Once when I was about 16 me and a couple of mates went to a field not far from our houses. We took a disposable bbq, a couple of crates of beer and about 18 of the cheapest sausages known to man. 7 cans and 6 (very badly cooked) sausages later, I start to feel a rumbling in the pit of my stomach. With little explanation to the lads I proceeded to bolt into a wooded area. I knew the inevitable was imminent, so took refuge behind a tree deep into the woods. I knew that if I squatted against the tree I'd be able to keep my kecks shit-free whilst releasing the loads. So pants round my ankles and back to the tree I relaxed my bowels and took a deep breath, knowing it had been a close call. I scraped the last of the bum bisto off my arse with a train ticket from my pocket and pulled my kecks back up whilst breathing another sigh of relief. Before leaving the scene of the crime I took a look back at my handywork, only to see the sorriest looking hedgehog I had ever laid my eyes on attempting to scramble out of the mess I had dropped upon him.
If you are reading this, I'm very sorry Mr Hedgehog.
This reminds me of that joke, when after 13 pints of Guinness my mate hopped over a garden fence in the dead of night to relieve himself. He looked down after a massive shit and saw nothing, but was too pissed to investigate further. Next morning he discovered his wallet missing and went back to the house and started rummaging around, only for the owner to appear shouting, ''What the fuck are you doing?''
''Oh, sorry, my mate was messing about last night and I think he might have thrown my wallet over your fence.''
''Oh, ok, only last night, some twat came in here and shat on our tortoise, it came in this morning looking like a vikings helmet.''