Post by Travis on Sept 8, 2007 10:36:32 GMT -1
Just to dispel the myth that all the Leeds fans on WACCOE are uncultured bunch of yobs, here's a thread that shows their more poetic inclinations.
It's likely to be of particular interest to Chopper and Gres...
www.waccoe.co.uk/index.php?showtopic=103393
For the lazy, here's a few highlights, INCLUDING ONE FROM JJ!!!.....
Slightly ashamed of this one but what the hell.
I was invited to stay at a clients house down in London last year to discuss a design job i was doing for him. That evening I thought it might be a good idea to take him and his girlfreind out to dinner. A very pleasant evening indeed, much Rioca and Chorizo sausage was consumed.
Bed time, I'm very pissed and crammed full of tapas, the bloke shows me my room and I flake out. Next morning I awake, feeling grimmer than a grim thing. I trudged wearily to his bathroom to take a shower. Too late to exit, I throw up and to my horror swamp the shower from the rear at the same time. It gets worse I looked down at the shower pan and I am feet deep in sick and poo. I start to panic wondering how to explain this one away, the plug hole was rammed with my excretions, the whole place stank.
I tried in vain to create a 'Plunger' effect with the sole of my foot to no avail. I was starting to jibber with fear. By this time I think I had started to overstay my welcome in the bathroom, I was the first in and his girlfreind needed to get to work. Sheer deperation made me leave my swampy shower, run across the bathroom with shity feet, take the toothbrush glass from the sink and start to bale the crap out. Some went down the sink, some down the bath plug hole. I remember nearly crying and saying to myself " No please, No Please. Oh No" It was a fucking nightmare.
His girlfreind knocked and asked how much longer I would be. It was then I realised I might have to 'fess up' or calm down and think. I chose the latter option. I noticed a rubber kids type soap dish in the shape of a crocodile on the side of the bath. grabbing it I used the dished side against the plug hole in the shower. I furiously pumped the thing with the palm of my hand. To my huge relief I cleared the blockedge and the swamp drained away.
I wiped up the floor and made the bathroom good. I was aware that they knew somthing was amiss so I cofessed to being sick. But hid the terrible truth.
Thanfully, he still gives me lots of work. Even though he may have contacted Salmonella from rinsing his teeth!
JJ's contribution....
Only happened the once that I can recall, and it was a couple of years ago. Had been down to Halifax for an interview, and was on my way to York to meet someone. Got off the train at York, and realised I needed a fart. Just a normal one or so I thought, which I would allow to escape whilst walking. Next thing I know, I suddenly had a warm feeling in my trousers and a vile smell was emanating upwards. With horror I realised I had shit myself. Only toilet I could find was the one through the pub in the station, so I had to walk through the bar area, with my legs slightly apart trying to stop the shite from escaping.
No-one else was in the toilets so locked myself into a cubicle and removed my suit jacket and trousers. Diarhoea all down by leg, onto my socks, and covering almost all of my boxers. I was mortified. Despite several dunks in the pan, the boxers were beyond repair so I admit to stashing them in the corner. Managed to rinse out my socks and trousers as best as I could and dry them with toilet roll. Stuck my feet into the toilet one at a time and washed my legs down.
Fortunately, still nobody had entered the toilet so got dressed and tried to finish drying my trousers using the hot air dryer - standing on tip toes, back to the dryer, arse in the air - but it was bloody difficult so gave in.
By now I was late meeting the person so gave in and headed off hoping for the best. Was paranoid I still stank of shit, or had missed an obvious patch on my trousers or jacket. She said nowt when we met so think I was ok.
To this day, I have no idea what caused it. I think I must have been allergic to Halifax
Oh dear....
Was staying in Toronto with my then girlfriend, at my cousins flat 2 years ago, bearing in mind I hadn't seen the lad for years. Anyway, we'd been out on the lash pretty heavily the night before, and probably eaten some foul food as well, but I can't remember.
Anyway, woke up early the next morning with alarm bells ringing, my stomach felt as though it was about to give up so I dashed to the bog.
Sat on it and delivered one of the biggest and sloppiest payloads ever, it was fucking wonderful and because nobody was awake yet I got away with the sound effects & rancid stench as well. The problem being was that my cousin had a dodgy bog, which sometimes didn't flush properly. I had been warned on arrival but the occasion had got the better of me.
To cut a long story short, when I flushed it went fucking nowhere, and the pan was brimming with brown water, soiled bog roll and floaters. I thought 'fucks sake, I don't need this' and reached for the plunger by the bog, sticking it in the cloudy mess while I tried to stop myself from ralphing all over the place. Gave it a few shoves and then in my haste, tried to flush the bog again. Sure enough the water level rose until the brown sludge started to cascade over the rim. It was fucking horrible, I was half asleep and bare arsed staggering around the bathroom up to my ankles in sludge going ''oh no, fuck no, please fucking no''. In a panic I rushed back to our bedroom and woke the bird up, 'Jen, theres shite all over the bathroom floor, what the fuck am I gonna do?''
All the commotion had woke my cousin up too, and he came out of his room too, asking what happened.
I just buried my head in the pillow while they cleaned the mess up, I could hear my cousing retching as he did it, it was fucking awful and the single most embarassing moment of my life.
....and the best till last!! Pure poetry!! ;D
I've never shat myself. Well, not since early childhood anyhow.
I did shit on a bathroom floor after a match at ER though.
I reckon it was after the game home to Brighton in 1989 (where they wore the pink away kit and had 'NOBBO' as their shirt sponsor). I'd not been that morning and had been touching cloth for most of the bus journey home so as soon as I got to my mate's house I legged it straight to the bathroom.
I don't know why but I felt so rushed that I didn't bother putting the seat down - I just adopted the Russian paratrooper/jockey position and released my burden. I didn't think too much when I looked down into the pristine, empty porcelain pan. I just assumed it was a ghost turd, wiped up and was about to be on my way when I saw something lying on the carpet between the shitter and the wall - the biggest, blackest (I was a Guinness drinker back then) turd I had ever seen. I didn't know whether to leave it be and hope his mum would blame the dog or give Leading Seamen Log the burial at sea he surely craved.
I went for the latter option - they only had a Jack Russell cross after all - and opted to clean up. I grabbed about half a roll of loo roll and layed it over my creation - it looked like a dead baby otter wrapped in an Andrex shroud - and picked it up. It felt lighter than I'd expected but it was so hot. I could feel the heat radiating out through a dozen layers of toilet tissue. It was like it was alive. I let the turd slide silently down the pan to it's watery grave and wiped up the after effects on the carpet as best I could before heading downstairs and suggesting we headed straight for the pub.
Nige - if you're reading this mate, I'm sorry, but why the chuff couldn't you have had lino?
Also highly recommended, so far are posts numbers 60, 88, 97, 113 and 120.
Happy reading!!
It's likely to be of particular interest to Chopper and Gres...
www.waccoe.co.uk/index.php?showtopic=103393
For the lazy, here's a few highlights, INCLUDING ONE FROM JJ!!!.....
Slightly ashamed of this one but what the hell.
I was invited to stay at a clients house down in London last year to discuss a design job i was doing for him. That evening I thought it might be a good idea to take him and his girlfreind out to dinner. A very pleasant evening indeed, much Rioca and Chorizo sausage was consumed.
Bed time, I'm very pissed and crammed full of tapas, the bloke shows me my room and I flake out. Next morning I awake, feeling grimmer than a grim thing. I trudged wearily to his bathroom to take a shower. Too late to exit, I throw up and to my horror swamp the shower from the rear at the same time. It gets worse I looked down at the shower pan and I am feet deep in sick and poo. I start to panic wondering how to explain this one away, the plug hole was rammed with my excretions, the whole place stank.
I tried in vain to create a 'Plunger' effect with the sole of my foot to no avail. I was starting to jibber with fear. By this time I think I had started to overstay my welcome in the bathroom, I was the first in and his girlfreind needed to get to work. Sheer deperation made me leave my swampy shower, run across the bathroom with shity feet, take the toothbrush glass from the sink and start to bale the crap out. Some went down the sink, some down the bath plug hole. I remember nearly crying and saying to myself " No please, No Please. Oh No" It was a fucking nightmare.
His girlfreind knocked and asked how much longer I would be. It was then I realised I might have to 'fess up' or calm down and think. I chose the latter option. I noticed a rubber kids type soap dish in the shape of a crocodile on the side of the bath. grabbing it I used the dished side against the plug hole in the shower. I furiously pumped the thing with the palm of my hand. To my huge relief I cleared the blockedge and the swamp drained away.
I wiped up the floor and made the bathroom good. I was aware that they knew somthing was amiss so I cofessed to being sick. But hid the terrible truth.
Thanfully, he still gives me lots of work. Even though he may have contacted Salmonella from rinsing his teeth!
JJ's contribution....
Only happened the once that I can recall, and it was a couple of years ago. Had been down to Halifax for an interview, and was on my way to York to meet someone. Got off the train at York, and realised I needed a fart. Just a normal one or so I thought, which I would allow to escape whilst walking. Next thing I know, I suddenly had a warm feeling in my trousers and a vile smell was emanating upwards. With horror I realised I had shit myself. Only toilet I could find was the one through the pub in the station, so I had to walk through the bar area, with my legs slightly apart trying to stop the shite from escaping.
No-one else was in the toilets so locked myself into a cubicle and removed my suit jacket and trousers. Diarhoea all down by leg, onto my socks, and covering almost all of my boxers. I was mortified. Despite several dunks in the pan, the boxers were beyond repair so I admit to stashing them in the corner. Managed to rinse out my socks and trousers as best as I could and dry them with toilet roll. Stuck my feet into the toilet one at a time and washed my legs down.
Fortunately, still nobody had entered the toilet so got dressed and tried to finish drying my trousers using the hot air dryer - standing on tip toes, back to the dryer, arse in the air - but it was bloody difficult so gave in.
By now I was late meeting the person so gave in and headed off hoping for the best. Was paranoid I still stank of shit, or had missed an obvious patch on my trousers or jacket. She said nowt when we met so think I was ok.
To this day, I have no idea what caused it. I think I must have been allergic to Halifax
Oh dear....
Was staying in Toronto with my then girlfriend, at my cousins flat 2 years ago, bearing in mind I hadn't seen the lad for years. Anyway, we'd been out on the lash pretty heavily the night before, and probably eaten some foul food as well, but I can't remember.
Anyway, woke up early the next morning with alarm bells ringing, my stomach felt as though it was about to give up so I dashed to the bog.
Sat on it and delivered one of the biggest and sloppiest payloads ever, it was fucking wonderful and because nobody was awake yet I got away with the sound effects & rancid stench as well. The problem being was that my cousin had a dodgy bog, which sometimes didn't flush properly. I had been warned on arrival but the occasion had got the better of me.
To cut a long story short, when I flushed it went fucking nowhere, and the pan was brimming with brown water, soiled bog roll and floaters. I thought 'fucks sake, I don't need this' and reached for the plunger by the bog, sticking it in the cloudy mess while I tried to stop myself from ralphing all over the place. Gave it a few shoves and then in my haste, tried to flush the bog again. Sure enough the water level rose until the brown sludge started to cascade over the rim. It was fucking horrible, I was half asleep and bare arsed staggering around the bathroom up to my ankles in sludge going ''oh no, fuck no, please fucking no''. In a panic I rushed back to our bedroom and woke the bird up, 'Jen, theres shite all over the bathroom floor, what the fuck am I gonna do?''
All the commotion had woke my cousin up too, and he came out of his room too, asking what happened.
I just buried my head in the pillow while they cleaned the mess up, I could hear my cousing retching as he did it, it was fucking awful and the single most embarassing moment of my life.
....and the best till last!! Pure poetry!! ;D
I've never shat myself. Well, not since early childhood anyhow.
I did shit on a bathroom floor after a match at ER though.
I reckon it was after the game home to Brighton in 1989 (where they wore the pink away kit and had 'NOBBO' as their shirt sponsor). I'd not been that morning and had been touching cloth for most of the bus journey home so as soon as I got to my mate's house I legged it straight to the bathroom.
I don't know why but I felt so rushed that I didn't bother putting the seat down - I just adopted the Russian paratrooper/jockey position and released my burden. I didn't think too much when I looked down into the pristine, empty porcelain pan. I just assumed it was a ghost turd, wiped up and was about to be on my way when I saw something lying on the carpet between the shitter and the wall - the biggest, blackest (I was a Guinness drinker back then) turd I had ever seen. I didn't know whether to leave it be and hope his mum would blame the dog or give Leading Seamen Log the burial at sea he surely craved.
I went for the latter option - they only had a Jack Russell cross after all - and opted to clean up. I grabbed about half a roll of loo roll and layed it over my creation - it looked like a dead baby otter wrapped in an Andrex shroud - and picked it up. It felt lighter than I'd expected but it was so hot. I could feel the heat radiating out through a dozen layers of toilet tissue. It was like it was alive. I let the turd slide silently down the pan to it's watery grave and wiped up the after effects on the carpet as best I could before heading downstairs and suggesting we headed straight for the pub.
Nige - if you're reading this mate, I'm sorry, but why the chuff couldn't you have had lino?
Also highly recommended, so far are posts numbers 60, 88, 97, 113 and 120.
Happy reading!!
And you lot are back on zero! 
