Students, Drugs And Arse-Gravy

Hokay.
It seems you lot are fixated on laxatives today (see the comments to the last post and Robyn's reply), so I'll take this opportunity to add my own (true) tale of arse-gravy mayhem.

This one involves V……, now a prominent local Architect who will never forgive me if he finds me relating this sorry tale on the interweb, but hey ho.

Way back in the mists of time, in celebration of completing our final Architecture exam, V……, Bruce and myself found ourselves in the shabby gloryhole that was Norwich's Golden Star pub (their proud boast: "Not so much a pub, more of a bucket"). It has since been cleaned up and "theme-pubbed" but back then was the real 'spit and sawdust' experience … except without the sawdust.

After a couple of pints of the finest effluent from their own backyard brewery (from memory it was called Royal Flush and had a cartoon of the Queen on the loo on the beer pump - classy), V…… was up for further celebrations.
Nigel - one of the local dealers - was in the house and V…… decided it was about time he discovered just why the rest of us liked the occasional spliff.
So … a quick chat with our Nige (my band played his wedding and the bride's father got out of his tree on hash cake but that's another story) and, suitably grassed up we sashayed down to the river to relax.

I'll get to the point eventually but let me set the scene a little first.
The riverside walk at Norwich is extremely pretty and as this was midsummer was crowded with holidaymakers. Alongside the river is a mediæval defensive tower called Cow Tower, a bloody great circular ruin. We lounged beside this and skinned up.
A few puffs later and Bruce and me lay happily on the grass watching the little fluffy white clouds. We passed the rest of the joint to V…… to try.

I have since discovered that it has this effect on a small number of people. But the first we knew of it, however, was when V…… leapt up, yelling at us that he needed to crap, REALLY urgently.
There are no toilets anywhere near there so I told him to go in the tower.
Panicking, he yelled "But what can I use for toilet paper?"
"Just grab a handful of leaves." I said.
So …
Roused somewhat from our reverie, we watched in mild amusement as V……, in a stoned panic, tore along the footpath to the nearest bush and yanked the whole thing out of the ground, roots and all before dashing into the tower, screaming at us not to look.
Well, what would you do?
We gave him a few seconds and wandered in … to find poor V…… squatting in an alcove, moaning loadly in the throes of a most impressive display of explosive diarrhoea.
Of course, we did what any true friend would do and grabbed his shrub and high-tailed it out of there.

We certainly learned a few new words and descriptive phrases from V…… as we rolled about on the grass in hysterics. Only to have to get up and run as V…… emerged from the tower, brandishing his trousers and informing the world - including a crowd of passing holidaymakers - that he had been forced to wipe his arse on his underpants.

Naked from the waist down he realised his predicament and dashed back inside the tower, followed (absolutely true) by the holidaying family's dog which was in turn followed by their little girl, who was inevitably followed by the bellowing father. V…… caught up with us as we ran, which was a difficult thing to do when you're laughing so hard you can't breathe and one of you is trying to put on his trousers.

Ah, shadenfreude.
Bloody students, eh?

Let that be a lesson to you.