Orgasmic dumps!

You talk like Marlene Deitrich,
You dance like Biffo the Bear,
Your clothes are all made by Bernards,
And there's lice and there's spunk in your hair,
And up your back you know you're slack.

CHORUS So where do you go to my lovely,
When you're alone in your pit?
Tell me your thoughts that surround you,
When you're having a spine shattering shit.
You live in a fancy compartment,
In one of Her Majesty's Ships,
With Four Hundred and twenty young Fishheads,
Each one of them gives you the shits, Yes they do....

Your name it is heard in high places,
You know the Buffer quite well,
He gave you a Dildo for Christmas,
And you use it for ringing the bell,
Yes you do, Ding-a-ling....

Do you remember the Embassy party?
I recall that you caused quite a stir,
Sliding down the banister,
With your Piss flaps going: Brr brrrr, brr brrrr, brr brrrr.
I remember the back streets of Gosport,
Your arsehole all gaping and wide,
I remember that I popped my head in,
And the rest of the mess was inside,
Playing Draughts for a laugh, Ha ha ha....

I remember the back streets of Naples,
The children begging in rags,
I remember you stole all their money,
For a pint and a packet of fags,
Yes you did, half a quid.
I know where you go to my lovely,
When you're alone in your pit,
I know the thoughts that surround you,
Cos I know that you're just full of SHIT.

Posted from the Navy Net mobile app (Android / iOS)
No it's not all Ohh, yess - yess - yess...

Not so much orgasmic - more exquisite agony. You attempt to go for a darned good shit after a fortnight on co-codamol, naproxen, morphine, gabapentin and hospital pies and I can guarantee that it will NOT feel like you're approaching the vinegar stroke:-

[Extract from a previous thread]

Remember!!! Addiction to huge quantities of pain-killing drugs = the inability to have a shit without feeling like you are trying to crap a tournament-sized ten-pin bowling ball wrapped in velcro and razor wire out of a hole no larger than your eye socket. Constipation is a bitch.......really. I 'aint had a dump yet.....will not drop a log in a cardboard bedpan on principal. As soon as they issue me with me Zimmer, I shall be nipping the f***er out before I do anything else, sat down, on a real toilet with tears of joy falling from my eyes with something resembling a 4 kilo scotch-bonnet chilli s-l-o-w-l-y tearing my pulsating blood red pucker to shreds. Me? I f***ing love hospitals!


{Edited the original to add another vivid description}

Try to imagine crapping out a dead badger with carpet grippers stapled to its festering corpse, slowly being shoved out of an orifice the size of your left nostril and that'll do nicely.
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If that bloke on the packet is about to lob one of his clinkers over the glens, I'll think I'll stick to dysentry to combat constipation (good for a crash diet if needed as well).
I think anyone who has eaten Biscuits Brown, BGMB for a fortnight has been close to a pop shot upon breaching the waves with a fully lowered mk48, but its all in the taper angle. Splashback ruins it for me. But those new wet wipes for your duck run have gone some way to restoring my faith in technology.
I think anyone who has eaten Biscuits Brown, BGMB for a fortnight has been close to a pop shot upon breaching the waves with a fully lowered mk48, but its all in the taper angle. Splashback ruins it for me. But those new wet wipes for your duck run have gone some way to restoring my faith in technology.
'Kin hell, I'm a sprog, but Biscuit fruits are the shit!
I think anyone who has eaten Biscuits Brown, BGMB for a fortnight has been close to a pop shot upon breaching the waves with a fully lowered mk48, but its all in the taper angle. Splashback ruins it for me. But those new wet wipes for your duck run have gone some way to restoring my faith in technology.
Make sure they are flushables or you could end up getting a man to rod your pipes.

Posted from the Navy Net mobile app (Android / iOS)
Make sure they are flushables or you could end up getting a man to rod your pipes.
I saw a local tv schnooz article where the man with the rod showed up and pulled a wodge of baby wipes out of some punters dunny hole, they are made with that tencel stuff that Geoff Capes couldnt tear. My ones, ringbolt for the use of, are so soft they pull apart like wet bogroll. But I still wouldn't want to pull 25 of them out of the honey hole on a Gulfstream or some such.
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Professor Herbert Wright-Tosser Phd. Msc Bsc(Hons)

"A study of logs"


This is one of the more gargantuan efforts that a human being can clear in one sitting. The Anaconda is quite
simply in a class of its own and will usually astound its owner because of its sheer size, girth, length and weight
(although I've never heard of an Anaconda being scooped up and put on the kitchen scales before....but there's
always a first time). The depositor of this beast will be left wondering just how the Hell such a monster could
have possibly been curled up inside its human host in the first place, unless the bowels are exactly like Dr. Whos
Tardis, because any other explanation as to how this behemoth could be safely stowed away just is not possible.
So - what happens when one blarts out an Anaconda? Well - after the first initial squeeze, intake of breath and fucking good
push (to get the Anacondas head out), the remaining length will simply slide out with relative ease as
gravity takes effect, in much the same way as one would discover if one were to push a greased *Pepperami*
snack sausage through an O-seal. Anacondas do not make any sound when they reach the WC's liquid contents.
Instead, they enter the water in much the same way as a US Navy Seal would have done when on Black Ops up
the Mekong Delta during the Vietnam War. Silently, Stealthily and without so much as making a single ripple.
Be warned! When you stand up - having shifted your very own Anaconda may well be still attached
to you, and your sudden bodily movement will cause a shift in the central mass which will in turn lead to
a phenomenon known in the scientific world of Turdology as "Toilet Seat Overhang" (i.e Anacondas head has
submerged, as has a large proportion of the body, BUT the remainder which has been snapped off by your upstanding
manoeuvre will either (a). Land in the gusset of your underpants or (b) End up drooping over the rim of the
bog seat. In order to avoid this revolting scenario it is best practice to employ what is known as "The
Cutaway Procedure". Simply clench ones buttocks together before standing and hopefully, your arse-scissors
should effectively snip the Anaconda away and the entire beast will slip silently below the crappers waterline.
You can now stand up, and stare in shock and awe at the thing from your ring before commencing standard hygiene
procedures. On completion of a fucking good wipe, a wash and having taken a few photos of it on your mobile
for uploading to your FaceBook account later, you must now decide just how long your are prepared to take in
order to flush that enormous thing away, because Anacondas do NOT go down without a fight. you fuck off
and leave it for the next bog-squatter to find or even the cleaners the next morning (this is usually the case
for office shithouse Anacondas), or do you pump that handle and hope the bastard gets round that porcelain bend?
Most people settle on abandoning an Anaconda, but this means that you'll have to wait until the crap-house is
empty before opening your door and slinking away like a thief in the night.
Note: Prior to legging it, it might be a good idea to camouflage your deposit as best you can. This can be
achieved by either (1). Chucking a rolled up newspaper over the top of it (2). Sacrificing one of your socks,
or a handkerchief or a bit of your shirt....anything that will make it harder to spot. (3). Using an entire
shit-house roll, like it "fell in the crapper by mistake".
Finally, you'll always know when an Anaconda has been discovered because you will hear the following utterance,
no matter where you are in the building:
Quite how we have come to equate an unflushed coil of shit that resembles an Anaconda with the Son of God who
died on the Cross to save us all from our sins is something I do not completely understand. That's just the way
it is.


An enigma in the turdologists world that has been studied, probed and scientifically examined, but still remains
a mystery to this very day. The PHUTTT defies every law of Physics and quantum mathematics and yet it's fair to
say that we have all had a fucking good PHUTTT at one time or another. In laymans terms a PHUTTT can be described
like this:
You amble off for a dump and lower your trollies and y-fronts in preparation for a nice stress-free doo-doo and
a chance to do the Daily Star sit down, take a pencil from behind your lug-hole when suddenly....
That's it. All over. Done with. Finito. All gone. Empty.
In less time than it takes to write a script for a Stevan Segal movie.....your pucker blew apart and all the shit
flew out in a single nano-second. What the fuck just happened? Well - get up and have a butchers. You'll notice that
something is not quite right - something bizarre has just occurred, something so scientifically mind-boggling
that even Professor Stephen Hawking hasn't got his head round it. You would expect the law of gravity to have
dropped your load into the water....but no. Fuck all of the PHUTTT actually reached the water because your arse
has just played an evil trick on you. Instead of looking d-o-w-n you should observe the entire circumference
of the toilet and you will be astounded to discover that what just blew out of your starfish sort of went off
like a Special Forces shaped charge. There before your very eyes is a perfect brown halo of shit, clinging to
the porcelain (and perhaps even the bit above the lip from where the flushing water appears). So - how can you
achieve a dump that ends up in a perfect 360 degree circle above the water when you know for a fact that your
ring-bolt was pointing downwards at the time. Don't ask me, but apparently it's something to do with drag
coefficiency, back pressure and molecular displacement and your bum-holes amazing ability to go off like a
firefighter with a hose that's configured for a water-wall. The PHUTTT is an absolute bastard and it's also
the one that takes the most time cleaning up after.


This is a simple, straightforward Number Two, but it is always accompanied by a cacophony of squeaks, whistles,
burbles and random bubbling noises......sort of like having a shit whilst watching an episode of Flipper. The
root cause of this is tiny "air gaps" between the outer circumference of your poo and the rim of your fudge
tunnel, which allows any build up of internal gas to be squeezed through simultaneously thus causing the problem
which Turdologists call "Brown Noise" which for the most part, sounds like a pod of dolphins having an
argument, or a perverted farmer back-scuttling a baby pig. Singing as you shit, or humming a tune you may have
heard on the wireless will help to drown out this "Brown Noise" and it'll stop the fucker in the next trap from
sniggering like a schoolboy.


Masochists love this one and often take great pleasure in preparing a harpoon when they run short of ideas. Basically,
you exist on a diet of boiled eggs, shredded wheat and unbuttered cream crackers for a month and force yourself not
to got to the toilet for a Number Two. Come the end of your four week food fest - the log lodged up your poop chute
will have hardened and taken on the consistency of cast iron whilst also shaping itself into something resembling
the business end of the weapon that Captain Ahab threw at Moby Dick....only yours will be upside down, which means
that the wider end (i.e. barbed bit) will do its level best to come out first thus creating a new level of exquisite
agony and a widening of the duck-run which will culminate in something that can only be described as something akin
to a baby rhino trying to escape from a tied up pussers kit bag. Now, this will hurt nicely thank you very much
and should give any self respecting masochist the thrills they so richly deserve. Once the harpoon end is free and
clear the rest will power outwards through the freshly stretched hole at such an incredible velocity, that when
the finely tapered end of said harpoon parts company with the poor fucker, the masochists arse cheeks will come
together with such force it'll sound like someone just slammed a wheelie-bin lid shut in the back lane
behind your house.
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Dumps and shags can be orgasmic, the difference, you do not have to cuddle your turd afterwards and declare ever lasting love. you could cuddle your turd, but that would smell worst then the fishy smelly place?:love2:
Cheers boys! I haven't laughed so much since the old king died and granny caught her tits in the mangle! Brand new PC and now IT are chuntering about having to clean the coffee spray off the monitor! PMSL!!!

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