That dreaded precarious situation when, seized with terrible stomach cramps and sweating like a paedo in a sweet ship, the need to let out a relieving fart is overcome by the realisation that you will arse vomit fizzy gravy all over your undies and trousers and be left with arse treacle filled shoes and the shame of smelling like someone in an old persons home
I had parp peril. I needed to guff but knew I would shart. And I was wearing white jeans. The horror
by Engleflange Mcmangletrumpet March 11, 2014

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