The Colour of My Faeces

I have changed the settings on every other persons PC in my office so that they don't realise that I actually have a laser printer entirely to myself. In the sadness stakes I think I might be ahead. I am impressed that you named this thread exactly as mississippi requested.

office sounds nauseate me. office sounds are the pits of hell. when i bought a new fridge/freezer one of my demands was that it doesn't buzz. i hate my printer. i hate my washer and dryer - that's why they're in the shed. There's nothing more mind-teasing than the incomprehensible eagerly avowed - Dennet

Meremortal, You have won the official 'I am sad-stakes' sponsored by ABC and voted for by a hoard of trolls. The prize of a secret email informing your colleges of your deed is flying through the emails as I write…

It's funny you should mention turds because I've not a good one for a long time but this morning I dropped a blinder. One that soaks your butt cheeks when it plops into the bowl. sweet as a nut! As my dad used to say. :) There's nothing more mind-teasing than the incomprehensible eagerly avowed - Dennet

With regard to the link with your other thread Peps, shouldn't this thread be entitled The Colour Of My Flaeces?

I am receiving dirty looks from my colleagues as I type this I'm beginning to think that the email has arrived detailing my sad printer exploits. It could be that or the fact that I'm quite blatantly doing nothing except writing on these forums - I don't even have the decency to minimise my screen..Oh and today mine was perfectly formed like one of those playdough moulding machines and a deep mahogony colour caused by the ale of yesterday.

Apparently the healthiest faeces, according to Chinese medicine, should be 'the size and shape of a small banana' and light brown in colour, with a firm, but not hard, texture. I myself am blessed with healthy bowels, and pride myself on my regularity. It matters, this stuff, when you get older. My gran's late second husband became obsessed with his movements as he got older and more addled. Ate prunes, took laxatives, etc., but as he ate next to nothing by that time (apart from the aforementioned items), there was little result. Unfortunately, he didn't make this connection, and began attempting to get something out with his fingers, instead. If I *ever* get to that phase, I will beg someone to shoot me. I'm sure I'll have many volunteers if I simply log in to this forum...:-) Ah, me. I have filing to do.

It is Daniel C Dennet, Mr. Peps. ;) There's nothing more mind-teasing than the incomprehensible eagerly avowed - Dennet

http://www.freewebs.com/michaeljamestreacy/index.htm In a world full of ins, outs, ups, downs and sideways swipes... my missus came upon an afternoon whereby she had occasion to revert to the auld-fashioned housewife she once aspired to be... and declared she would make a Shepherd's Pie. Oh joy! I lurve Shepherd's Pie. Cain't beat a rare auld, sloppy repast. Any road up... as events transpired... she stumbled within the timeframe and didn't allow enough time to fully cook the carrots. When the meal came to be served... they were still a bit on the 'hard' side. Such is life! Nay problem... I ate the bloomin' lot and declared myself fully sated and satisfied. Next morning... when natured had taken its full cycle... I passed faeces of every hue from tan to nut brown... with the remnants of partially-digested lumps of not-fully-cooked carrot, evident within the residue of yesterday's consumption. It didn't kill me! ...and the rap, raps on.

So, we have a great dane. He's a good dog, but he is getting old and if you know about danes, you'll know that as their time comes near, they start having health problems. We're asleep one night (well most nights actually) and the dog having eaten "people food" thanks to Ma, is having a serious bowel reaction. He tries to wake us but he isn't that smart and has really waited too long and doesn't realize that getting the attention of two sleeping humans isn't as simple as defending the back yard against phantom rodents and stray mountain lions. GF flips the bedside lamp on. Dog becomes anxious, trotting around the room and squirting liquid brown matter around on the carpet. The smell is waking me. He's still trying to hold it but is becoming more anxious, so in an attempt to do something, he leaps up on the bed (it's a short-cut he thinks) where I'm still laying in a state of hypnogogic bliss as GF tiptoes through scattered goo spots towards the door to get him out. I open my eyes, he is standing above me (this is a really big dog) I rub my eyes against the sudden brightness of the light and observe the ass of a great dane less than 2 feet from my face...he is hopping..."god, this dog is big" I'm thinking as I realize that I'm smelling liquid dog shit waifting through the bedroom and staring at a dancing dogs' ass above my face. I grab the pillow and place it to my face an instant before the next salvo of water-poo is launched. I'm grazed by liquid poop shrapnel, but have managed to avoid a direct hit. The pillow is done though. The dog spots the open door, leaps from the bed, leaving a sputtering trail of shit behind him. Feeling safe, I slowly turn the covers back and step out of bed.... Directly into a big spot of fresh liquid dog shit. There's a moral to this story, but I haven't figured it out yet. In the meantime, I've vowed to keep my head above the dogs' ass. Visit me http://www.radiodenver.org/

Talking of animals/poo stories: a headmistress friend of my mother-in-law's was trekking in the Andes not so long ago, and up a hill, when she suffered from sudden outdoor diarrhoea. She was still sitting there with her bottom exposed when a huge yak came up behind her (she just stayed still, terrified) and licked her poo off her bum. This, along with the unfathomable stench of my fridge (yes I have cleaned it, but some invisible being appears to have died in there), is making me feel nauseous. (We could start a 'colour of my vomit' thread..)

PS. I too hate office sounds and so avoid offices. I try to find work that has no office attached. I used to be driven mad in an open plan press office job by the alternate laughing and shouting that my double-barrelled boss insisted on sharing with us. Every time I heard his "HA HA HA HA HA HA" - always caused by a phonecall - I fantasised about his impending death. It wasn't a very healthy relationship.