He had been driving round and around for ages and still hadn’t found the place. He was already late and he was the one with the tools. Nothing could begin until he got there. And he was lost! His phone was about to die. The satnav had been talking complete bollocks so he’d turned it off. Ah – here was a local. She’d know. He rolled down the wi- BLURFFFBLBLB. Oh, no. He closed the window again and thanked the lord that the local hadn’t noticed. But fucking hell… the sheer amount of shit he’d just emitted into his corduroy bell bottoms was insane, and the stench was in proportion.
He had left a dookie behind, perhaps deliberately.
He did a backflip, but alas, he’d chosen the worst place to do so, and the thousands of yards he fell gave him time to contemplate his folly before splattering beautifully on the excrement-smeared cobblestones.
Hold on! Was that an Oscar? Had he just won an Academy Award? It couldn’t be! This was unbe- Oh, no. No, it was just a turd. Still, he had won it.
There was a dark brown stain on the back of his jodhpurs, and they all knew it was shit.
He threw himself from the roof, picking a fight with the corner of the lower building and losing immediately, his headbutt not devastating the brickwork as he had hoped but in fact breaking his own skull open, though the snapping of his neck meant that he only had a fraction of a second to contemplate it, and no consciousness left by the time he hit the floor in a contorted mess and expired with his arse above his open gob and, you know it, a turd emitting languidly from one into the other.
The follow-through filled his Y-fronts immediately and carried on going, his clown trousers soon brimming too and the pressure forcing the hot cack up through the sealed plastic sheeting into his heavy plate armour and finding its deserved release through the gaps.
The spear pierced his throat, killing him in seconds and releasing his bowel from its duties, a column of shit quietly slipping free into his brand new lavender pantaloons.
Boom! A turd exploded in mid-air, splattering the plush regency drawing room with its filth.
It was generally unproblematic to break wind in the jacuzzi, but it was much, much less acceptable to follow through, as the signs posted all over the health club had made abundantly clear, entirely in vain.