Havenât actually followed through, but several years ago I was in Norway on artic training with the AMF(L). Now there are two crucial factors to this incident, one artic rations, and the other, the layer system of clothing you had to wear. Those of you who have had the misfortune to eat artic rations for any length of time will know they really fcuk your system up. No more "I'm regular as clockwork". So well into the second week of the exercise phase, I'm still waiting for that reassuring feeling that those "mutton granules" have worked their way through my system. As sod's law would have it, the birthing pains came in the middle of the night, so out I go, shovel in hand, ready to give birth at -40C. After what seemed like ages, I've finally got the numerous layers of clothing down and positioned myself nicely over my "poo scrape". Without going into details, it was pain. Child birth must be easier, at least you get gas, I had nothing, not even a piece of leather to grip on. Anyway I managed to pinch of a couple logs and decided enough was enough. Constipation or a frost bitten arse, oh the dilemma of choice! I rapidly got my togs back on and carried on with the exercise. Weeks later there I am, just off the exercise and in the shower changing room with a load of grunts from the PWO, getting undressed. As the layers come of, there it is, a giant turd stuck and flattened on the back of my combat trousers. I might had got anyway with it had it not fallen off in full sight of everyone in the changing room. Of course the PWO lads being the sensitive butch that they are declined to comment.............not......to say I had the piss ripped out of me, is an understatement. Guess I must have missed that lecture about making sure you check that the number of logs in your poo scrape, match the number of logs you squeezed out, or like me, a log or two could be lurking in your layers.
A lad i used to knock about with in Minden trapped off with a bird from the town who he had had his eye on for quite sometime.Well the story goes he went back to her place and whilst moistening her beaver he thought to himself i might aswell get the no.2 tube ready for insertion aswell whilst i am down here.He proceded to lick her arrse when he almost gagged on what he thought was a pube,reaching into his mouth he pulled out what on closer inspection turned out to be a piece of tomato skin.Then remembering what hole he was licking proceded to throw up all over her.
Strange thing is he never went near a boxhead again.
I've just remembered a wee story I think you'd like to hear. Do you know how cabin fever and fast food on the move for some reason bungs you up inside? Well, with the missus on a day out driving somewhere through Germany in the early 90's I was desperate to dump but kept 'fighting it'. Eventually I became so desperate that I had to find a spot to let rip. I parked up and sternly said to my wife, "Stay here, do not follow". I climbed a grass embankment and walked a few hundred metres to a small, secluded and idylic copse. I looked left, I looked right, I looked up, I looked down and not a soul in sight. Perfect. I then (having to hold onto a tree for support) pushed away, it was reluctant at first but soon I gave birth to what I can only describe as 'a clay walking stick'. (And I have done at many parties and opportunities since). I kid you not, it was so long that I had to straighten from my squat and stand on my tip-toes to break it off. Looking down the end bit curled round like a walking stick handle hence the legend was born. I buckled up and then to my horror noticed a tent and 2 sleeping bags about 5 feet away. They were bright orange so I can be forgiven for not spotting them on my poo rece. No one was in them, probably off looking for somewhere to dump. My horror turned to glee as I then imagined what their reaction might be upon their return. "Hans, vile ve haff been aways a horse or similar ginumous animal has passed by. Look, ve are so lucky, it mite haff been a man-eater".
My first post was on this forum and I've just remembered something else to do with shite. Early 90's, wife and I stationed in BAOR, popped down to Lake Constanz on the German/Swiss border. Slept in car first night. Late evening we went to McDonalds for a bite (sleep in car, McDs for supper, I look after my wife). Getting into car I step in dogs shit in my extra deep tread sneekers! Bollocks, doggy doo smells the worst and I've got to sleep in this car tonight. Stamped my shoes off best I could. Drove to McDs. Parked up, stepped out of car into second dogs shit. Feck, I'm destined to fester tonight I thought. Walked across gravel car park, went into McDs, told wife to order while I went to 'clean up'. No hot water, only cold. I did the best I could with what I had but the gravelly-dog-poo was sticking like shite to a blanket. Drastic measures were needed. I took off sneekers and banged them on the sink repeatedly as hard as I could! I managed to pebble dash the toilet and get my shoes reasonably clean. I hurridly walked back into the restaurant, grabbed my wife and said "were going".