Phantom Logger

Was it just  coincidence that it happened at all the units I served in, or does every regiment/batallion in the army have a phantom sh*tter?
I recall one particular dung circa 1987 that was so heavily girthed  it had to be chopped up to enable it to fit down the U bend!
Another phantom would leave his bum toffee on a cookhouse plate outside a victim's room, most saturday and sunday mornings.
I think they are standard in many units.

What about the turd burglar who would sneak behind his prey who had gone for a sly shovel recce, place a spade under him while he drops his load, then sneaks away and disposes of it elsewhere.

Only for the victim to stand up confused as to where Frank Brunos leg had gone, and how something invisible could hurt so much
Had one in Berlin, only he liked to wipe it into the back of toilet doors.  Could never understand the enjoyment he got out of it.  Loads of swirly patterns and flower designs.  Didn't help when one needed a good dump after a night out, only to find all three cubicles like that.  Case of hold nose, don't look, and hope your hand or clothing didn't rub off on it.  Dirty basstard.
The block bogs in Minden had the standard, dump on a platform before flushing set up.

The unspoken SOP amongst the chaps was that if it was deemed big enough to show off, or a horrendous colour, pebbledash etc, then you should leave it there unflushed and go into the next cublicle and wipe!

Oh the cries on a Monday morning ;D

Anyone from Minden recall the time when Spen the Trog released a scream for the bogs when he found Earth Kitt on the wrong end of the bog immediate hunt for a puff commenced.


The worst phantom logger used to be the one just before an inspection........where a presteign lavatory  had been attacked by a lumberjack......2 minutes previous to a major inspection........the words 'sorry sir it wasnt there 2 minutes ago', didnt help in the slightest.


Yep, know that one.
You come back and some comedian's left his Brad Pitt in the steel sinks.  :p
The Navy call it "crimping off a length" and do it in the shoes/boots of people they don't like.
Heard a story whilst talking to an ex colleague today

When he left he fell on hard times and was sacked from stacking shelves a Littlewoods, he waged a personal vendetta against the entire company and to date he has curled one out in nearly every lift on the company, he travels on days off to do the deed and drives home smiling.

It has become a company concern and there are alledgedly bulletins and memorandums flying round about the serial lift pooer
As mentioned by donut - aren't German platform bogs weird? And yet there is something strangely satisfying about admiring your dung in it's full glory.
Mind you, I knew a dude who did a massive cack once, and as the beast broke away, it fell forward and skimmed his ball bag. How traumatising?
By the way, I would like to nominate the army green sock as the best catching rag ever made.
Such was the concern regarding "The Phantom Exercise Sh*tter" during an Artillery Camp in the early 80's that the Battery Commander was moved to call a special parade at which all were berated about this disgusting practice.
The following morning the BC awoke to find that the Phantom had snuck into his 9x9 and curled one down on top of his Alladin Heater whilst he slept  -(which was lit, as it was a little parky at night for the poor BC)
I don't think the BC had toast and egg banjos made on top of his heater for a while
Similar story, to above but not the same

Duty driver was tasked to go back to camp from the ranges to pick up white lumpy boxes and tea urns.

On return was tasked to go elsewhere, out of spite and jackness he left the lid off the tea urn and let it go cold, also raided the good bits out of the white boxes. He asked us to save him a box and left.....We suspected he was guilty of the theft and the act of Jackness so it was decided someone should snap one off in his lumpy box

On his return, starving and hacked off with the German traffic he opened his lumpy box only to sea a brown trout staring at him.............Being a bit of a sick puppy and not one to be beaten he picked it up and bit the end off! the rest was thrown in the direction of the rest of us, who were by now fleeing in all directions looking for somewhere to heave.

Such fond memories of range days


I used to like haveing a $hite in Norway al fresco, to turn quick and watch the hot ended jobby sink like the Titanic- well you had to be there!

The jobby shovel thief was also very humerous!

Plus one of my old bosses had a log curled into his mug at work over a weekend and he wanted to have it DNA'd!
Poo games must be a squaddie thing

All my civvy mates are repulsed when I relay such tales of merriment


Doesn't happen as much these days due to the ready availability of portaloos (one of the advantages of having females in the unit I suppose).  But my own personal favourite from the old days was moving into a location on exercise which had a delapidated, unused farmhouse thingy on site.  First thing the SSM did was ban any toms from entering it ( health risk apparently but I reckon him and the OC were shacking up in there) and on no circumstances was the phantom sh*tter to go anywhere near the unusable and unplumbed toilet therein.

Course the first thing the lads did was vary their diet to see how many different coloured turds they could get in there................................


K tp 21 sigs were renowned for freckles in the pigs bar, at RAF Wildenrath mid 70's, as I was a sprog and not part of them hairy arse's it was quite amusing to watch, even though they accussed me of cheating as i had many natural freckles...


Nasty trick to play on the unpopular boy in the block-wait until he puts his dhobi in the drier - snap one off into (one of his) army sock and put into drier-kit normally has to be burned after to remove the "odour d'ordure"

We also had a bloke sh1t in a guys bed-the occupant came in lathered, slept in it and told us next day he'd shat himself!1
We had one in Germany who would start to S*it in the bogs, but abandon that and then walk it up the corridor rubbing it on the walls. At one point we thought we had a poltergeist because he was trying to write messages with his poo on the walls.

This went on for a number of weeks and he was eventually caught, because the trail led directly to his room. For which he received a thourough shooing for being so poorly potty trained.
Just before I joined the army, I worked for my brother for the summer. He was a painter and decorator and always worked with the same mate, Pat. They were a great double act, funny as fcuk but always on a wind up. Being 16, I was green as green as they come and used to believe everything they told me.

After a couple of weeks helping them, I was promoted from scraping paint off windows, to scraping plaster off skirting boards. I was well chuffed and began to have second thoughts about my career choice.

We were working on a house that was having a complete refurb, so all the plumbing was off and the gaff had been turned into a bit of a shell. I was told by my brother, that if I grafted hard in the week, they'd let me varnish the front door. What a fcuking privilege? I worked my socks off so's not to lose this golden chance.

On the Friday, I was in the front room and they were both in the upstairs bathroom. Pat shouted down.

"Convoy, open us up a tin of white emulsion and bring it up will yer?"

"Where is it, Pat?"

"Theres one near the front door"

Armed with a flat headed screwdriver and a willingness to do well, I located the tin and started getting the lid off. After a bit of work with the driver, it came away and my world changed.

Yes there was paint in there. About an inch and a half of emulsion was swilling about near the bottom. The rest of the tin was full of mansized turds. There must have been six or seven, full sized "night on the ale" dumps jammed in there. Extensive "teabagging" had occurred rendering the paint a shade not dissimilar to a toffee flavoured Muller light. The honk coming out of there was otherworldly. I immediately vommed on the hallway floor simultaneously dropping the tin, allowing it's contents to spill across the floor like tacky crown green bowls.

At a later chip-shop meeting, other painter and decorators were astonished by the fact that i'd fell for "the sh-itty tin." Apparently, it was proper day-one-week-one-stuff.

The c-unts


We had one lad in 9 platoon at xmas 82 put a mini santa stocking under his personal bedside light, you know the one above your head. Santas little logger left him an early surprise which came to light on a room inspection when OC asked CSM, "whats that awful aroma Sjt Major?" Said phantom logger never officially found, kind of convinced it was Bob Weaver though, King of the practical jokes or possibly Jedd Todd. being Yorkshiremen would only give away poo!

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