Friday, 12 December 2008

Hey! Is Having The Shits Much Fun?

Having the shits isn't much fun. It's basically the most horrible form of gambling I've ever encountered. Being more than six feet away from the toilet is a risky step and answering the door is a mugs game; it could be someone who has something important to say about petitions to keep the local swimming pool open but you'll only have to interrupt them to rush off for a spot of bowel releasing and a relaxing bit of screaming for mercy. That's what happened to me anyway. But I did learn something about the kind of people who want signatures, they will gladly wait while you shit and shout. That's good to know. The other thing about having the shits is the mystery. It puts you right off your food (as I'm sure reading about it has too) and yet shit still pours out in great volume. Plus it has none of the advantages of AIDS or cancer, if you have them you'll get sympathy and, if you're really ill, a trip somewhere nice. If you have the shits people look at you like you've just told them you've downloaded lots of yummy kiddy porn while licking your lips and rubbing your belly. Having the shits is not something I planned or wanted and I think I deserve the same amount of respect that Freddie Mercury gets. Instead people treat me like a common Jade Goody.

Still, I'm getting better. I haven't pooed in ages, thanks for asking. And I feel like I've had at least some sympathy because yesterday I walked out of one of my many Loo Adventures and saw Jerk puking. I like to think of it as sympathy puke, anyway. God, this blog has everything. Shit, dog vomit, Jade Goody. It's like reading OK! Magazine, which is also something you only do when you're ill.

Tonight I'm off to Manchester. It's a two and a half hour train journey so that will be the real test. If anyone would care to guess what station I'll get to before shitting my pants then the person who guesses correctly will win a prize. But you won't like it. This also might be my very last ever gig because one of the Doug Stanhope of the Stanhope fans who wrote to me in September threatened to kick my head in next time I'm in Manchester. Not much of a threat. I always assume I'm going to get my head kicked in, even when I'm asleep. Just to let him know, I'll be in Opus which is quite a big nightclub. Even though it's a Christmas show it should be pretty good, I like the gig. There's never any Stag Nights in mainly due to the huge amount of Hen Nights. Hmmmm...head kicked in or a room full of Hen Nights? It's a toughie.

1 comment:

gunnerboy said...

Best squitting story I ever heard was from a friend who had seen a small Tibetan child squirting frothy diarroheah from its arse in the street in Lhasa whilst his dog stood behind him licking mouthfuls of it up like its was drinking water from a tap. Good god.

Also reminds me of a bloke I used to work for who would flounce off to the bog with the phrase "I'm off for a crappacino" whenever afflicted in the shit pipe.

Sorry, both those anecdotes were a bit unecessary, so I'll delete them......oh no I won't.....oh yes you will .....etc until panto season ends