The Phantom Bog Bandit Strikes Again
Discussion
Girls.
Just a note of caution here. You know how you hate it when he leaves the bog seat up? Well. He does it for a reason. And I strongly advise you to do the same prior to leaving the bog.
Why? Because then there is no chance you will leave the front underside of the seat covered in giblets for him to find minutes later.
This is particularly unacceptable in offices with shared facilities.
We used to have the Phantom s
tter in our office who left the bog in a disgraceful state. It appears we now have the Phantom Tampon Changer. 
Why don't people CHECK the bog before leaving!
Just a note of caution here. You know how you hate it when he leaves the bog seat up? Well. He does it for a reason. And I strongly advise you to do the same prior to leaving the bog.
Why? Because then there is no chance you will leave the front underside of the seat covered in giblets for him to find minutes later.
This is particularly unacceptable in offices with shared facilities.
We used to have the Phantom s
tter in our office who left the bog in a disgraceful state. It appears we now have the Phantom Tampon Changer. Why don't people CHECK the bog before leaving!
Had something similar to that at work - some spanner keeps putting hand towels (that don't flush) down the bog. Fortunately, one of my more intelligent colleagues decided to help it down by weeing on it and blocking the bowl.
I sent an email round saying I'd fished it out and that if it happened again I'd wipe the offending item over every single person's desk. Hasn't happened since...
I sent an email round saying I'd fished it out and that if it happened again I'd wipe the offending item over every single person's desk. Hasn't happened since...
Digga said:
I've seen this sort of thing before
Exactly. And I never want to see it again. 
It's bad enough finding a wee stain under the seat but giblers? Blurgh. What if I'd sat down eh? With my nether regions exposed - I could have been mentally scarred for life! (OK. Slightly over-sensitive there but given the reaction of most wimmin over this stuff I think I'm entitled...)Thank God I'm a bloke and lifted the seat up as the first order of the day.
A nasty, slimy discovery it was, too... And I had to clean the fecking stuff up...
Don said:
Digga said:
I've seen this sort of thing before
Exactly. And I never want to see it again. It's bad enough finding a wee stain under the seat but giblers? Blurgh. What if I'd sat down eh? With my nether regions exposed - I could have been mentally scarred for life! (OK. Slightly over-sensitive there but given the reaction of most wimmin over this stuff I think I'm entitled...)Thank God I'm a bloke and lifted the seat up as the first order of the day.
A nasty, slimy discovery it was, too... And I had to clean the fecking stuff up...
Bernie-the-bolt said:
It also always amazes me that two of my sales guys come into the office and have a st one after another at about 9.30 EVERY DAY and stink the place out.
why not have a little squeeze and deposit it at their house a hour earlier
FFS - EVERY DAY!
Ah. The goal of Americans everywhere. Being regular in one's movements. t one after another at about 9.30 EVERY DAY and stink the place out.why not have a little squeeze and deposit it at their house a hour earlier
FFS - EVERY DAY!
Why not go in at 9:25am and drop a stinker?
Only one way to deal with it.
Get yourself all psyched up, a few self-administered face slaps and the 'you're a tiger' motivational speech in the mirror. With your new found motivation and anger storm towards the door leading to the office.
Ignore the handle on the door... for you it serves no purpose this time. Kick the door open with all the force you'd use if your family were trapped behind it in a house fire.
With a bit of the old bertie big potatoes attitude and a soupson of Gene Hunt thrown in for good measure shout;
"Right! Which one of you split-arses is on rag week and doesn't know how the handle on the thunderbox works, 'cos I'm farkin sick of looking at what used to be bits of your uterus clinging on to a wooly bullet at the bottom of the pan when I'm trying to enjoy a nice spine-tingling p*ss!" and slap the offending jam-rag down on someone's desk, bonus points for splashing them with it in the process.
The guilty party will go as red as their litter, the rest of the women will either think you're a hero or look very confused, and the blokes will be hiding under their desks in anticipation of some furniture being rearranged.
Dare ya.
Get yourself all psyched up, a few self-administered face slaps and the 'you're a tiger' motivational speech in the mirror. With your new found motivation and anger storm towards the door leading to the office.
Ignore the handle on the door... for you it serves no purpose this time. Kick the door open with all the force you'd use if your family were trapped behind it in a house fire.
With a bit of the old bertie big potatoes attitude and a soupson of Gene Hunt thrown in for good measure shout;
"Right! Which one of you split-arses is on rag week and doesn't know how the handle on the thunderbox works, 'cos I'm farkin sick of looking at what used to be bits of your uterus clinging on to a wooly bullet at the bottom of the pan when I'm trying to enjoy a nice spine-tingling p*ss!" and slap the offending jam-rag down on someone's desk, bonus points for splashing them with it in the process.
The guilty party will go as red as their litter, the rest of the women will either think you're a hero or look very confused, and the blokes will be hiding under their desks in anticipation of some furniture being rearranged.
Dare ya.
Edited by Stu R on Wednesday 22 October 13:50
Stu R said:
With a bit of the old bertie big potatoes attitude and a soupson of Gene Hunt thrown in for good measure shout;
"Right! Which one of you split-arses is on rag week and doesn't know how the handle on the thunderbox works, 'cos I'm farkin sick of looking at what used to be bits of your uterus clinging on to a wooly bullet at the bottom of the pan when I'm trying to enjoy a nice spine-tingling p*ss!" and slap the offending jam-rag down on someone's desk, bonus points for splashing them with it in the process.
Dare ya.
Crying with laughter here... "Right! Which one of you split-arses is on rag week and doesn't know how the handle on the thunderbox works, 'cos I'm farkin sick of looking at what used to be bits of your uterus clinging on to a wooly bullet at the bottom of the pan when I'm trying to enjoy a nice spine-tingling p*ss!" and slap the offending jam-rag down on someone's desk, bonus points for splashing them with it in the process.
Dare ya.
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