Earlier this evening, my brother had an unfortunate bottom accident which reminded me of one of the most horrific episodes of my colourful life, which for no other reason than comedy value, I have decided to share with you. Just prior to last christmas, I was going through a mild period of botty bother. For a couple of weeks I had been cultivating some particularly vicious farmer giles which had given me a small amount of gyp but I had just stuffed back up my mudeye and got on with. This one evening, stomach churning after a few ales and a huge dinner, I trotted off for a horrendoshite. It first occurred to me that something may be awry when I felt a grotesque pain from my clacker and squirted claret into the bowl at such ferocity it splattered my legs and the pan and looked like someone had just eaten a shotgun round. On peering down, the bog was heaving with shite and claret, and my ring was dripping blood at an alarming rate. I mopped up, through gritted teeth finished my shite and went to wipe. It felt like a thumb was sticking out my ricker, this, naturally alarmed me further so I dismounted the throne and ripped the mirror off the wall to conduct damass. Squatting over the mirror, between splashes of arse blood, I could see the remains of my tattered tea towel holder, it quite simply looked as if I'd been turned inside out, cue panic. I wedged a towel up my crack and told the missus that I was givng birth to myslef, she made me ring the NHS helpline and they told me to get down the hospital pronto, which we did, me holding my bikestand off the car seat in order to stop the bumps in the road sending me into a pain induced coma. After a quick chat about my situation, the lovely nurse bint on watch told me to take a seat. (Cheers, nice plastic arse wrecking seats) and wait. The doctor will see me soon. After about two hours of switching between standing and glaring at the pisspot slags who have cut their filthy feet on broken wine glasses down the highstreet and legging it to the bog to reload my blood sponging bog roll pantyliner, I was called in. The doctor rolled me over, pulled apart my arse cheeks and declared "Oh dear". The nurse behind him looked truly horrified, although had she looked in a mirror recently the sight of my butchered goats eye couldn't have been too dissimilar to her rats face. Doctor bastard prodded around then told me he had to have a better look up my fudge tunnel, he returned with the hubbel telescope and proceeded to ram it up my crimping tool with great aplomb. If it's not bad enough having the national observatory inserted into my god fearing octopus beak then it shearing it's way past the bits of me that were hanging out prompted me to chunder all over the place. I think by this point the nurse had fallen out with me. To cap it off, he disappeared and called some of his mates in to have a look at my "Terrible, terrible case". The next stages were a blur, he crammed more things up me and forced my distended rectum back into it's home with his hands that looked like five bananas stapled to a dinner plate. I looked down and their was shit and blood all over the parish. I threw up again. "We'll have to get you in for some further stitching and banding, but you should be fine for now, you had particularly bad haemorrhoids which had dragged part of your rectum into the world. " I drove home, mortified that my arse had let me down so badly, but glad that I wasn't dying of bot cancer. The moral of this story? Don't ignore your piles boys, you are just one bad shit away from rape and humiliation. I await your anatomy catastrophies with great anticipation.