Stag Poo

'Stag Poo'

by

Anthony, Liverpool

The following account is factually correct, to the best of my knowledge. I may have got a few details incorrect here and there, but on the whole, this actually happened. Part of me wishes it hadn’t, part of me feels oddly proud that it did.

In June 2007, I went on a mates stag do to Magaluf. Before I continue, it’s probably worth mentioning that in 2007 I was a 28 year old adult male and a Civil Servant.

Anyway, there was a load of us in a bar, in the daytime, getting bladdered. Standard stag do protocol really. This is where things start getting a little bit hazy.

I have an uncanny knack for falling asleep when drinking alcohol. I wouldn’t call it a skill, more a harrowing consequence of my own inability know my limits. The problem is - and always has been - that sleep creeps up on me, really quickly. One minute I’m feeling a-ok, then next, I’m slumped in a chair, dead to the world.

Now, add to the mix the fact that I have absolutely no sense of direction - whenever I exit a shop, I always walk in the opposite direction to the one I intend to be going. I’m not entirely sure why it is but I just can’t take in my surroundings. If I go to a place I’ve never been before there’s no chance AT ALL of me being able to navigate the streets by myself, at any point. Especially if I’m only on a 3 day visit. Especially if I’m also drunk.

So anyway, I wake up in this bar in the blazing heat. It’s only around 3pm. I’ve no idea where my (so called) mates have gone and I’ve no idea how to get back to our hotel. It's probably worth mentioning that the hotel we were staying in was bright pink and probably 2 mins walk away.

I mentioned earlier that when I’m bevvied, sleep creeps up on me and takes hold in an instant. The same can be said of my poos. I can go from definitely not having a brown dog barking at the back door to urgently needing to sign on with the brown pen in a matter of seconds. I’ve never understood the concept of ‘holding it in’. I essentially have the bowels of an infant.

So anyway, as I said, I wake up in this bar in the blazing heat. It’s only around 3pm. I’ve no idea where my (so called) mates have gone and I’ve no idea how to get back to our hotel…..I’m completely shit-faced and NOW I need to shift an almighty bum cigar, post haste. We’re talking DEFCON 1 here.

I’m surrounded by hotels and bars, all of which I assume contained toilets galore, but for some reason, at the time, I was hell bent on getting back to my own personal toilet in our hotel room. This was a huge error, with hindsight. I think, in my head, I thought that the toilet in the room in the hotel I was staying in was the only toilet in Magaluf.

I recall going in to a souvenir shop to ask for directions to our hotel “the pink flamingo”, not realising that we’d just referred to the hotel as “the pink flamingo” cos it was pink. The actual name of the hotel still escapes me to this day. I know for certain it wasn’t called “the pink flamingo”. Predictably, the guy in the souvenir shop couldn’t help a brother out.

At this point I stumbled upon a previously undiscovered stage between a turtles head and a full on turd. It was a total minefield. My head was all over the place. Everything was going in slow motion. I felt like Neo from the Matrix curling one off! I knew that this was it. I had no option but to relax my bum muscles and commence the million pound drop, live!

In an astounding error of judgement, I decided to pull my shorts down in the middle of the street and drop my feces into the top of a bin. It was one of those bins that had a metal top where you’re meant to put your ciggy butts in. It closely resembled a toilet, in my eyes. I was a desperate man.

When I say I pulled my shorts down, it wasn’t like they were round my ankles or anything. I’m not an animal! Nah, I just kinda pulled them down so it looked like I was mooning someone. As a result, a fare amount of my rancid transaction ended up both on my shorts AND spread over my cheeks. Don’t get me wrong, there was a good portion of human waste in the bin, but as a result of the shitty shrapnel all over my backside, I knew I had to wipe myself with something.

At this point, with my dignity well and truly gone forever, I decided to rag my disgusting rear end down the side of a nearby silver BMW. Well, if I’m going down then the innocent driver of this rather nice car is going down with me, I thought.

Eventually, I located our hotel and finished off what remained of my sorry episode. I then had a very long shower but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t scrub away the memories. Needless to say, my shorts were a write off.

There is one image that I can’t shake from that fateful day. Every time I recall this story, I have this sudden flash back of a family eating a meal in a restaurant directly across the road from where the bin incident took place. I have this memory of them staring in disbelief. There were children there. CHILDREN! I’m not sure if I’ve just made this image up in my head to embellish the story OR if it  actually happened and I’m trying to suppress the memory. I guess we’ll never know.

If you and your family were tucking in to a hearty meal in Magaluf in 2007, or if you were the proud owner of a silver BMW parked by a bin in Magaluf in 2007, all I can say is sorry…and I mean it from the bottom of my disgusting, smelly bowels.