For those with a weak stomach – what the fuck are you doing here? Piss off back to World of Britney.
Today’s post is brought to you by the letters S, H, I and T and the number two. I encountered the world’s most amazing turd today. A floater amongst floaters. The King of Poop.
Impressed yet? You will be. I am only upset it wasn’t one of mine.
My stomach’s been dodgy for a few days, though I hasten to point out that I don’t blame the South Asian cuisine. I think it’s just one of those things that’s happened, like a cold or something.
As things are starting to work properly again in the belly department, I’m finally passing solids again. Yay me. However, as I’m getting used to it all again I was caught short in a hotel and made my excuses.
Awaiting me in the loo was a huge log, snapped in two and obscuring any view of the water on which it was suspended. Eugh.
Instinct (and a desperation to loosen my bowels) took hold and I flushed, dropped my kex and sat down. Blessed relief followed. Quite a lot of it. Then a strain and some more. Those bumpy rickshaws are a very unpleasant way to travel when you need to drop a log.
My puckered starfish could pucker no more so I wiped, flushed, stood up and… caught out of the corner of my eye the self-same jobbie that had been there when I’d entered the stall. Still sat there, still bobbing gently, still in two pieces. I swear it must have been made from brown polystyrene beads or something.
It is only now that I wish I’d taken a photo, but that wouldn’t have given proof of it’s survivability.
Truly a wonder of the modern faecal age.
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