The biggest turd youve ever done and where

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by oldcolt, Sep 7, 2009.

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  1. Had a great weekend this weekend on Salisbury Plain which was topped off by the doing the biggest turd I have ever done in my life! I swear that if I had uncoiled it, I would have had to pace it out to measure it. 8O

    So how big and where was the biggest turd you ever did on exercise or ops?
  2. Never actually measured them to be honest, but when on the Recce cse I did a masssive one which poked out of the hole I had dug, so I guess I should have dug it deeper! Naturally I would have gone to one of the tardis's but guess what, non were co-located with our collapsing OP.
  3. As I recall, they were never proper turds when on exercise, the attempts of the compo to bind you up, were always well negated by the ridiculous quantities of beer that we drank. I always came out as a revolting, sticky, stinking pile.
  4. Not too sure about biggest but on ex in a hot and sandy place had to live on fruit dumplings for about 3 weeks as the Qm 'forgot' to ship vegetarian rations.

    Very difficult to measure as it tended to spray sideways and stank of Butterscotch :lol:
  5. You shouldn't be such a fussy git then and eat some real food. Humans were designed to eat meat, hence the incisors!

    Flippin' lentil sucking hippie! :D
  6. I thought I had achieved all of life's goals the day I curled out a turd that touched the water before I crimped it off. However, I'm more inclined to mention a poo I had several months ago, more for its girth than its length. It stretched my hoop so much it drew tears. Upon further inspection (but sadly without a tape measure) I estimated it to be around 7cm in diameter. I wish I had taken a photo of it to show those women who whinge about childbirth all the time, that'd shut em up.
  7. You know its going to be a good one when you have to shake your arse to snap it off! 8)
  8. This weekend.......... when I curled one out on your missus chest, while you were in the field!! 8)
  9. Heard a story once from a reccy mech who was on one of their reccy mechy training thingyamingyabobs camps on Bordon Heath:

    for the duration of the camp they were having a 'who can do the biggest turd' competition - typical reccy mech competition as we all know!

    Anyway they decided to measure the length of the turds using an id card as a standard measure. (just flip it over end over end)

    Off they'd go and shit on a bit of cardboard compy box then return to the others for official measuring with the id card by the turd meister.

    Apparently right up to the last minute the record was 6 id cards long! then one of the lads walked up with this turd which was so big it was overlapping the edges of the cardboard! - obviously the reccy mechs got all exited about this beasty because when they measured it it was 10 id cards long!!!!

    Now whilst lots of backslapping and group hugs were taking place and the guy in question was making up war stories to tell for the rest of his career one of the reccy mechs who was a jealous type was having a close up inspection of the humungous turd and thats when he noticed - there was fingerprints on the turd! the cheating barsteward had joined two turds together!!!
  10. Big isn't always beautiful. Solidity has it's own value. Splash factor, we're talking here, or basin cracking.... did one a couple of years ago that was probably responsible for making several million Bangladeshis homeless.

    Ooops, forgot the where bit...... in my girlfriend's sink
  11. Splash factor is rare on exercise it has to be said (unless its p!ssing down THAT hard that your shovel recce hole has already filled with water before you've finished :cry: ). Spread/ explosive abilities are always an interesting variation and a dose of 'hand-grenade-arrse' is never welcome albeit highly saisfying on occasions :)
  12. In Poland last summer I had been a bit bunged up and then in the space of a minute had to dash and curl out a multicoloured monster that left me out of breath and afraid. This was compounded by the fact that the bog in question was of the "German Shelf" variety and the turd was sat fully exposed to the elements.

    I had to camera and I knew no one would ever believe me - a horse would of been proud of this lump. The only available witness was Mrs Farmboy. I shouted for my good lady and she hurried over to the bathroom fearing something terrible had happened, only to start gagging on entering the bathroom. The look of horror on her face as I pointed at the sh1t monster was priceless.

    Mrs Farmboy will verify the story - although she did not seem to find it as funny as I did.

    Those German Shelf bogs should be banned :twisted:
  13. On a patrol once in the sand pit, felt the rather pressing urge to birth a big bugger. I knew it couldn't wait and the pain was getting all consuming. I let my platoon know that I had to deliver an urgent message to the rear, and went into a recently cleared compound with 2 blokes as cover/witness. within no more than 3 mille seconds of dropping my strides a stream of molten hot bum/piss, let forth, covering not only the small sand whole I'd hastily scraped with my boot but also my boots and bottom 8 inches of cbt's! It burned! Really burned, the noise it made was akin to a duck being startled by a mong cat. And the smell we should never speak of. That was not however the most remarkable thing, it was a liquid teflon turn!?? Not even any residue on my gink?

    So including splash I reckon it was a good 3 foot long and about 3 mm wide, and approx 88 Degrees!
  14. Agreed. There's nothing better than projectile diahorrea to cheer one up.

    While unfortunately off sick due to being a drunk, I felt the urge to crimp one off. One of the problems with booze is that too much of the stuff fools you into thinking that you can time the urge and the need to squat as you once could when much fitter and younger. No need to rush - there's time to grab a copy of the Spectator on the way.

    On this occasion, the urge hit me half way across the kitchen and by the time I had run to the toilet - and I ran all the way in both sense of the word - the high pressure spray errupted just as I was preparing to sit down. The shot went wide.

    It sprayed all up the wall, all over the mocassins the missus had bought me, all over the seat and all over my hands, which were useless when it came to containing the torrent.

    Once the hands are contaminated, door handles, towels, the Spectator and the dressing gown all have to be burned or thwacked into the bath with the cold tap running.