning their fingers as well. The situation can't deteriorate much further, but nobody has come in yet so BIll sends Ben to the club kitchen to get a knife. Bill stands alone, pants to his ankles and now covered in shit and burnt hair, smelling like a bad kebab shop, in the middle of the bogs waiting for Ben to get back but, like a good lad, Ben's tried to wash his hands before going in the kitchen. He returns with the biggest knife, but blunt as ****, kneels down and eventually saws through the waistband on both sides, leaving Bill to get some ******* discretion by retreating to a cubicle, flushing the pan and using that clean (but blue-loo) water to try to get himself clean but ruining his beige trousers. Ben, the younger, realises he's been fitted up because he's still got Bill's appalling pants in his hand, so he tries to lob them out of a window which only opens four inches for security, then takes a ten-minute hand-washing session.

Hours later, Ben gets romantic company with a lady guest his own age and has taken her upstairs to a private room, where the window is open. Ben says nothing beyond "Going to freshen up" as he runs downstairs, through all the doors and corridors to get out the back to recover the CBRN trolleys and fling them in a bush some distance off, then return to the bathroom and a grateful lady.

To the absolute credit of Bill, and later Ben, Bill came in the next day and told maybe a dozen of us he'd rather we knew from him than listened to gossip which might come out if young Ben was put under pressure, and told us the whole story himself.

Integrity, integrity in action. I'm so proud of them.

Why one should carry a sharp folding knife at all times. Not just for biltong, you know. They do have other uses.
 

Latest Threads

Top