Three crap stories

First two are about me and cats, last one isn't.

Years ago, when I was at uni me and a couple of the guys I regularly drank with got our student loans through a few weeks apart, so what this meant was we'd all fork out for each other, and we'd end up on week long drinking binges.

After a while on the drink, woke up one afternoon in Tommy's house, really hungover, made myself get up and started making for the toilet, feeling really nasty. Stood on something soft. Yep, cat shit. 5 seconds later I'm puking into my hands, trying to catch it and running for the toilet. So I then have to clean my own puke (which was hangover nasty stuff and vile), but I have to wash shite off my foot, and while I'm cleaning up the puke, this cat shit is smeared onto the floor right next to me.

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Few years ago I was visiting a girl I knew fromo uni, always fancied a shot at her, so I took the chance years later to go down and visit her for a weekend. SO I get down there, and she's really let herself go, her house is manky, she's not exactly the cleanest, and I instantly regret going. But, I'm making the most of the weekend. So we're out in the back garden, where the grass, of course, isn't cut. Walk into the house and we're play fighting type thing, basically flirting, if I'm going to be there for the weekend I may as well make the most of it. I notice a smell, it's sort of like nasty fart. I assume it's her, and think nothing of it, it gets worse and worse, until I realise I've stood in cat shit out in the garden. It had the consistancy of meat paste, and it was vile. So there's me retching, putting my trainers into a plastic bag and tying it up. Mood ruined for the weekend, worst weekend ever! The trainers sat outside my back door for ages, till they dried, then I scraped em off, then put em in the washing machine. They are pristene clean now, but I still won't wear em.

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This next one I can't vouch for being true or not.

Guy I used to work with, rugby player. Tells me about when some of his friends are down at the borders for a game. They go out on the friday night and get plastered, and the house they are staying it (I think they had it to themselves) is at the bottom of a grassy hill. So on the way home they fall/roll down this hill. One of them gets to the bottom, and decides he's fine where he is, and falls asleep. Wakes up shivering in the morning, about 9 or 10. He's shat himself. After an initial panic he realises that his mates won't be up yet. He's got an hour or so before they said they'd get up. So he goes into the house, and sneaks upstairs to the bathroom. Spends half an hour quietly cleaning up. His pants are useless. He hides them in the bog brush holder and uses the sink to try and clean up. After a while he's gotten it off himself, but the sink is a shitty mess. So he creeps out of the bathroom. Downstairs he goes, and he hears the TV on in the living room, pokes his head round the door, and looks straight in the face of an equally surprised man. It's at this point he realises this isn't the right house. Says sorry and leaves.

Is it true? I dunno!

(Um, excuse the length.)