File this tale under "Random". It doesn't fit anywhere else.
Those with excellent visualisation skills should go no further than this. Really.
About six years ago I was returning to the UK from somewhere in the US. I forget exactly which airport I was at but I have narrowed it down to two: Charlotte in North Carolina, or Dulles in Washington D.C. It isn't important.
Anyway, I had a few hours to kill as the flight had been delayed. I wandered around until I found a bar that allowed smoking. The one I found was situated like a high street pub, with pavement seats & tables, only indoors. You could sit at a table but watch the passengers go by on the main concourse.
I was chugging away, and chuffing away, when I saw the three largest humans in the history of humans thundering slowly towards me. Daddy Bear was a good 35 stone, Baby Bear in the middle was perhaps 20 stone, and Mummy Bear was the biggest of all. God alone knows how much she weighed but she was massive. All that fat in motion was vaguely hypnotic. And I don't mind admitting that as I smoked and drank, I watched them lumbering my way.
Daddy was wearing some sort of mou-mou, Baby was wearing a track suit, and Mummy had on some beige crimpolene pants with those sewn in creases, and a ginormous tee-shirt. For some reason that escapes me, all were advertising the manufacturer of the clothing they wore. I couldn't see Dads, but Baby's apparel was made by Adidas, and Mums was made by Omar the Tentmaker.
On they came. In step. Flat-footed. In no hurry.
As they draw near, they all swivel giant heads above many, many chins, to glower at me. I take a drag of my smoke, exhale, and chase it with a swig of my beer.
As they draw level, Mummy Bear sneers at me, pure hatred in her piggy eyes, waves a hand in front of her piggy nose, and says, "Disssgusssting!".
I was a little surprised. Shocked even.
They passed me and it was my turn to swivel and stare. I wish I hadn't. I am now the permanent owner of a sight that I cannot cleanse my mind, or my memory banks of.
As I turned, my eyes were drawn, immediately, to the seat of Mummy Bears beige pants.
She had shit herself. At some point during the day she had shit herself. And was unaware. The stain was the size of a dinner plate, but it had also tracked down her left leg and stained the pants there as well.
I have seen some sights in my time. Deaths, disfigurement and deformities that defy reason or any godly compassion.
But I have rarely seen anything as foul as a ridiculously fat woman who had shit herself and didn't know it, or didn't care. But was narrow-minded enough to call a complete stranger disgusting. For smoking a cigarette.
Some nights, what worries me even more is that Daddy or Baby knew but didn't tell her. But still opted to wobble alongside her. In a public place.
I haven't told anyone else on the face of the earth that story. I was half-hoping it would just go away. It didn't. I hope that by sharing we can now all collectively delete the image from our minds.
A problem shared is a problem halved, right?
Thank you, friends. This unburdening has helped me.
It helped me a lot.
Well the UK is turning rapidly into the USA as our youngsters not only adopt Americanisms, but also their diet, that is there are those freaks who are obsessed with fitness and those who don't give a shit if they give bull elephants a run for their money in the weight department.
That is a sickening tale and I've one to match.
While working on the door at Hard Rock Café, London, Hyde Park Corner, circa 1995, I saw the Gay Pride March pass. It was the usual pink parade promoting poof pandering and everyone there made John Inman look like a heterosexual. Anway as the day wore on the amount of people went from a torrent to a drip, until it was left with the odd straggler here and there. To my horror, a partaker in pride, wandered past, very drunk, incredibly camp, wearing a cut of pair of denim jeans, aka what Daisy Duke would wear (but of course far nicer to look at) and as he passed, there was brown all down the back of his legs, where he's continued to shit himself.
Upon asking my fellow doorman at the time about it he simply laughed and said - "some wear nappies and others but plugs to keep the shite in as they've completely lost all control of their sphincter."
Charming. That vision has always stuck in my mind.
"pink parade promoting poof pandering"
A five word alliteration! Excellent!
The rest of your story was pretty shitty. I had assumed the butt plugs were for pleasure.
I'm fairly pleased that I stuck to my "Exit only" rule now. I had no idea.
Disclaimer for any gays who visit: I don't care who humps who. It's your business, not mine. (Except when you are trying to tell our younglings in school about it. I don't like that. Their minds are not ready).
Millions of years of evolution, in which our ancestors survived to reproduce in an unbroken line, fittest of the fit, back through the age of reptiles to the most microbial of ancestors. And this sow-like oaf of which you speak is the result? Nope, she was manufactured, an ignorant teat-sucking unit, product of the State. I was going to say that in a previous life she was a bluebottle, it don't mean nothin' or some such would-be smartassism, but really it does mean something. It means that you'll see pigs shitting themselves on a farm, wallowing about, fatly useless except as energy for their owners. Outside the farm there are wild boars. In Terry Pratchett's approximate words, the sort that disembowel the horse, eat the dogs and kill the huntsman. To see the farm is to leave it. We can't take much more of this bullshit. Us plebs can't carry arms, say the boys that buy nuclear submarines with our cash - can't smoke, say the same cunts that light up in the Commons bar. Now we can't even tell a fucking joke in the fucking office? Those bastards must be laughing at us every time they exhale luxurious blue wreaths of tax-payer's smoke, in the warm indoors. Bastards, utter bastards.
And Captain, with all due respect, no more stories like that please. Even if shifting the horrendous image to your loyal readership leaves you relieved of the responsibility of sole custodian of horror. If her aft section was manifestly unhygenic, what horrors may have lurked forrard? Segments of last week's bog-roll? Christ on a bike, what a shriveller. I feel ill.
Oh Captain. I read your warning, ignored it, then suffered the consequenses. Fool me.
I'm gonna tell you the story of my stag night now. It's time to get over the shame because the story fits in with the theme so well.
We all met in a pub in Darwen to have a few pints while waiting for the minibus to Blackpool. (predictable, I know). Just as the bus turned up, I squeezed out a huge fart. To my eternal shame I followed through and I was wearing white jeans. There was no way I could go home and change because the bus was here. Fortunately I had a long shirt on that covered the stain so I bit the bullet and got on the bus.
When we got to Blackpool we went to a strip club and my mates paid for a very public private dance for me with two girls on one of the stages. They got their kit off but they wanted me to take my pants down. I said no (fucking oviously) but they kept saying its ok its just a bit of fun. They kept pestering and tugging at my keks. Eventually I said, "you really dont want me to do that because I have shite myself".
I had to shout it because the music was loud. But the music stopped just as I did. The entire club hear me shout "ive shit myself" at the top of my voice.
I'm sure that will be on my grave stone. "Lived fast, shat himself".
When I plugged this post on Twatter, I apologised.
I should have done the same here. I am sorry.
There are no more (quite) like this one. Thank Christ.
That made I larf. A lot.
You poor fucker.
I would hope that that was the last shite story but somehow I doubt it.
Captain - If you've done something like that, it comes up in drunken conversation for years to come. All you can do is laugh along while thinking *cunts* *cunts* *cunts* *cunts*
let those who walk about in public with shitty pants cast the first stone
Yep. A stain that is unremovable.
I feel your pain.
Woodsterman has posted photos of that shitty woman but she was at Walmart at the time.
Me mate Gary, aged about 18 or 19, shat himself walking home from the pub. He got home and hid his disgusting jeans under his bed (natch) for subsequent disposal.
He got home from work the following day to find them laundered and ironed, folded into a drawer, his doting mum never said a word, bless.
I would have pointed out her embarrassing state nice and loudly for all to hear.
That would have been the last time she tried to humiliate someone.
"A problem shared is a problem halved, right?"
Usually, yes. On this occasion it just means more people reaching for the mind bleach.
Sorrry Cap'n but having log wondered how the incredibly fat reach to wipe your little tale just makes oi larf,have on more than one occasion (ok it was just 2) seen fat people standing talking in the street with piss running down their legs and pooling at their feet....
wv= farse ;0)
She probably left her 'rag on a stick' at home thus she couldn't reach around.
"Anti-smoking: Empowering the inhuman and deranged for decades."
'let those who walk about in public with shitty pants cast the first stone'
I second that motion
This story hasn't gone too well with my morning rice krispies, I think I will eat later.
even worse when faced with a bowl of coco-pops
I now have that image stuck in my brain and it will not go away
Once again cheers
Really I am.
My next (and last) story about anti-smokers is different, but much more disturbing.
No shit in this one.
Years ago in Dundee I saw a girl with a white dress on, come out her front door.
We walked ahead of me and her white dress was marked with shite at the back.
I have felt guilty for years for not telling her ...............
Because I am stricken in years I have to be careful with what remains of my memory. For the moment I cannot think of anything I would like to forget in order to make room for that little vision. Thank heaven for old age...
I will now enjoy a large whisky!
That's a truly crap story CR. ;)
I know! Thanks Rosie.
In Peterborough, where the intelligent left for America 300 years ago and the less intelligent left for London, you can often see excitingly "special" types.
Particularly the woman who shat her self in queue for the bus. The driver's comment when I warned he was about to have his vehicle rendered unfit:
"Jesus, that's the third time this year. I'll ring her social worker".
My dog was in quarantine near Peterborough. Used to visit him in his kennel every fortnight for six months. So yes, I have met some of the exciting inhabitants. Mind you, I liked the town. Everyone was friendly enough.
Did he still let the shitty lady on?
How mad is he?
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