For Sale: Foffa Single Speed Custom-built bicycle

Right, enough FOFFA hilarity. Time to get a bit more professional (that is, tell a work related vomit and shit story).

I used to have to go inside a sewage pumping station in North London to do repairs. Everyone and I mean everyone that worked there got sick. There are dozens of suitable stories for this thread relating this place.

One morning after working there the day before my tummy was bubbling a bit. It was building up pressure. I found part of a packet of pink pepto bismol tablets in the cupboard, and hoping they might provide some relief, chewed my way through them.

No good, the pressure was building dangerously. I had to rush to the toilet where I released a never ending, vile smelling stream of liquid shit. Ah the relief.

The resulting calm was short lived, the pressure quickly built up to even higher levels. I had to step up and venture out to the chemist to get Imodium. The only problem was that I didn't have enough change. I would have to go to the cash point next to the chemist.

Being pro-active (and not knowing if I would be alive to do it later) I had taken the dog with me. Well, the queue at the cash point was long. I waited, I waited, we inched forward, my cheeks were clenched tight, the pressure was building, building.

It dawned on me. There was absolutely no way that I would get to the front of that queue to draw money out, let alone into the chemist for the Imodium as well. I desperately needed to be sick. Mustering up the last of my dignity, I marched smartly across the road to a low wall surrounding some flats.

What happened next is permanently scarred onto my mind. I leaned over the wall and threw up a bright pink stream of vomit and shat myself all at the same time.

What a mess.

^^^ Where are the levers / shifting bits and pieces?

Could someone tell me ASAP as i'm thinking of buying one.

You simply hold the ends of the cables in your teeth and move your head around to shift

^^Excellent!

What a mess.

Indeed.

jimkiwignfiy that was brilliant.
I was expecting an elaborate description of the fouling but what you did was better.

9/10, for top marks you need the dog to start eating some of your jettisoned liquids.

It's not much of a poo story, but after a lazy diet of predominantly carbs with bugger all fruit / veg in the last few days, culminating in a pizza that was about 2' long last night, I seem to have developed rabbit poos.

They are unsatisfying

I am delighted to inform you that you are describing type 1 stool.

I'm really happy that this is still going

+1

I am delighted to inform you that you are describing type 1 stool.

You just made me piss my pants!!!

Type 7 gives me bad memories. A stomach bug a few years ago lead to such a raw behind even wiping with cold wet toilet paper was agony. And that went on for 2 days...

Brrrrrr.........

I said it before and I'll say it again.

Norovirus.

AKA the "winter vomiting bug". My son took it, puked once and wiped out 5 adults. Well done son, there's hope for you yet.

On my recent trip to America I ate some fried pickles which resulted in a type 7 poo, it was not pleasant. Looking back i don't know what i was thinking...stupid idea.

I also wish to pre warn anyone before they go to Chipoltle. It is great tasting food, but some where between eating it and passing it, it turns into some sort of liquid lava. It lasted 24 hours before everything was back in order.

Fortunately both were without incident. Boring i know, but i thought someone may want to know before consuming such foods.

There was a kid called Pauly in the year above me at school who was thicker than treacle. He could hardly spell his own name. He hung around on the fringes of a fairly cool set, but none of the gold rubbed of on him. Pauly was 90% chimp.

Anyway, no lasses would go out with Pauly. They knew what an utter donkey he was, a ham handed fuckwit of the highest order. Physically he resembled Norman Wisdom - short, gimpy and incredibly clumsy.

Then we got some French exchange students come to school.
Somewhere in the dim recesses of Pauly's mind he realised that they didn't know him, they did not yet know what a fucking clown he was. One of these French lasses looked like Vanessa Paradise, she totally outshone any of the lasses at our school by a country mile. She was gorgeous.

Pauly shuffled up to her, asked her out.

She said oui.

No-one could believe it. He was necking with her here, holding hands with her there, with an expression on his face like a council tenant lottery winner.
Every lad was jealous. We didn't even try to hide it. We were sick to our stomachs to think of that gibbon mauling her golden skin with his grubby paws.

One day we all got on the school bus to go home. Pauly didn't get on. He was walking the French girl to her bus stop, further up the road.
Our bus crept out of the gate, into the slow moving school run traffic. From the top deck we could see Paul with his French girl, one hand holding her bag, the other cupping her arse.
Angry mutterings throughout the bus.
Pauly was grinning at us behind her back like a PG Tips chimp, waggling his eyebrows and darting his tongue in a classic 'licking her out' action.
The bus got angrier.
Then someone said, "Look at the size of that dog shit!"
It was massive, a big ginger curly wurly of crap, a good kilo of stinking turds, steaming on the pavement.
We knew who put it there.
God, that's who. This was surely justice. Only God's dog could crimp off a monster like that.
Pauly kept pulling faces, not watching his step. It was like watching a slow motion car crash. You could hear everyone muttering, "go on, a few more steps, pleeeease don't notice..."
Pauly didn't notice.
He stood squarely into that huge shit. His slip-on shoe went deep into it, right up to his socks.
The bus exploded into huge cheer, like our team had scored in the 90th minute. Pauly's foot slid along the pavement like was wearing a dirty rollerskate, and then he fell into the turd. He thrashed on the ground, trying to get to his feet and save his dignity, not yet aware of why he'd fallen. Shit smeared all over his trousers, onto his blazer, onto his hands. Pauly was rolling in shit.
The bus was pissing itself laughing, driving slowly past like a carnival float of howling mockery.
French girl started screaming, obviously shocked that her boyfriend was rolling in shit like a retarded dog.Pauly realised he was totally covered in dog shit and managed to get up, standing there, mortified. As we sailed down the road the last thing we saw was Pauly's hapless expression. He knew that for something as good as the French girl to happen to him, something equally vile must also occur, otherwise the world would implode.

And yes, the French girl dumped him.

Imagine someone actually buying this. FFS.

with fake Dura Ace wheels no less

^^ Brilliant.

I felt like I was there...

There was a kid called Pauly in the year above me at school who was thicker than treacle. He could hardly spell his own name. He hung around on the fringes of a fairly cool set, but none of the gold rubbed of on him. Pauly was 90% chimp.

Anyway, no lasses would go out with Pauly. They knew what an utter donkey he was, a ham handed fuckwit of the highest order. Physically he resembled Norman Wisdom - short, gimpy and incredibly clumsy.

Then we got some French exchange students come to school.
Somewhere in the dim recesses of Pauly's mind he realised that they didn't know him, they did not yet know what a fucking clown he was. One of these French lasses looked like Vanessa Paradise, she totally outshone any of the lasses at our school by a country mile. She was gorgeous.

Pauly shuffled up to her, asked her out.

She said oui.

No-one could believe it. He was necking with her here, holding hands with her there, with an expression on his face like a council tenant lottery winner.
Every lad was jealous. We didn't even try to hide it. We were sick to our stomachs to think of that gibbon mauling her golden skin with his grubby paws.

One day we all got on the school bus to go home. Pauly didn't get on. He was walking the French girl to her bus stop, further up the road.
Our bus crept out of the gate, into the slow moving school run traffic. From the top deck we could see Paul with his French girl, one hand holding her bag, the other cupping her arse.
Angry mutterings throughout the bus.
Pauly was grinning at us behind her back like a PG Tips chimp, waggling his eyebrows and darting his tongue in a classic 'licking her out' action.
The bus got angrier.
Then someone said, "Look at the size of that dog shit!"
It was massive, a big ginger curly wurly of crap, a good kilo of stinking turds, steaming on the pavement.
We knew who put it there.
God, that's who. This was surely justice. Only God's dog could crimp ** of ** a monster like that.
Pauly kept pulling faces, not watching his step. It was like watching a slow motion car crash. You could hear everyone muttering, "go on, a few more steps, pleeeease don't notice..."
Pauly didn't notice.
He stood squarely into that huge shit. His slip-on shoe went deep into it, right up to his socks.
The bus exploded into huge cheer, like our team had scored in the 90th minute. Pauly's foot slid along the pavement like was wearing a dirty rollerskate, and then he fell into the turd. He thrashed on the ground, trying to get to his feet and save his dignity, not yet aware of why he'd fallen. Shit smeared all over his trousers, onto his blazer, onto his hands. Pauly was rolling in shit.
The bus was pissing itself laughing, driving slowly past like a carnival float of howling mockery.
French girl started screaming, obviously shocked that her boyfriend was rolling in shit like a retarded dog.Pauly realised he was totally covered in dog shit and managed to get up, standing there, mortified. As we sailed down the road the last thing we saw was Pauly's hapless expression. He knew that for something as good as the French girl to happen to him, something equally vile must also occur, otherwise the world would implode.

And yes, the French girl dumped him.

Off?

That's what you took from that story CB? A typo?

I have been on holiday in Dorset, camping.
Every morning I walked about 2 miles down to a little bay with the dogs for a swim. We had been that way a few times and I didn't think I needed dog leads. My dogs are really well behaved.
On one morning as I was heading back from the beach I noticed a cyclist coming towards on quite a narrow part of the track. I got the dogs to wait to one side as the rider approached, to let her pass.
I noticed her bike had a belt drive, and a Rohloff hub. I made some comment and she stopped, she had bought the bike only a few days previously. It was a titanium mixte frame, with some really exquisite details. We chatted for a bit and I told her the track towards the beach had been affected by a landslip, and she would have to carry her bike over that bit, so she decided to turn round and we headed back along the path.
As she went right and I went left I noticed that my dogs were missing. I called and two of them came bounding out of the undergrowth, and one, Milly had a long blade of grass in her mouth. I knew right away she had found something disgusting, and had been eating it. I then realised that the old dog, Barney was nowhere to be seen. He is totally deaf and no amount of shouting would bring him back. There was nothing for it but to go and look for him.
I made the other dogs sit where they were while I started searching the undergrowth in my shorts, getting stung all the while by nettles. I spotted Barney, well his tail anyway, deep in the undergrowth ahead of me, but nothing I did got his attention. He was busily doing something head down in the nettles. I chucked sticks at him, yelled myself hoarse but he never flinched. I used a bit of a branch to beat down the nettles to try and get close to him, and then the smell hit me.
Then I noticed a large white heap in the nettles between me and Barney. It was the wool of a sheep that had died, and it had all fallen off the corpse. Barney was a bit further on head down in the entrails of an animal that had been dead for weeks. There were maggots in huge piles exposed by his pawing at the remains, and his face was black with slime. The smell was completely overpowering.
Then he noticed me, and came gleefully bounding over.
I recoiled in horror and tried to step back as quickly as I could, getting badly stung in the process as I ran backwards up the slope through the nettles. He was almost on me when I made the path and could try and outrun him. He is quite elderly and it wasn't too difficult but the excitement aroused the other dogs.
When the saw me running they chased after me, and are way quicker than me. It was then that I realised they were all covered, their faces, their paws were all dripping with this black stinking ooze like some canine Zombie pack.
They were on me leaping up, german shepherd biting at my arms, with her teeth green with the rotting remains of long dead sheep, the other leaping up at me pawing me and leaving great oozing smears down my shirt and shorts.
The dogs were now out of control, the combination of my horror and their fetid breakfast got them into a state of some excitement. I could hardly control them, and as we got to the campsite they raced off ahead, I daren't shout out, it was early, most campers were still asleep, and what could I shout out anyway?
We arrived back at the tent just as my partner was waking, and the dogs raced under the tent flap. The campsite resounded with screams of horror as the smell hit home in the close windless atmosphere of a small tent on a hot summer's morning.

xd

Amazing ^^ No smell is worse than rotting sheep.

Rotting sheep and dogbreath combined?

You should have vommed. If you'd vommed the story would be complete.

I did my first sportive in ages on Sat and have had several days of mustard-gas farts and Type Six's for my fucking troubles. Plus I got a wasp sting about 2 inches east of my bobby dangler. This cycling malarky is perilous I tell you.

For type 6 and/or 7 you may want to consider a shit transplant.