They’re taking the piss now

Posted on May 7, 2017 by headinablender

In true acronym form, there is a medical condition here in America called OAB.

For those of you unaware of what OAB stands for, or if you’re a fucking camel, OAB stands for Over Active Bladder.

Actually, the word ‘Overactive’ is not two words but I haven’t got the strength, the time or the energy to take the piss out of them for this.

Pun intended.

Anyway, OAB is a big thing here in America. I’m sure it’s a big deal elsewhere in the world to those of us with the bladder of a 3 year old girl, but it seems to be a bigger problem here in America.

I can’t fathom why.

This is actually a ‘small’

Come hell or high water

Posted on Oct 22, 2015 by headinablender

Did you know that American toilets contain more ‘bowl water’ than those in the UK?

No?

Here’s a British toilet.

Here’s an American toilet.

Oops! Sorry, HERE’S an American toilet!

Now, this might seem like a pointless waste of water, but I think the Americans are onto something here.

Firstly, no splashback.

Genius.

You’d have to drop a turd the size of King Kong’s finger to generate enough downforce to splash your arse [ass] in this country.

Secondly, and most brilliantly, no skidmarks. Not one.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen a single Zebra patterned toilet bowl since I’ve been here. I don’t even think it’s possible to create them.

Challenge accepted.

Pass me the bran.

Everyone should experience (cl)IMAX

Posted on May 23, 2015 by headinablender

My wife and I went to the cinema yesterday to see ‘Tomorrowland’ in IMAX. We enjoyed it and it’s well worth a watch.

After the film I had to visit the toilet; the inevitable consequence of drinking a LOT of Coke!

As I was having the longest piss in history, I started to get bored and began looking around.

(I was in there alone….otherwise it would most definitely have been ‘eyes forward’)

As I looked to my left I saw this vending machine:

Yes, that’s right; this vending machine – in a cinema – is selling various lubes of different flavours and sensations, Tic-Tacs (important), a form of Viagra (impotent?), condoms and vibrating cock rings.

I’m not a prude, but come on!

This isn’t a pub or a club; it’s a c-i-n-e-m-a.

I guess kissing in the back row has come a long way.

Pun intended.

When a grammar nazi does graffiti

Posted on Feb 16, 2015 by headinablender

This sign has been up in the toilets at work for a while now.

I’ve mocked it enough. It’s time this was sorted out.

(I couldn’t resist).

Occupeed

Posted on Oct 27, 2014 by headinablender

I finish work at 5.30pm, so at 5.25pm I thought I’d nip to the toilet to empty my increasingly aching bladder before the 2 hour journey home.

2 cubicles. Both in use.

Alright, that’s fine. I’m clearly not the only one who’s had that idea.

I waited for 3 or 4 minutes before deciding the occupants were clearly masturbating or dead and gave up. There are another 2 cubicles near the entrance to the building so I thought I’d use those on my way out.

Both also in use.

I waited outside for about 5 minutes, calling out loudly to my wife sat in reception that “I won’t be long as I’m just waiting for these people to finish using the toilet!”

Despite there being noises from within, including flushes and the washing of hands, they weren’t taking the hint or showing any signs of emerging.

“I think they’ve fallen in darling, they’re taking forever!”

Still nothing. I think I heard one of them re-sit down for another performance.

What were they doing in there?

I decided, with bursting bladder and a wife reminding me that we could miss our train, that we should leave the office.

A full bladder is one thing, but proving my wife right is another!

So we left and joined the throng of London commuters and their inept sense of direction.

I tell you, attempting to navigate heaving crowds and packed underground trains with a hairpin bladder is an adventure. A nervous, sweaty adventure.

We made it to Victoria station and straight onto the train. Unfortunately, because we’d left the office so late, the train was really busy. Thankfully there were 2 seats available at a table, so my wife and I grabbed them.

I removed my shoulder bag and put it on my seat like a tourist with towel on a sun lounger.

“Watch my bag, I really need to use the toilet!” I said, hopping from one leg to the other.

I walked through to the other carriage and found the cubicle.

In use.

Fuck!

I waited.

I waited longer.

I looked at my wife in the other carriage in disbelief.

I even asked some kids I’d they’ve seen anyone go into this toilet (in case it’s out of order).

“Yeah, a girl went in there, innit”

Eventually, after 10 minutes I gave up and joined my wife.

We’re still sat on the train and the toilet is still occupied. We’ve been on this train for 45 minutes.

I’m about to test the absorbency of these seats.

‘Faeces’tious and ‘Poo’dantic

Posted on Sep 26, 2014 by headinablender

At work, someone has put up these notices in all the toilets in the entire building.

Note the use of an ‘@’ symbol instead of the word ‘At’, as if to save space or something. I hate that, especially when the word ‘At’ was actually used a bit further down.

And what if I leave my toilet in an awful state at home? Does that give me permission to do the same at work?

Ultimately, I want to do the right thing, so I’m going to take heed of the advice offered and (being the literal and pedantic bastard I am) do exactly what it says.

I’m going to enjoy flushing the toilet non stop and shitting in the bin.

Costa Penny

Posted on Nov 5, 2013 by headinablender

I have had a lot of coffee today.

As a result, my piss smells of coffee.

Usually it’s the other way around.

Pissed off

Posted on May 29, 2013 by headinablender

I stopped off in Sainsbury’s this evening to pick up something for dinner. I was feeling the desire for chicken as I was hitting the gym tonight and figured some protein wouldn’t go amiss.

However, before I got lost in the aisles I decided to finally give some attention to my bladder who had been nudging me for the two hours like a spoiled child in a toy shop. As I can’t scream at my bladder to shut the fuck up, I decided it might be an idea to find the toilets instead. It was either that or wait until I got home, but I was bursting and I felt a sneeze coming so I didn’t think it wise to take the risk.

“Clean up on aisle three!”

I searched everywhere for the toilets which is always a great game to play when you’re capable of dousing the flames consuming an entire office block, and possibly the one next to it. It’s always so much fun playing ‘hunt the toilets’ and not at all tense, frantic and laced with seething rage.

Anyway, I eventually found them up two flights of stairs and navigated the six miles of corridors to eventually find the men’s room. It was right next to a door that read ‘staff only’; a door that I was convinced opened out to the front of the fucking supermarket, but I didn’t care at this point as my nose was starting to itch, suggesting a sneeze could be imminent.

I walked into the toilets, walked around ANOTHER corner and finally found the urinals. As I did so, the motion sensor lights came on.

‘Fair enough’, I thought to myself.

However, as the lights came on, so did the nearby hand dryer.

‘Odd’, I thought, but fuck it, who cares?

So I stood in front of the urinal with the hand dryer blowing hot air across the floor and up the wall in front of me. This all seemed less than noteworthy….that is until I started to pee. That’s when I realised this hand dryer was in fact wafting the aroma of warm piss up into my face. Yes, I was getting a full on facial blast of Eau De L’Urine that had been in my bladder for hours; fermenting and maturing like that first beefy wee of the morning.

And because my bladder had been so full I couldn’t stop the flow any more than I could stop the fucking hand dryer! Yet this bastard carried on regardless, not showing any sign of stopping anytime soon. No, it seemed to be connected to the lights so all the time I was stood there it was going to push more and more of this ammonia goodness up my nose, burning my skull from the inside.

I closed my eyes and pushed on, not daring to open my mouth for fear of tasting. I looked like a dog with it’s head out of the car window, only less happy, and less open mouthed.

Holy shit, how much more is there to come out of me? I was peeing and peeing and peeing. I could literally feel the pounds dropping off.

I eventually finished, shook my manhood carefully to avoid releasing any droplets into this face focused upward vent of piss infused nastiness, and zipped up. I then went over to the sink and washed my hands, checking my face in the mirror to see if I’d somehow turned yellow.

I hadn’t of course. What a twat.

I then turned to face my attacker, walked up to the little shit, placed my hands under the vent and it turned off.

Are you fucking taking the piss?

It’s not just Llamas

Posted on Jan 16, 2013 by headinablender

When us guys approach a toilet we all do something, other than freeing the beast, prior to dousing the porcelain…

We spit.

Why is this?

Maybe it’s our way of marking our territory, as if pissing an aching bladderful all over it isn’t enough somehow! At first I thought it was just me, but i’ve observed in public urinals that every bloke does it. And no, i’m not some sort of Pee-ping Tom…I’m just observant.

Let’s be honest, I’ve based my whole blog on that fact!

And we don’t stop at one spit, oh no. We spit at least once more during the perfomance and usually once again at the end. Do we have an excess of saliva we don’t need? Are we honing our aim for something? Maybe the urinal plug should be shaped like a dart board.

Also, it’s demeaning enough to the toilet that we piss all over it, but to spit on it too is just adding insult to injury. An abbatoir worker doesn’t kick a sheep in the balls after they’ve slaughtered it, do they?

I’ve asked women if they spit and i’ve been told they don’t. Ever. But come to think of it, neither do I when it’s a sit down performance. I can only speculate that it’s the same for other guys (i’m not a Poo-ping Tom!).

I wonder if this is because, on a subconscious level, i’m worried the potential splashback could result in it coming back up and hitting me? No one should ever go through the rest of their day having spat on their own ass. If anything, we should be spitting on other people’s asses.

Ah, this might explain the need to hone our aim.