Stinking the bog out and other coping strategies

It's the little things that keep me going at work.

I was just coming out of the toilet, having completely stank the bog out. I'm doing a lot of phys at the minute and have taken to eating loads of mackerel and fresh fruit etc. You should try it. It really does create a hideously pungent renk in ones stools. When it drifts up through the gap in my legs, I get the first blast of it while i'm still sat down. It's that acrid that I do a quick impression of Gary Oldman taking meth in Leon. If i'm daft enough to breathe it in, I sound like Phyllis off Corrie for quarter of an hour.

Anyway, as I was sneaking out of the bog, like the Ripper leaving Whitechapel, the lady cleaner was just coming in. Like the true gentleman I am, I held the door open for her.

"Thank you, very much." she said.

"Your very welcome," I replied. 'You won't be thanking me in a minute, love' I thought as I legged it down the corridor. Sure enough, i'd only got two steps before there was a horrified scream. I was going to run back in say


Does anyone else employ similar strategies to cope with an otherwise mundane day at work?


Book Reviewer
I managed to leave a pungeant cloud in the downstair chamber last week. Wifeinblack, who was feeling delicate, opened the door as I went past and entered the room.

"JESUS, ARE YOU SICK? UUURRGGH, urrrg UUUURGGG, BLAHHHHHHHHH!" as breakfast made a sudden and unexpected curtain call.

The thing is, that after every quick burst of blowing chunks you have to take a deep breath; she did and then blew chunks again.

A damned good day's work and it was only 08.00 hrs.

MiB retired to read the newspaper feeling very proud.
Its worse when you have to use the abolutions after the Mrs!

Went in the other day and it stunk to high heaven, could have sworn she had a dead rat stuck in her gut! Thank god we now have bought a house with 2 toilets!
I apologize that this doesn't so sound womanly, but I'm just going to tell you how it was.

I got a phone call from a friend, Amanda. She had invited me over for dinner on Sunday with her two children, husband and the in-laws, so we sit down to this gracious meal, half an hour into the meal I find I'm somewhat feeling uneasy, really uneasy, to which I nearly double over in pain from my stomach which I feel sinking towards my arrse, I ask to be excused and make a sharp incline upstairs to the toilet, clenching my arse cheeks together for all they're worth in the fear of letting the runny turtle free and soiling myself. I whip down my trousers and release my fury while still doubled over. After 10-15 minutes of routing through the wall cabinet to find something like air freshener, or deodrant to free the shit fuelled air, I hear a knock at the door of her youngest little boy saying my dinner's going cold. I make my way downstairs in the hope the whiff doesn't follow me and that no one can notice me walking like I'm suffering from a burning and rather sore arrsehole. I'm then told by her mother in law after, that Amanda has followed a recipe where she was to wash the potato's, but Amanda had indeed washed them in washing up liquid because in her words 'that's what I thought it meant when it said to wash them'

My arrse cheeks now make the noise of squeaky clean plates when I walk, and I'm also shitting bubbles. :D

All is forgiven...


The lovely Mrs cpunk has instituted a policy called 'apartsheit' in order to avoid this problem. She gets to dump in the en suite while I am forced to use the downstairs facilities. I may have to ask the international community to impose sanctions and break off sporting links.
Not quite the same but in the shop que over the weekend I let rip a fart that lasted 58 seconds by the clock on the wall, changed frequency three times and made the blinds guy in front of me seeing eye dog break for the door.
When I pop round to my mates gaf I always take a dump, but never flush, keep it nice and ripe. He fcuking hates it....
A few weeks back I had a bad case of the ' nerves' while getting psyched up to make a presentation, so I hoofed it down the hall to the corporate receptacles for a sit down to - er catch my breath - sitting in one cubicle letting rip a veritable symphony when I hear a voice on the other side gasping and calling out for the Lord, then he starts crying and slamming his fist against the partitions and this is followed by screaming and what sounds like falling onto the floor from the throne..

Now, I'm aware that I was a bit ripe from the upset tummy syndrome but this reaction was beginning to wear on my sense of decorum, even in the lavs there is a rule of etiquestte FFS...anyway I complete the task as quickly as I can and dash for the sink, splash some water about and dash for the meeting hoping that the chap next door won't be able to recognize me in a line up ..
Get to the office in question and wait for the fellow to show I'm to make my pitch to...
time passes and I'm getting that sinking feeling again..I'm about to revisit the scene of the crime for a repeat performance of the tummy wobbles when his ' administrative assistant ' hurries in and apologizes for the no-show.. apparently the chap I was to see had taken ill - in the crapper -

I'm starting to flash red all over when it turns out it wasn't my fault.. seems he passed a kidney stone while on the adjacent commode..

just to be sure I used the facilities one flight down on the way out...relieved in more ways than one.
I have just returned from a splendid curry of garlic chilli chicken. The flatulent gurglings in my bowels show great promise for tomorrow.


Book Reviewer
Fcuking hurts like hell passing a kidney stone.
My kids bought me a traffic cone with a flashing light and a sign on the front saying DANGER DO NOT ENTER FOR 10 MINUTES i got the hint so make sure i get up before all of them and leave the nastiest smell i can for them all to savour as they do thier ablutions. :twisted:
We employ a similar to routine to Cpunk in our house.

on the odd occasion however I like to treat her to a lung ful of marsh gas.

It was a couple of weeks ago, the en suite was being tiled and the down stairs shitter out of bounds due to an earlier incident, leaving only the main throne usable.

I had curled out a festering blackpudding, complete with accompanying cloud of death...... she was bubbling and needed a slash.. I made matters worse my giving her a squeeze and threatened to tickle her trotters. (I'd say feet, but I fcuking hate her tonight :D)

She asked me if I thought it possible that she could hold her breath while she went for a tinkle.... yes I said, confidently, all the time plotting behind the scenes and amusing myself at the thought of her gagging at the stench of my bum cloud.

i heard the bog flush and leapt from the bed towards the bathroom door with the speed of a startled spongecake, and grabbed the door, pulling it shut....

I told her I would let her out once she took three nice deep lungs full...

Didn't happen, ten seconds later I heard her wretching over the sink :D :D


Book Reviewer
Amazing i was sat on the bog doing the mother of all chemical shites browsing arrse, as you do, and i found this old thread, quite apt really seeing as my shite stunk so much i had to leave my front door open as well as upstairs windows

... .... .. -
My ex-husband used to get me all the time.

Our MQ in Tidworth had a tiny toilet, (remember the upside down houses?) and he would take great pleasure in stinking it out and locking the window.

I came home from work one day and opened the front door.

Me: "Hi Honey, I'm home (or words to that effect, he wasn't so much of a cunt then) where are you?"

Him: "I'm down here, can you help me? (In a strained voice).

Me (thinking he's trashed the kitchen or burnt himself again): "Where are you? What do you want me to do?"

Him: "I'm trying to have a pooh and it won't come out, will you talk to me while I try?".

Me: "You dirty, dirty bastard".
In a similar vein, on my last field exercise up some lake I have forgotten with mountains I could care less about, I started off after a bit of a dose of fizzy bum gravy the night before- four diastop tablets and the squirting stopped in about half an hour.
Fast forward to the third day of the ex, after much dried rations consumed and a pleasant night's ripping off loud ones. At around six in the morning when I woke up in my basha and had kicked my mate into wakefulness (dozy cnut he is), I unzipped my gonk bag and slid out.
Such activity broke the seal on the bottom of the bag and caused what can only be described as corpse gas mixed with rotting shite to be released right as my mate stuck his head out to face the brightening day.
Cue him calling me all types of a cunt and exiting the basha with as yet unseen speed and me howling with laughter at the stricken look on his face.
After a few seconds the smell resolved itself into something almost pleasant, but they say everyone prefers their own brand..
There has to be a certain amount of "poo etiquette" in our house.

No one, I say again.....NO ONE is allowed to shit in the ensuite, you might aswell just have a shit on the bottom of the bed, it's that fucking close.
The ensuite is used for showering and shaving and what have you......definately no crapping.

The upstairs toilet is the wifes AOR and the downstairs is mine, this means only on a few very rare occasions are we forced to breathe in the fruits of each others arseholes.


Book Reviewer
apparently they do crap in the woods.


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