Have you ever soiled yourself as an adult?

Theres really no excuse for using inside toilets now that the good weather has arrived. Best establish a grid pattern on your land, just to ensure even coverage etc

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Would you light a match after the shite? I find the matches don’t work at all. You have to open the window, the old fashioned way. Thing is, your own shite smells less to you than to others. I’ve gone back into the jacks an hour after my own shits and the smell would knock a donkey.
I had a really nostalgic smell the other day, a mix of cigarettes and beer farts. Brough me back to the old pub toilets of the early 90s.

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The brush is for cleaning skid marks not for breaking up battleships. You’d never be able to get the brush clean.

The Peggy Dell in some gaffs on here must be awful. Get this in your jacks

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Let me get this clear.
You use the toilet brush for cleaning your under pants?

Feed the foxes

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Once I establish the EU agricultural satellite schedule I will reintroduce this practice.

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Just pop it in your dishwasher mate. Plates are oxo…

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Will you get a grant?I’d say you will.

You’d almost miss the covid thread.

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cc @Little_Lord_Fauntleroy

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I deserve one.

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https://twitter.com/Independent_ie/status/1669672419894743040?t=DS746wKP9mVmf4tKqi0xTg&s=19

“the firmness of the stool” is a great line

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They go into aome detail on the consistency of it too. Could be picked right off this thread

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"Where on that spectrum would you put it? Would it be like mashed potato?”

Fucking screeched laughed at this! Like some parody show. A witness called to the box and asked that about the shite. Brilliant

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He was a bit too honest with the boss when he was asked about the reputation of the company.

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A lad I knew shat on the bonnet of a parked taxi in Italy once. Height of summer. God only knows what greeted the taxi driver. Bad form really when you think about it.

It was you wasnt it…

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Riddled with tsunami level fear of god free floating anxiety, without a ground of a justification or reason to it’s existence…I cacked myself on the streets of Paris after a double espresso and the dread, dread, dread of walking back to a hostel, past it’s lively reception and into a dorm room, I suspect not as smelly as I to sling a change of garments over my shoulder for a physical pressing of the refresh button. The levels of shame in this life have a quare range.

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