As far as having a single goes there's a piss bag or in PC terms a piddle pak / crew relief bag. Its a see through bag with a sponge or absorbent crystals. Its only about 500 ml and depending on the pervious days intake can fill pretty quickly, also good for slapping somebody round the back of the head. As for logging out there are various tales told by the old and the bold who had a mate who knew somebody etc etc. One bloke was rumoured to have crimped one off into his flight glove which would be a considerable feat of gymnastics considering the circumstances. That said I reckon you could curl down an good 8 inches before it would start peeping over the top; more if you can fill the fingers. Long time ago a Harrier went down somewhere of Blackpool, no pilot on board, seat gone. The assumption going round at the time was that he'd probably tried to take a piss and had forgotten to put the pin in the seat handle resulting in a premature evacuation of the plane and himself. Never heard or read about what really happened.Hmm, so how did those RAF types deal with an 8 hour flight or so on a Vulcan, or a Victor etc way back when? Did they have an chemical Elsan type khazi tucked away somewhere on the aircraft. I have looked around a Vulcan's cockpit, and I see no room for a khazi...... must smell a bit after 8 hours in the air...?
That is sheer Shakespeare my bum bothered chum.Going back to the classifications of turds earlier in the thread (probably 11 years ago):
On a DFS flight from KAF to DXB, I had one of those cr@ps that you just can't clean yourself up properly after. As the food on DFS flights is generally shite (no pun intended), just before checking in I decided to get myself a "Chicken Tenders and Cheesy Fries Special" for breakfast from 'Nathan's' on the Boardwalk.
All was going well on the flight, I'd already necked the two buckshee beers and being the greedy twat, I'd smashed the in-flight meal too. As I eat pretty quickly, I was first into the crapper at the front of the plane.
Kecks down, position assumed, I gave birth, it was a weird one:
1) Pleasant and firm, not one that gives ring sting, just the gentlest of pushes required, then evolving into
2) Constipation-tastic, absolutely rock hard - sweaty forehead and almost weeping with the pain, moving onto
3) Weird, almost purely gas, with little gobbets of poo, finally
4) Red hot shits, it was like a ******* torrent. It went everywhere, I know I felt something run down my sack.
This was all over and done with in a minute, the worst was yet to come, I couldn't get clean:
1) I used all the bog paper.
2) All the paper towels scraping shit from between my scrotum and my legs - it had gone everywhere.
3) I even used all 12 of the sanitary towels from the dispenser, on the last one my arse still wasn't clean so finally....
4) Undercrackers, I tried ripping the ******* off but they weren't having any of it - I ended up having to get mostly undressed in the cubicle, for the those who don't know me, I'm not a small guy - it was a right struggle. What's worse is that halfway through my clean-up exercise, clearly one of the stewardesses thought I was in some distress and after repeatedly knocking with me constantly telling her I was fine, she half opened the ******* toilet door. Fortunately I grabbed the door and managed to close it just in time for me to see her inquisitive eyes open a lot wider, and her mouth to form a surprised 'O'.
The best bit was that my undies managed to get the last bit of crap off my arse, and I was able to finally leave the bog. When I got out nearly half the plane (I kid you not) was queued up to use "my" crapper, I got some right filthy looks but at this point I didn't care, I was happy I'd had my fun - compounded by my absolute knowledge that there was no bog roll left in the trap and about 40 bods were queueing to use it.
The plane stunk, I could smell my arse's endeavours until we landed in Dubai
The worst was a further two hours on a sweaty plane with no kecks on, finally completely fucked up by getting into DXB behind two Airbuses from Moscow and a 747 from the CAR. Standing in a "snake" for four hours with the dregs of humanity isn't fun, especially with the sweaty environment and my tortured behind forming some sort of acid - which instead of allowing me to get smashed in Dubs for 12 hours, meant that I had to get a hotel and sooth my tortured arse in a cold bath.
One of those occasions when you need to call both an ambulance and a priest just to keep all bases covered.I've managed a 45 minute train journey with no shitter on the train with my guts boiling, the result was a 3000 psi jet of LUMINOUS GREEN fizzy gravy which pebble dashed the pan, cystern and back wall.
I believe the bogs at London bridge station were demolished soon after. There was no hope of saving them.
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