Today a young woman in Bristol has made viral international news for a first date in which she fished an unflushable turd out of a Tinder dude’s toilet, unsuccessfully lobbed it out the window, then proceeded to get stuck in said window in an extremely ill-advised rescue operation.

If your workplace or classroom or local cafe has been talking about anything else today, it’s frankly been a waste of time. This demands our collective attention.

In honour of her great dedication and sacrifice, we’re opening up the conversation. She is not alone in this mess. Everyone in the world has a disturbing story about their turds and if they say they don’t, they’re a liar. Here are a few anonymous stories (some more so than others) from around the Junkee team and their friends today. Please share your own in the comments <3

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“LADIES DON’T POO”

One and a half months into my relationship I went on a week-long camping holiday with my (very new) boyfriend. Yup, it was early, and I had a few fears going into it — not that we wouldn’t get along, but that my bowels wouldn’t cooperate. You see, I’d never had any digestive problems, but as soon as I started dating this man my body was like “LADIES DON’T POO” and suddenly I was constipation city.

I planned ahead, and brought laxatives with me, but even they were no match for my prudish intestines. For five days, NOTHING. If you’ve ever tried to hike while constipated, you’d know it’s not a fun time. On the sixth day, I finally had a ~bowel movement~. I remember sitting in a long drop toilet cubicle, eyes watering from the stench — and relief.

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Team Player

When I was in Year 12, I was playing a game of footy in front of the entire school (it was the semi-finals, so very intense). Anyway, I was really anxious, and evidently, being filled with nerves can take a serious toll on your digestive system.

We all ran on the field and got set for kick off and I started to feel a little better — adrenalin kicked in and I was good to go! The opposition kicked the ball directly in my direction. I caught it, and began to sprint as fast as I could. When I was tackled, they must have hit me right in the depths of my stomach, because I had an accident. Possibly the worst part of this whole story is that it happened literally seconds into the first half of the game.

Because it was such an important game (and I am insanely competitive) I toughed it out and continued to play while my shorts felt a little heavier than they should. I did literally nothing about it until after 40 minutes of running around, at half time.

Luckily, I used to meticulously pack my football bag and must have subconsciously planned for the occasion, because I had a spare pair of jocks. I discreetly took a shower at half-time and everyone was none the wiser. Come to think of it, this is the first time I have told this story.

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Hot Pie Lover

I used to work at BuzzFeed, so naturally one day I was asked to eat the world’s hottest pie for a video. It turns out the world’s hottest pie is very, very hot, and I felt like I was going to pass out. To ease the pain I drank a litre of milk, heaps of water and had a few beers.

Later that night my new boyfriend came over to watch movies on the couch. I was feeling ok at this point, but for some reason we decided to order Indian food. As soon as I was finished, my stomach started doing somersaults. We were watching the movie and I think I went to the bathroom five times. There was no question about what was going on in the bathroom, which opened directly onto the lounge room where we were watching the movie. I’m sure heard some truly terrible sounds.

Eventually we went to bed, where I had to lie very still, lest something explode unexpectedly. Throughout the night I was back and forth to the bathroom, emitting all sorts of sounds and smells. My very patient boyfriend didn’t say a word, and we’re still together so I guess it worked out. If anything it brought us closer together. Every relationship has to break down the poo barrier at some point, and this night was ours.

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Skidmark Kid

I live in my own one bedroom apartment in Canberra and my partner lives in Sydney. On a recent visit I went to the bathroom not long after he used it and discovered skid marks in the toilet. I dragged his ass in there and asked if he knew how to use a toilet brush. He said yes. I asked why he hadn’t. He didn’t respond. I gave him a filthy look and asked if he would leave skiddies in my parents’ toilet? He said he wouldn’t. I asked why he would then leave it at mine. I then stood over him while he scrubbed the skiddies away and flushed. I love him <3 :0

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Loch Ness Monster

When I was travelling around Europe in 2011, I stayed with my aunt just outside of London. Late one night, after everyone had gone to bed, I felt the sudden and overpowering call to the toilet. Stumbling from my room up to the bathroom on the top floor of the house, I did a enormous poo, the scale of which was hitherto unseen by my bowels and likely across Great Britain. Under the full moon, it reared up at me from the bowl, ugly and odorous, like a Loch Ness monster. For several minutes, I simply stood and levelled my gaze upon my masterpiece, a mixture of pride and trepidation stirring in my breast. What had I created?

Soon after disaster struck. Many attempts to flush the defiled package were foiled by a feeble and ill-engineered mechanism on my aunt’s ageing porcelain facility, and all my alternative efforts, including buckets of hot water and a traditional plunger, were also made in vain. After hours of struggle, I collapsed on the bathroom floor, deflated and on the verge of tears, when in a divine moment of lucidity, it came to me.

Scurrying back downstairs, now exhausted and trembling, I snatched a coat hanger from my wardrobe and a fork from the kitchen downstairs. Using shaking hands, I fashioned a crude instrument from the coat hanger and thrust it deep into the toilet’s S-bend, flailing with increasing vigour my makeshift tool to dislodge the errant stool.

Finally after nearly an hour, it was dislodged, and with the fork I lifted it gently, dripping and heavy from the water and placed it gently into a plastic bag. By now, the sun had begun to creep over the horizon and the distant birdsong heralded morning. Without wanting to awaken my aunt, I tip-toed downstairs, smelly parcel in hand, and out into the garden, where I dug myself a shallow grave. Wiping tears from my eyes, I breathed a heavy sigh of relief as I buried my Loch Ness monster, bag and all, and fell backwards onto the soft earth. My diabolical ordeal was over. The sun’s first rays washed over me as I brushed off the dirt from my knees and hauled myself back to bed.

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Feel free to leave your own stories in the comments. If you’d like to see it included in the piece, send it over to [email protected]!