Marketing executive enters 14th hour of longest shit in recorded history

crapper_01.JPG(LONDON) The fate of Fintan Lockhart, a 26-year-old marketing executive from East Croydon, hangs in the balance this evening as he struggles to control an unstoppable, 18-foot turd which erupted out of his ass this morning, blasting three clients out of a second-storey office-window in Soho.

The incident occured during a routine presentation to a client. Lockhart was briefing Andrew Johnson, the president of Felch Records, on the corporate identity and marketing strategy for the new manufactured boy band ‘‘Non-threatening eunchs’‘.
A few minutes into his presentation, Lockhart was overcome with a torrent of uncontrollable flatulence and began braying like a donkey. After assaulting two security guards, he then kicked in the door of an adjoining bathroom and commenced what is now believed to be the longest, most violent bowel-movement in recorded medical history.
‘We just can’t explain it’ said Dr. Phil Greenspam, a proctologist and surgeon from St. Clemence’s Hospital in South-East London. ‘We’ve tried everything that we can think of: an aircraft refuelling nozzle, a plunger and a packet of mints and nothing seems to be able to stop it.’
Lockhart has gone through sixteen industrial-size toilet rolls, blocked up a six-mile sewerage system and created a three-mile wide poisonous gas-cloud, which forced aviation authorities to divert over a hundred commercial jets from Heathrow to Stansted airport. Local reports indicate that the sun was temporarily blocked out in a portion of Golders Green, leaving half the area in darkness for a period of just under one hour.
‘I just don’t know what happened’ says Brentwood Hufnagle, a colleague of Lockhart’s. ‘He was just doing his thing – talking the client through our new marketing strategy , ya know, which involved an experiential walkthrough of the band’s image. Ya know, lots of pretty lads in white linen, clutching teddy-bears, sweeping strings, nasal lead vocalist, cheeky chappie wanker in the background who’ll have the big solo career and three other mongs, dressed like ponces and all wailing along to some old Bee Gees tune. Well, he was talking us through this, ya know? And, well, he just sort of stopped and well, he started sweating profusely and then, well…’
It is believed that it was at this point that Lockhart launched into the thirty-second, eighteen-note fart that shattered every window for a kilometre. The bang was audible in Budapest, Calgary and Baghdad and registered 4.2 on the Richter scale.
Minutes later, a second blast prompted the RAF to scramble twenty-eight Tornados to intercept what was initially believed to be an invasion by the French. The Metropolitan Police have set-up road blocks around the area and have brought in a team of visiting NASA experts who, we are told, are considering bunging the flow with a rolled-up copy of ID magazine.



  1. Sounds like the problems you had with your movements on the SAhannon in June. I think we had to call Greenpeace to have it air-lifted out of the estuaray!

  2. Well I for one, find myself disgusted that such a prestigious site as feels the need to resort to scatalogical humour in what would seem a desperate bid to increase readership and appeal to the hoi polloi. Little short of the red tops this is.
    Sign me,
    Constipated in Camden St.

  3. I’m surprised the packet of mints didn’t do the trick, mother would precribe them for everything!

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