The Most Embarrassing Moment of Your Life

[overseasTOON]

Read it from start to finish and man did we talk alot about s***.

[biggeordiedave]

Just read the last few pages

This forum used to be fun!

It's still fun

[biggeordiedave]

Read it from start to finish and man did we talk alot about s***.

I think the shitposting started at about page 8 or 9 and then we talked about nothing else but shitting from thereon.

[skalpel]

You don't know any of us - get telling.

I hope not...

A couple of weeks ago, my flatmate's boyfriend and his mates came up and we went on a night out, where I was bought drinks for the entire night. After drinking an obscene amount we went through the park to get home and I went to bed. After a few hours of sleep I woke up to see s*** all over my bedsheets (and, worryingly, on my pillowcase). Obviously it didn't take me long to realise I'd shat myself. Not just a little poo though, a full on s*** must have occurred to explain the amount of faeces on my bed. There was also s*** all down my leg, and a fair amount on my hands and feet for some reason.

After doing my drunken best to clean myself in the shower, I was left with the conundrum of what to do with the bedsheets. Still being smashed, I decided to just scrunch them up and half-toss them out of my window. The next day when I woke up, my flatmate asked me if she could get her bathrobe back, which she'd left in my room the other night. I quickly ran into my room to see if it had escaped the carnage. It hadn't. There was three shitty marks on it. I did my best to clean and spray them without her realising, but even after a good clean she noticed. She looked at them, and then me. Just as I was about to 'fess up, she asked whether I'd been sick on it. Relieved, I said yes. She seemed disgusted but not too disgusted. When I'd gone to the bathroom to clean it, I'd noticed a s*** stain on the toilet as well; I cleaned it up, hoping I'd got there before anybody had noticed; I later found I was too late on that one though. I was late for the match by this point so I ran out the door thinking I'd sort the shitty sheets out when I got back... completely forgetting that I was going home for the weekend straight after the football.

Saturday night went fine. No-one rang. No-one texted. No-one knew. I'd done a good job protecting the s*** from the outside world, I thought. Then on the Sunday I got a text. Then another. Then 2 more. Then a phone call. All asking me to explain the shitty sheets hanging from my window. Apparently the sheets eventually fell out of my window and fell halfway into the person-below-me's room. After I read this I felt I owed them an explanation. I answered the phone call and, cos I'm an idiot who hadn't thought of an excuse, I admitted to shitting myself. Just as I put the phone down. I thought of a cover up; to say it was dog s*** from my shoes after going through the park and going to bed with my shoes on. I was unsure of how much of the s*** was on show though, which made this a risky call - if it was all on show, they'd know I was lying, as no dog could s*** that much. Still, I went for it - I rang them up and said I was joking and told them the 'truth'. They were more believing of that story than the true one (which I think speaks highly of how well regarded I am; people think I'm not a pantshitter).

After I got back, I scouted the communal areas I'd been that night, to see if there was any evidence. Unfortunately there was s*** in the sink; luckily I think it may have passed for sick. There was also s*** on the shower curtain, but it wasn't too noticeable. I moved on to my room. There was no smell. However, there was s*** on the window. There was s*** on the walls. There was s*** on my towels. There was s*** on my clothes. On my posters. On my laundry bag. There was even s*** on my computer (yes, the one I'm using to write this).

Once the girl with the bathrobe heard the story she went a bit cold on me. I think she knows.

I managed to clean it all up though and my room looks fairly normal. But even now, I still find the occasional memento.

Jesus Christ.

[skalpel]

f***ing hell Skalps. For as long as I know you on this forum, you will never, ever live that down .

Also . The eight year commitment to this pledge is beautiful.

[biggeordiedave]

f***ing hell Skalps. For as long as I know you on this forum, you will never, ever live that down .

Also . The eight year commitment to this pledge is beautiful.

[PTAO?]

f***ing hell Skalps. For as long as I know you on this forum, you will never, ever live that down .

Also . The eight year commitment to this pledge is beautiful.

Have a few cans of 1666 to forget about it

[biggeordiedave]

Also . The eight year commitment to this pledge is beautiful.

Have a few cans of 1666 to forget about it

We still take the piss out of my mate for that about 15 years later.

[Blue & Maroon]

f***ing grim reading this

[Don Sholeone]

I hope not...

A couple of weeks ago, my flatmate's boyfriend and his mates came up and we went on a night out, where I was bought drinks for the entire night. After drinking an obscene amount we went through the park to get home and I went to bed. After a few hours of sleep I woke up to see s*** all over my bedsheets (and, worryingly, on my pillowcase). Obviously it didn't take me long to realise I'd shat myself. Not just a little poo though, a full on s*** must have occurred to explain the amount of faeces on my bed. There was also s*** all down my leg, and a fair amount on my hands and feet for some reason.

After doing my drunken best to clean myself in the shower, I was left with the conundrum of what to do with the bedsheets. Still being smashed, I decided to just scrunch them up and half-toss them out of my window. The next day when I woke up, my flatmate asked me if she could get her bathrobe back, which she'd left in my room the other night. I quickly ran into my room to see if it had escaped the carnage. It hadn't. There was three shitty marks on it. I did my best to clean and spray them without her realising, but even after a good clean she noticed. She looked at them, and then me. Just as I was about to 'fess up, she asked whether I'd been sick on it. Relieved, I said yes. She seemed disgusted but not too disgusted. When I'd gone to the bathroom to clean it, I'd noticed a s*** stain on the toilet as well; I cleaned it up, hoping I'd got there before anybody had noticed; I later found I was too late on that one though. I was late for the match by this point so I ran out the door thinking I'd sort the shitty sheets out when I got back... completely forgetting that I was going home for the weekend straight after the football.

Saturday night went fine. No-one rang. No-one texted. No-one knew. I'd done a good job protecting the s*** from the outside world, I thought. Then on the Sunday I got a text. Then another. Then 2 more. Then a phone call. All asking me to explain the shitty sheets hanging from my window. Apparently the sheets eventually fell out of my window and fell halfway into the person-below-me's room. After I read this I felt I owed them an explanation. I answered the phone call and, cos I'm an idiot who hadn't thought of an excuse, I admitted to shitting myself. Just as I put the phone down. I thought of a cover up; to say it was dog s*** from my shoes after going through the park and going to bed with my shoes on. I was unsure of how much of the s*** was on show though, which made this a risky call - if it was all on show, they'd know I was lying, as no dog could s*** that much. Still, I went for it - I rang them up and said I was joking and told them the 'truth'. They were more believing of that story than the true one (which I think speaks highly of how well regarded I am; people think I'm not a pantshitter).

After I got back, I scouted the communal areas I'd been that night, to see if there was any evidence. Unfortunately there was s*** in the sink; luckily I think it may have passed for sick. There was also s*** on the shower curtain, but it wasn't too noticeable. I moved on to my room. There was no smell. However, there was s*** on the window. There was s*** on the walls. There was s*** on my towels. There was s*** on my clothes. On my posters. On my laundry bag. There was even s*** on my computer (yes, the one I'm using to write this).

Once the girl with the bathrobe heard the story she went a bit cold on me. I think she knows.

I managed to clean it all up though and my room looks fairly normal. But even now, I still find the occasional memento.

Jesus Christ.

Yet 3 years later!

The f***ing hypocrisy

Covered in her own s*** and vomit... Just wow

[Sir Bobby]

Jesus Christ.

Yet 3 years later!

The f***ing hypocrisy

Covered in her own s*** and vomit... Just wow

Vomit is a step too far!

About a year ago I woke up from a night out shitting in the bin in my room so not much has changed on my end.

[Micky Quim]

Other than a rare wet fart my ass seems to behave itself these days

[bodacious benny]

Other than a rare wet fart my ass seems to behave itself these days

Funny you should say that, I had what I thought was a wet fart when I got back from my run the other day, when I got changed I saw it was a little more than a wet fart

Guess that makes me a fully inducted runner now

They say you're not a true horse rider until you've fallen off, maybe you're not a true runner until you've s*** yourself a little bit.

[DDuc]

It all happened in year 10 of school. I was in a French lesson at the time and with the lesson just about to start I felt the urge to poo. Thinking to myself, I only had 1 hour to sit through I figured I could keep it in. About 20 minutes pass and my stomach is starting to hurt as I struggle to keep said poo in. I decide the best course of action it to curl up on my chair in a bid to keep it in. We approach the end of the lesson, I sneeze and hey presto I s*** myself. Ordinarily I would have managed to hide it. Sadly for me though, this was not a solid stool. I felt a warm brown liquid shoot out my arse and leave a mucky puddle as it seeped through my trousers. To make matters worse, I pissed myself too! I never poo without weeing at the same time . Admittedly, had I not shouted "f***" at the top of my voice I may not have attracted as much attention (nor a detention)

The whole class just stared at me as I sat there sopping wet covered in piss and s***. My poor teacher had no idea what to say or do. I just wished the floor had opened up and eaten me up.

Personal favourite of mine

[Sir Bobby]

Any professional will tell you that curling up simply encourages the poo to come out. Squatting is the best pooing position and curling up is basically squatting on a chair. Sorry to say he had it coming with moves like that.

[PTAO?]

Any professional will tell you that curling up simply encourages the poo to come out. Squatting is the best pooing position and curling up is basically squatting on a chair. Sorry to say he had it coming with moves like that.

A professional what? Shutter?

[Sir Bobby]

Any professional will tell you that curling up simply encourages the poo to come out. Squatting is the best pooing position and curling up is basically squatting on a chair. Sorry to say he had it coming with moves like that.

A professional what? Shutter?

Correct

[PTAO?]

A professional what? Shutter?

Correct

Gotta love technology.

[biggeordiedave]

I hope I have unlocked a lot of repressed memories

Except for skalps. I know that dance routine is the first thing he thinks about in the morning and the last thing he thinks about at night.

[ALF]

I hope not...

A couple of weeks ago, my flatmate's boyfriend and his mates came up and we went on a night out, where I was bought drinks for the entire night. After drinking an obscene amount we went through the park to get home and I went to bed. After a few hours of sleep I woke up to see s*** all over my bedsheets (and, worryingly, on my pillowcase). Obviously it didn't take me long to realise I'd shat myself. Not just a little poo though, a full on s*** must have occurred to explain the amount of faeces on my bed. There was also s*** all down my leg, and a fair amount on my hands and feet for some reason.

After doing my drunken best to clean myself in the shower, I was left with the conundrum of what to do with the bedsheets. Still being smashed, I decided to just scrunch them up and half-toss them out of my window. The next day when I woke up, my flatmate asked me if she could get her bathrobe back, which she'd left in my room the other night. I quickly ran into my room to see if it had escaped the carnage. It hadn't. There was three shitty marks on it. I did my best to clean and spray them without her realising, but even after a good clean she noticed. She looked at them, and then me. Just as I was about to 'fess up, she asked whether I'd been sick on it. Relieved, I said yes. She seemed disgusted but not too disgusted. When I'd gone to the bathroom to clean it, I'd noticed a s*** stain on the toilet as well; I cleaned it up, hoping I'd got there before anybody had noticed; I later found I was too late on that one though. I was late for the match by this point so I ran out the door thinking I'd sort the shitty sheets out when I got back... completely forgetting that I was going home for the weekend straight after the football.

Saturday night went fine. No-one rang. No-one texted. No-one knew. I'd done a good job protecting the s*** from the outside world, I thought. Then on the Sunday I got a text. Then another. Then 2 more. Then a phone call. All asking me to explain the shitty sheets hanging from my window. Apparently the sheets eventually fell out of my window and fell halfway into the person-below-me's room. After I read this I felt I owed them an explanation. I answered the phone call and, cos I'm an idiot who hadn't thought of an excuse, I admitted to shitting myself. Just as I put the phone down. I thought of a cover up; to say it was dog s*** from my shoes after going through the park and going to bed with my shoes on. I was unsure of how much of the s*** was on show though, which made this a risky call - if it was all on show, they'd know I was lying, as no dog could s*** that much. Still, I went for it - I rang them up and said I was joking and told them the 'truth'. They were more believing of that story than the true one (which I think speaks highly of how well regarded I am; people think I'm not a pantshitter).

After I got back, I scouted the communal areas I'd been that night, to see if there was any evidence. Unfortunately there was s*** in the sink; luckily I think it may have passed for sick. There was also s*** on the shower curtain, but it wasn't too noticeable. I moved on to my room. There was no smell. However, there was s*** on the window. There was s*** on the walls. There was s*** on my towels. There was s*** on my clothes. On my posters. On my laundry bag. There was even s*** on my computer (yes, the one I'm using to write this).

Once the girl with the bathrobe heard the story she went a bit cold on me. I think she knows.

I managed to clean it all up though and my room looks fairly normal. But even now, I still find the occasional memento.

Jesus Christ.

f***ing hell.