Undercracker Jettison

Discussion in 'Diamond Lil's' started by guestm, Feb 4, 2010.

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  1. Whilst recounting glorious tales of heroism and derring-do on the pop, the subject turned to when one inevitably sharts oneself due to the combination of to much alcohol and too much iffy food. The last time this happened to myself and an oppo was in Budapest followinga particularly howling 72 hour maelstrom of debauchery.

    My oppo had a full on colon empty into his tattered grey undies, like the true gentleman he is, he maintained wear of the kacks until return to the hotel, where he rinsed them in the bidet, hung them on the balcony to dry and duly donned them the next morning.

    I am not so cultured, I scuffed my duds enroute to the airport and duly ditched them in the airport shitters, making sure the mess was uppermost to upset the next occupant. The next occupant was my mate, who couldn't hide his mirth and told the entire departure lounge as I lay on the floor in tired, drunken convulsions of mirth. Fellow English speaking tourists didn't seem to share our joy.

    So what do you do when you spatter your gruds? Ditch? Fight through? Wave them around? Stay silent? Recycle?

    Perhaps someone can enlighten me as to the correct pantshatting SOP?

    Edited because I'm shiters.
  2. I've only done it once, but it was in Wales so it was OK.
  3. Well, when in Rome mate.
  4. On joining a certain gunnery training establishment I was being introduced to the troops and, when shaking hands with one bloke, completely without warning I guffed - and it contained lumps. :oops:

    I had to waddle back to my cabin to change knicks and carried on after that but every time I've met this bloke since that day he always mentions the fact that he scared the shit out of me when we first met.
  5. Returning from Switzerland on the train/ferry, my oppo had endured the rough crossing, was seasick and lying on the luggage piled on a trolley on the platform at Euston when he sharted. He climbed aboard the train and went straight in the bog next to first class/dining carriage, and proceeded to violate rule 1 of train bogs, dumping in station. I dived in his bag for a pair of knicks and a t-shirt, and found a plastic bag. I stuck my head round the door as he was wondering what the hell to do, I told him to bag n bin his pebbledashed kecks to his great relief, he begged me not to tell the lads. I lasted at least 3 or 4 mins.....
  6. While enjoying a curry in Abu Dhabi, I felt the familiar warning rumbles and stomach contractions. Being a bit pissed, everyone else was having the same impending doom look so we began to bid for slots on the only bog in the place. As I went in it was one of those shower tray looking things, footpads and a hole down which someone (no doubt of our number) had rammed their shitted pants. I wasn't about to remove them, and realising in the squat I would very likely squirt all over my legs or pants, I took off my trousers and put them around my neck, put my shoes back on and stepped onto the pads, leant forward and prayed to allah. The noise and beige fury continued for several minutes, hot brown rusty wee shot forth all over the wall, a fair bit of backspatter. After a long sesh with the sink and soap (thank f*** there was one) I could put my kecks on and go back out. I rolled up some bog roll fearing seepage, ring still stinging from the aliens blood dripping from my tea towel holder. Everyone else couldnt wait and had gone across the street to a McDonalds, where there was a big disabled style bog, with a regular dunny, a shower pit thing, and a shower head with warm water. Needless to say we all availed ourselves of a jaxy dhobey, we had to buy a few burgers to keep the management happy while we abused the facilities but no one dared eat since you would have to pay the piper in less than 15 minutes....

    Nowadays, that cottonelle stuff is a godsend, Prep H wipes, all that good stuff. In a pinch wet wipes or baby wipes will do, if you're stuck in a heathen hole that doesnt have bog roll.
  7. I shat myself on watch once in the MCR, in ovvies negat undercrackers!

    Standing there ditting on, i farted and felt an uncomftable wet feeling starting to run down my leg, so i did the only thing i could do, caught it in my pussers thick/bat, slowly went on "aft rounds" and got rid of said sock and ovvies, got a new pair on, an cleaned my bats......and no one was any the wiser!
  8. I was in recess having been ambushed by the Patrol on the pier as I crawled away from the Pavilion.
    Once ensconced in my lovely cosy cell I found I wanted to make poo poo, so I rang my cell bell and along came the cell sentry.
    Unfortunately he only spoke English, but I was communicating in largernese with a little pernodistani thrown in. He tried unsuccessfully three times to translate shdgefrysgdvfnehr into I need a sh1t so eventually said good night or fcuk off OD and left.
    Sneaking back he observed me drop my trolly's and Keck's squat, shit in my nicks and then hoist them back to the yard arm.
    Oh what mirth we all had as he gleefully recalled my misfortune to my two oppos who were also wrongfully incarcerated in that bastion of misery as I stood happily plastered in foul smelling larger/Pernod induced rectum clay.. :oops: :oops: :roll: :(

    Oh happy happy days.

    I also remember driving like a maniac to get a certain AB Munroe to Bristol airport from Gus to catch the plane in time to fly to Glasgow.
    As he alighted from my most beloved and hallowed (Nay revered) Mini Cooper S he shit on the front seat.
    About thirty miles up the road I did the same, we were both suffering from Cordite inhalation as some fcukin stupid lazy bastard (ME) had not opened the high pressure air valves to clear the left gun A turret during the shoot earlier that day. :oops: :roll: :D
  9. I was climbing Pico Aneto, highest in the Pyrenees, our party was held up on the ascent by plodders on the ridge and glacier who eventually let us past. We summitted, but knew our water wouldn't last back to the campsite. Glaciers at high alt have nice little streams running down them but they are pure bacteria since nothing else lives that high. You can eat snow if you dig down or boil it but we didnt have time to brew up owing to the spackers we encountered earlier. We pegged it back across the glacier (some miles) and inevitably one of our party drank from a stream on the way. He was the oldest guy, mid 30's and within about 1/2 hr was barely able to walk, blaming it on the altitude.

    My climbing partner took my sac, I reversed his and carried him on my back, his legs through the straps so my hands were free as we descended through a boulder scree. At one point he begins to moan and sob, then whispers in my ear "Im sorry" and lets out a thundershart of epic proportions. My back was soaked in sweat anyway, but this was worse.

    We arrived at the hut around 2000m, pooled our shrapnel together and managed to buy a lukewarm 3 year old tin of coke. It tasted like acid, but we shared it and could at least now speak. Getting him on my back again was like putting your feet in a welly full of custard, made an estuary run seem pleasant. Once we got within a few hundred yds of the basecamp he had me put him down so he could walk the rest of the way but he collapsed again. I dumped his sac at his tent, his wife appeared and wondered where he was and went to accompany him on his hands and knees back to the tent where he stayed for four days. I went to see the exped doc, I knew I needed scissors. The docs wife came with me to the shower, a standpipe at head height with a pallet to stand on, and cut off my clothes so I didn't have to deal with them. Had to bag them and carry them out but I made a present of the sodden honking mess to the orginator. Brings a new meaning to "shit on your oppo"
  10. Pants are for gayers.

    Real men just let it run down their leg and out of the bottom of their trousers.

    On a shart related tangent. I once sharted with such violence it fired a slug through my jeans onto the chair I was sat on but failed to leave any residue whatsoever on the jeans. 8O

    To this day I don't know how it happened. It's like when you have a shit and then when you go to flush, it's gone.

    I blame it on a glitch in the Matrix:
  11. You might consider changing your user name to 2_deck_pebble_dash
  12. I think this may be the expression that we have all pulled at some point:

  13. Honeymoon heaven.

    A fellow communicator who had just got himself married, went on
    his honeymoon to Sharm-el-Sheik with his brand new wife and, by
    all acounts - had a thoroughly enjoyable time. Upon his return,
    he produced photos of both himself and his darling wife for us
    watchkeepers to peruse. There was, however, one particular "set"
    of photos that had us all wondering.

    Photo No.1 portrayed happy matelot sitting on a wall dressed in
    the obligatory t-shirt/shorts/sandals ensemble, smiling happily
    for the camera.
    Photo No.2 was a snap of his bride, dressed in similar attire,
    sitting on the same wall - but with a pained expression on her
    charming face
    Photo No. 3 was another of his wife, still sitting on the wall,
    but with her eyes protruding out on stalks, and what looked like
    the start of a scream of anguish contorting her features.
    Photo No. 4 well.....there's his old lady, in splendid Kodak colour,
    with a tsunami of clart erupting from the legs of her holiday shorts.

    He thought it was hilarious, which is why he kept on snapping away
    with his wedding present camera as his beautiful new bride turned
    herself into something resembling a chocolate fountain.

    He said, "I think she'd eaten something that disagreed with her..."

    Laughed? I nearly shat.

  14. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    While down in the Falklands, a mucker of mine, a lunatic scotsman called Tam, considered it a badge of honour to piss his jeans most evenings. One night, we went to Deano's in Stanley to partake of the karaoke. Tam was, as usual, drinking heavily but of the spirits (you couldn't get them in the Military bars at MPA) and had already swamped himself twice. It wasn't a map of Africa on his jeans, more like a fucking atlas. Anyway, i've just finished destroying a song and Tam has come staggering up to me and taken the mike.

    "What do you want mate?" Said the karaoke bloke (meaning what song)

    "Some fucking bogroll pal. Aa've just shite me breeks an it's awfy minging and the stink makes me want tae boak it's that awfy" Boomed Tam into the mike across the entire bar. The man had style.
  15. I like him, brings back memories of pissing myself after too many spicy rums in Renoke's at MPA.
  16. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    He was formally of 216 Airborne Signals and a legend. It was always funny watching him hatting off the RAF Police while pissing on their shoes at the same time. Utter legend.
  17. Used to know a bloke called Bernie. Hour 14 of a 4 day bender, in the wheel, Weymouth, four of us in polite conversation with some young girls sitting in a booth, he swamps the f*** out of the bench, the girls dissapear to the heads to dry off, Bernie staggers out to the street with a little help from the bouncers. Apparently his bladder contained yet more recycled McEwans, and he hoses a fire door opposite the wheel, in full view of two plods. They help him up and begin to ask him to take a seat in the mariah, at which point his sphincter lets go completely. Like a bin bag bursting, we can see it running over his white socks and shoes.

    Its clear it doesn't smell too good and one of the officers is so overcome he honks up all down the wall and over the pavement. The guy holding Bernie up is now torn between nicking our hero and bollocking his oppo who is bent over hands on knees heaving green string trying to avoid his boots. One of the JRs has wandered out and volunteers to the copper, "I can get him home if you want?", to which plod agrees, "Get him in a taxi and f-off". Our lad pours Bernie into the back of a waiting cab and they set off, 5 yards later all the windows of the cab go down. When we left a couple of hours later there are more pavement pizzas than usual outside, and you could still smell why. I was laughing so much I had to be careful no to chuck up as well.

    Following day Bernie has no recollection, especially of the £30 the cabbie made Nathan (the lucky JR) give him for cleaning on top of the fare. We were walking into town early that night recounting the tale of Bernies own little shawshank redemption to our oppo, and he threw up just hearing about it.
  18. Safeguard

    I've just changed my knicks after laughing so hard at this thread and the PPP outing thread that I followed through a little bit :oops:


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