Irritable Arrse Syndrome

But if you think that's bad when my illness began I had no warning, no pains absolutely nothing just a feeling I was going to vomit. I don't do things by half

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Used to have a dodgy chemical bog in the Herc. Stank the place up a bit so we put a garbage bag in it and crapped in that.

While air dropping food in the Sud, we'd put the filled bags on the ramp and they'd go off along with the sacks of Unimix when we dropped. We'd also put mail and care packages for the UN ground teams on the ramp, similarly bagged using the big dustbin bags.

Anyhow, the locals got wind of the manna from heaven after seeing a couple of the UN twonks pull mail, ciggies and other treats from these bags while clearing up the DZ. Pretty soon it became a thing to rush in after the drop and try to grab the odd bag then run away with it. One can only hope that our little contributions made it more exciting by adding an element of risk to plunging your hand into a random garbage bag salvaged from a drop zone.
 
Oh yes! That reminds me of the day we got the "stand down" radio message and opened up the hatches of the bridgelayer after 7 days closed down under "chemical attack" on Saltau. We'd all shat in a 4 man compo box, so I told the wally op to seal it with black harry maskers and then bury it. He put it on the side of the tank and grabbed a shovel.

We were on the edge of a village and a young kid of about 8 or 9 ran up, grabbed the box and fucked off with it at warp speed, with a comets tail of other kids running after him

He reached a house and dashed inside, slamming the door on the other kids.

Moments later the door opened again and the box came flying out spraying turds everywhere, followed by the kid, followed by an elderly lady beating him with an old fashioned broom.

It still makes me laugh when I think of it.
 

phil245

LE
Book Reviewer
Not enough room to swing a toffee hammer, so digging out the concrete with the handle of a spoon is the only option once it's set.
What do you give a constipated mathematician?
A pencil and paper to work it out.
 
What do you give a constipated mathematician?
A pencil and paper to work it out.
You need to be shot with a ball of your own shit for telling that ancient joke on here!
 

PFGEN

GCM
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...?
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.

At the rougher end of the aviation scale had to fly a plane which had a hole in the side of the fuselage requiring the pissee to get on his knees and try and aim through a small hole. It was always a good moment to take a sudden dive once the seal had been broken and enjoy the ensuing bun fight that took place with the other unfortunates in the back. "Sorry bit of turbulence, everything okay back there?"

Never been able to take a crap in a plane, even one fitted with a khazi, and can keep the chocolate hostage chained up for a good 14 hours or so. Even after being on the ground for a bit I usually have to tempt the bugger out with a bit of chess on a string. For some reason this feat can seldom be achieved on the ground.
 
Way back when the earth was flat, parachutes were round and dinosaurs roamed free, I flew with an old air farce type. Bit of a curmudgeon who did all the take offs and landings himself, but left me to fly straight and level (no autopilot) while he slept or ate his sandwiches, lovingly packed by his missus.

Anyhow, he had a habit of wearing air farce flying gloves then removing them after take off to eat his sandwiches, only donning them again before he took over for the landing. One morning he'd gone in for a coffee while I prepped the aircraft for the flight, leaving his gloves on the dash. And Lo, the Emperor spake thusly 'Why don't you take the Mugabes to the pool then wipe your arrse on his gloves'. Seemed like a good idea so I went for a peanut studded three pounder and wiped as per SOPs, but the final polish was done with one of the bozo's gloves turned inside out.

Replaced them on the dash and waited....

Sure enough, the flight followed the same pattern except when it came to his sandwiches. After a bite or two he took a good sniff then opened the DV window and chucked it out. Took a sniff of the rest of the sandwiches and they followed the first one out the window. I did the same for a couple of days after that and he got more and more sour as things went along. Seems he was having trouble at home and suspected his missus of skiffing his sandwiches. Thoughts of divorcing her were on his mind and he was a very worried man.

Meanwhile, I just nodded sympathetically while trying not to grin like a chimp with an ice cream.
 
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 fucking 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 fuckers 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 fucking 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 having combined and formed 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.
 
Last edited:
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.
That is sheer Shakespeare my bum bothered chum.
 

Subsunk

War Hero
Book Reviewer
On week 7 of a deterrent patrol I had developed a real thing for Haribo, to the extent that for lunch one day/night/whatever I had 4 of the gigantic Haribo snakes for scran instead of real food. I was also dehydrated to minimise the chance of a piss reject from bed. I then went on the rowing machine for an hour before getting my head down again.

Negative piss reject. After a scary dream involving an angry octopus, I woke up needing an urgent poo. Being badly dehydrated, and with 4 almost-digested Haribo snakes forming an internal 3D cast of my intestines, I made it to the heads and set to work.

It was like a mummified Pharoah trying to poo out a Tonka truck, and one of the sternest tests of physical fortitude I have ever faced. At times, I was straining so hard I could almost feel my head expanding. When the stool specimen hit the pan I just sat there limply in silence, like John Hurt in 'Alien.'

The sewage system runs on vacuum pumps, and so it was with trepidation that I pressed the button. It took a good ten seconds for the poo to go down the pan. It might have been my imagination, but I was convinced I saw the lights dim due to the extra electrical load thrown onto the generation system

When I went back aft on watch, I was gratified to learn that there had been a low vacuum alarm on the sewage system, and that the duty pump had had to run for ages to build it back up again.

Submarines discharge black water overboard to sea. I have a mental image of an underwater plume of bog roll, urine etc exiting the boat, and a gigantic brown depth charge falling out the bottom and ploughing into the seabed like a Haribo meteorite.
 
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.
 

Subsunk

War Hero
Book Reviewer
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.
One of those occasions when you need to call both an ambulance and a priest just to keep all bases covered.
 

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