When was the last time you shat yourself?

I still wont eat pork.

This is stinking thread.

There was a Rod/Todd Flanders lookalike at school called Mike Novakowski, who would regularly cack his red sweatpants during recess, prompting the rest of the schoolyard to kick his bulging pack o'shit.

It was in the year 2000. I remember it well. The wife and I had been vacationing in the west of Ireland - the Republic - and we were about due to return to the USA. On our next to last night, in the lovely hamlet of Cong, I ordered corned beef for supper. The next day, as the day progressed, I felt queasy. By nightfall I was weak and had the squirting runs.

This was unfortunate, as we had return tickets that would not be easy to change at the last instant. Instead, I ate nothing, drank but a little water, and prepared to face the day of departure.

I made it through Shannon airport with minimal fuss, but stayed near to the toilet and made good use of it. On the flight home I was a bit feverish, but nothing alarming. I continued to fast. Indeed, I made it clear to the west coast and back to Oregon - jammed into a small seat, immobilized and feeling queerly every mile of the weary way.

At last we landed. My wife and I went down to the luggage carousel to retrieve our few bags. We waited. We waited. We waited as the luggage trickled to a seldom few. I began to shift from foot to foot, expecting our last bag to appear any instant. I waited too long. I bolted hurriedly down the concourse to a toilet but, alas, (I feel this word is fully justified under the circumstances) before I could pull down my pants I had befouled my underwear.

I removed my shatten knickers, wrapped them in paper towels and slunk back to the carousel. All the way home in the airporter I felt unusually ashamed.

*Somebody* I know was ill in the early stages of salmonella. She woke up in the night having shat the bed, and tried (unsuccessfully) to change the beshatten sheets from under her sleeping husband without disturbing his slumber. She almost succeeded, in fact, she got as far as rolling the clean sheet right up to him, and was about to commence the unwieldy task of shifting him onto it when he woke in confusion and demanded to know what was going on.

Later that day he had to cancel their holiday and get her whipped into hospital, right up to the last minute she was denying she was ill.

Beshatten is my new favourite word.