Imagine that you are in a really manky nightclub (What used to be Sugar in Leamington Spa) and get the squits. You run to the literally piss flooded toilets and let your intestinal floodgates open. You then notice that there is no toilet paper in the dispenser. Let me reiterate the fact that the male toilets in Sugar were always flooded with piss due to blocked urinals.
Do you
a) Not wipe at all
b) Pick up a clump of urine soaked used paper off the floor and use that
c) Remove a sock and use that
My friend went with option b and to this day insists that it is the only way to go.
Surely c is the only practical option?
Years back I tolerated an evening in Derby's Pink Coconut 'club' by getting muntered on Stella, because I'm flash like that. Feeling a little unsteady I shed some weight by puking a frothy mass that held its form on the bar until it was a pile many inches high, rather than loose slop running freely - it had the consistency of putrid sorbet. Fascinated with its appearance and how much better I felt I began drinking again, until the return of feeling viscous.
Clueless as to where the toilets were I began stumbling around while repressing the feeling of imminent eruption, until I began to spew as I walked. Not wanting it all over my C&A outfit I cupped my hands to hold it as best I could, until I found a bouncer to ask directions of. I didn't need to open my mouth when he saw me - a pile of puke in hand is an obvious request in Derby for the nearest bog. He just pointed lazily, as if I was far from the last punter to ask with desperate eyes what was all too obvious to him. The sight of a shitty club's toilet in an even shittier town is beyond description, so I just went to sleep in a cubicle until kicking out time. I enjoyed myself immensely in there, soothed by the sound of retching the length of the cubicles.
Years back I tolerated an evening in Derby's Pink Coconut 'club' by getting muntered on Stella, because I'm flash like that. Feeling a little unsteady I shed some weight by puking a frothy mass that held its form on the bar until it was a pile many inches high, rather than loose slop running freely - it had the consistency of putrid sorbet. Fascinated with its appearance and how much better I felt I began drinking again, until the return of feeling viscous.
Clueless as to where the toilets were I began stumbling around while repressing the feeling of imminent eruption, until I began to spew as I walked. Not wanting it all over my C&A outfit I cupped my hands to hold it as best I could, until I found a bouncer to ask directions of. I didn't need to open my mouth when he saw me - a pile of puke in hand is an obvious request in Derby for the nearest bog. He just pointed lazily, as if I was far from the last punter to ask with desperate eyes what was all too obvious to him. The sight of a shitty club's toilet in an even shittier town is beyond description, so I just went to sleep in a cubicle until kicking out time. I enjoyed myself immensely in there, soothed by the sound of retching the length of the cubicles.
Anyway, option C for me - or I'd just stay in.