For Sale: Foffa Single Speed Custom-built bicycle

A lass who used to live in the same house as me. She had a really fit sister, totally out of my league, but we got on well so she invited me to stay with her at her parents house in Oxford one weekend.

I went down there, met the parents, got on really well with everyone.

I was on my best behaviour as they were pretty posh, and I really wanted to bang this lass. I knew I couldn't fuck up.

That evening, before dinner, I realised I need a shit. I made my excuses, went upstairs, got sat down, let it go.

It was fine. Textbook.

But when I started wiping it wouldn't come clean. Every wipe had a stripe.
I was using a lot of bog roll so I had to give it a quick flush. I didn't want to block their bog.
Strike one.
Still my arse wouldn't clean, so reluctantly I had a bit of a probe.

I felt something weird sticking out of my arse.

Stomach churns, blood drains from my face. 'Fuck', I thought. 'I'm shitting out a tapeworm.'
With shaky hands I fashioned a 'glove' from bog roll, gripped this thing sticking out of my arse, and pulled.
It was horrible. I could feel it sliding out from deep inside me, right up in my colon somewhere. I let out a loud moan of horror.
I pulled and pulled, feeling this huge slithering thing slipping out of my spasming anus, until eventually it came out with a slap against the porcelain of the bog.
Reluctantly, I took a look.
I looked again.
It was the longest piece of undigested onion I've ever seen. It must have been ten inches long.
How the fuck did that get there? I didn't know they grew onions that big! And how the fuck did I eat it without choking to death?
Anyway, I shoved it down the bog. Gave it another flush.
Strike two.
The onion wouldn't go away. It just kind of swam around the bowl, looking like a massive piece of undigested onion, a sight that would create wonder and revulsion in anyone who cast eyes on it.
I flushed again.
Strike three.
Still the fucking onion wouldn't go away. I lobbed bog roll on it in the hope the ballast would make it go away, flushed again.
Strike four.
Onion boy still swished around in the bowl.
I couldn't flush again. There was no bin in the room. I had to get rid of it.
I reached into the toilet and fished out the revolting length of onion with my bare hands, gagging all the time, lifted the cistern lid and slung the fucker in.
Then I washed my hands like someone with OCD.
Then I had to face my hosts after spending twenty minutes in the toilet while moaning and repeatedly flushing, with a grey, sweating face.
They were very polite about it but I knew I'd blown it.
Dinner was casserole with lots of onions.
I didn't eat a fucking thing.