“Twenty”, said Dirty Dave, “if you had to choose between an axe, a saw or a ninja’s sword with which someone had to cut your head off with, which would you choose?”
“Dave, shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood”, I said.
“Ok then, which would you prefer? Dress up as a Jew and dance around Palestine, dress up as teenage boy and dance around Jonathan King’s bedroom or dress up as Madeleine McCann and spend a night on your own in a Portuguese apartment?”
“Dave, seriously. I’m not in the mood.”
“Right so, if you could be a bear, an ocelot or a helper monkey which would you be?”
“Are you fucking deaf or what?”
“Well, would you rather be a Brazilian footballer with lots of skill but little workrate, a German footballer with fair to middling skill but lots of workrate or Robbie Keane?”
“I’m going to kill you, you cunt.”
“I’d choose saw, Jew, ocelot, German.”
“Good man. Now fuck off.”
“I mean, who the fuck would want to be Robbie Keane? Did you see him on the Late Late Show? What a cunt.”
“You see, this is why I fucking hate pooing in public toilets. There’s always some cunt in the next cubicle who won’t shut his fucking mouth. If I hadn’t made that explosive curry for dinner this evening I could have held on. What’s your excuse?”
“I have the bowels of a stroke victim. So, if you could be any kind of poo would you be a floater, a nutty log or a half pint of gushing liquid? Twenty? Twenty?”
Am I the first one to leave a comment? That’s because we Aussies are up while you Paddies are still asleep. Jaysus, It’s 40c, better sit in the shade eh? Oh, and I’ve no comment to make on the above except to say it made me smile in that ‘Oh, I shouldn’t laugh but I will” way:)
Its funny you should mention stroke victims when talking about Mr keane. I mean what the fuck is the story with the paralysed tongue dropping out of his mouth every few minutes….
I once had to have a serious poo in a public bathroom in riyadh Saudia Aradia- trust me not a pleasant experience….
It was like shitting a pineapple
LIKE THE TIME I WAS IN THE CRAPPER AT THE RED SHIELD HOTEL IN CALCUTTA IN THE MID-EIGHTIES READING THE EARNEST GRAFFITI WHICH STATED ‘IF YOU THINK THE BOTTOM HAS FALLEN OUT OF YOUR WORLD, COME TO CALCUTTA…WHERE YOU’LL FIND THE WORLD FALLING OUT OF YOUR BOTTOM’
THEN THERE WAS THE TIME AT THE ‘CHRISTIAN ASHRAM’ IN GOA WHEN A LARGE PIG UNEXPECTLEDLY MADE ITS APPEARANCE UP THROUGH THE BLOODY SQUAT-TOILET THERE….
If we are going to talk about shite then, has anyone ever wondered about the strain that the black stuff puts on the countries sewage infrastructure? I usually do when having a nice pint.
I was squatted in one of the traps in the Punch bowl in Booterstown. I quietly chuckled to myself while reading the print carved in the back of the door – ‘FLUSH HARD, IT’S A LONG WAY TO THE KITCHEN’.
Unlike you pooing in Public Twenty, I can’t do the public toilet/work cubicle thing at all. I head straight for the disabled jacks. Plenty of bars to hang on to for traction.
I once had to visit the jacks in Northern Italy( the civilised part) of a Sunday morning after copious amounts of gargle the night before. My rattles did not get any better when I discovered the jacks consisted of two foot-shaped pads and a hole.On the point of no return , I had to try an keep my balance and juggle with trousers and shirt tail etc. Anyhow I almost passed out with the smell ( the jacks didn’t smell to good either)
You should try sitting in a cubicle next to George Michael, not much converation going on when you have his cock in your mouth through the “glory hole”
I have been holding onto my morning poo for long enough now, this has pushed me over the edge. Now, will I take the Sun and have a look at some tits while I’m there? Perhaps not, I need something to do this afternoon. But hark! methinks the turtles head doth want a dip in that smallest of kitten-killing pools…
Amen to that PP.
Sam Crea is talking about Robbie Keane, but what about Kenny Cunningham. Look at his eyebrows when he is providing “analysis” on The Premiership. It has not got to the stage where I can’t watch it due to the constant and utterly needless eyebrow movements…….It looks, in fact, like he is having a poo every time he speaks.
I was caught short in a Paris wine bar – Christ,It was a squatter that looked as if it’s last user had been David Blunkett.
“I was caught short in a Paris wine bar ”
Is that a euphimism for being roundly buggered by a swarthy European?
The story of my life. sigh.
And then there’s being prescribed morphine (pleasant) and after four days floating slowly round the living room smiling in a papal and benificent kind of way… spending four hours on the pan giving birth to a six pounder…(unpleasant) We christened it “rob the blob” there is a link there somewhere.
I need this on top of my novovirus now, don’t I?