The international language of poo

I love poo stories. You know you've reached a special place when you can talk to a friend about shit.

My first story is one I trawl out, just as a sort of taster, because it involves animals not humans. Have you ever heard that labradors will eat anything - well mine was no exception. During a walk in the school playground he gobbled up a discarded sandwich some thoughtful childlet had left behind - glad wrap (clingfilm) and all. Assuming that it would pass eventually, the dog underwent some scrutiny during the following days, which was when we noticed a funny 'fluttering' sound when the dog was breathing (imagine sticking a bit of paper to a fan and turning it on and off repeatedly). It genuinely took at least 4 weeks to finally inhale/swallow the damn thing (far be it for my cheap old man to take him to the vet). Eventually the clingfilm reappeared - however most of it was still in one piece. Imagine a dog running around the garden with a long pooey bit of plastic flapping out of it's arse - now imagine my mum chasing him around the garden, wearing her marigolds and waving a pair of tongs!!!

Story two will be much briefer, staring with just one word: Turkey. Took a month to recover from the most explosive runs of my life, which is nothing special, except I did sit (for some time) in wonderment at the rediscovery of Nappy Wipes at 27.