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How Common Are You? Social Faux Pas 
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Post How Common Are You? Social Faux Pas
Re: How common are you? Social fas paux

Post Posted: Mon Apr 13, 2009 4:46 am

This post was first posted on ARRSE in the NAAFI Bar by poster Ancient Mariner, it had me in tears of laughter so I thought I'd copy it here so more could enjoy!

Ancient Mariner wasn't always the crusty, impotent, wrinkly old curmudgeon that you've all grown to know and love.

There was a time, many, many years ago when I cut quite a dash and could still 'trap' gorgeous women.

One such woman was a stunning, blonde, 18 year old model with the most intense fetish for men in uniform that I've ever encountered. Just explaining the difference between No 5s and No 8s to this girl reduced her to an uncontrolled, quivering mass of raw sexuality ready to do my bedroom bidding in exchange for a glimpse of my drill boots.

I promptly arranged a dinner date with this living embodiment of Venus. I got all my kit dry cleaned and pressed, bulled my boots, Brassoed my buttons and bought a jumbo pack of Durex in gleeful anticipation of sexual Nirvana.

By the night of the date, all was ready ......

..... nothing could foil my plan to get her into bed ....

..... not even the start of the symptomatic phase of the amoebic dysentery with which I was afflicted at the time.

I arrived early at the restaurant and, in order to mitigate any risks caused by my already gurgling guts, I selected a table for two near the gents. Satisfied with my meticulous preparation, and in a bizarre precursor to the Dr Pepper ads, I thought 'What's the worst that could happen?'

I was about to find out.

The meal started well. We made sophisticated small talk. I pandered to her 'Officer and a Gentleman' fantasies between frequent, and occasionally rapid, departures to the gents. She was obviously a bit concerned but said nothing.

At the end of lager, poppadoms, sag aloo, vindaloo, more lager, ice cream and coffee, we departed the restaurant to head back to my condom laden babe lair. On our journey, we were accompanied by millions and millions of entamoeba histolytica amoebas that were hitching a ride inside my large intestine. Funnily enough, not one of the little b@stards liked curry.

Within minutes of leaving the restaurant, the nightmare began. Deafeningly loud stomach rumblings penetrated through my coat. I was obviously in some distress. My date, being a nice girl, enquired if I was feeling all right.

Before I could answer, I was gripped by intestinal cramps so severe that I had to grab hold of her shoulders for support. Thinking that I was either having a heart attack or about to rape her in the street, Venus' demeanour turned instantly from concern to fear.

Seeing that she was getting genuinely frightened, I knew the game was up and I better tell her what was going on. Choking back my intestinal agony, I opened my mouth to explain. The first syllable was drowned out by a fart of a volume and duration that I never experienced before or since. My sphincter was powerless to control the escaping gasses and I simply continued to grip the former girl of my dreams and look helplessly into her eyes.

At least the escaping flatulence provided relief from the stomach cramps. Unfortunately, it also unleashed an unstoppable flow of the type of hellish, acrid diarrhoea that only comes as a side effect of intestinal disease. This was no ordinary follow through. This was a Marks & Spencer, Vesuvial eruption from my rectum. Forget sweetcorn, I'm sure I passed an After Eight mint and some still frozen ice cream from my recently consumed meal.

The newly purchased trapping pants that I was wearing provided no opportunity for containment and the former contents of my intestinal tract migrated quickly down my legs and out the bottom of my trousers. The smell was indescribable.

By this time, my date had managed to free herself from my clutches and she was staggering backwards while I fell to my knees. I can only describe the look on her face as being like that on Michael Jackson's date's face when Michael turned into a werewolf in the 'Thriller' video.

She started to beat a more hasty retreat as I began to look and sound like a dying animal while smelling like an animal that had been dead for some time, as my Old Spice had been overwhelmed long ago. As she disappeared into the darkness, I reached out towards her and plaintively cried 'Don't go. I'll show you my mess kit.', as my infected arrse exploded once more, delivering the coup de grace that finally put me on my back.

It was to no avail. I never saw Venus again.

So what do you reckon. Was it a social faux pas for me to drench everything below my waist in biohazardous waste on a first date?
"Grab yer spears lads. What can 139 of them do against 5,000 of us?"
Dabulamanzi kaMpande, Zulu Commander, Rorkes Drift, 22 January 1879

Mon Apr 13, 2009 11:29 am
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Joined: Mon Jun 23, 2008 8:25 am
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Post Re: How Common Are You? Social Faux Pas
Brill! I've p****d myself again!
But worth it!

Mon Apr 13, 2009 2:45 pm
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Joined: Wed Jun 18, 2008 10:49 pm
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Post Re: How Common Are You? Social Faux Pas
Good one sounds like Osna on a Friday night post exercise


Wed Apr 15, 2009 3:20 pm
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