A guest post from T-Bag. This was originally a comment from the Redbeard post but was deemed so funny by Greasy that it should be posted in it own right and made open for comment.

Not necessarily a "redbeard" story but a worthy one that needs to be told. It involves some spew, some shit, a cat and a moose.

Once upon a time, on a tour of sorts, a group of well bred gentlemen embarked on the annual tour Moose-Hunt at the local disco of this town under seige. The aim of the hunt was to target, contact and copulate with a moose. Typical hunt rules apply with the gentlemen with the heaviest beast shot (or tagged, being a much more PC alternative these days)being named the eventual winner (all taggings must be witnessed by an official).

Being a seasoned veteran of large game hunting I made my selection early, to avoid the 3.00 am rush. Record breaking moose can, on occasion, be a timid animal with many hours of reassurance in the form of alcohol-based moose tranquillisers called lemon ruskis. I knew my efforts would be rewarded when the mammoth head was mounted on my wall. It was in the bag.

I did fear however for MY ability to "seal the deal" for she truly was a moose of hideous proportions. I did as any committed man should and proceeded to pour the sickly-sweet tranquilliser down my own throat, 3 to her 1. This indeed had the required result and soon my physical advances became more fluid as the inhibitor kicked in and did it's job.

Let it be known that large game hunting can be a dangerous pastime so one should always have a solid, trustworthy wing man, who will also act as witness to the shoot. One who is by far too hideous and un-couth to tag themselves a big one. For this job I employed the services of a lovable, if slightly rough, larakin. Lets name him Bob for his own protection.

Soon the ugly lights were deployed and the 3 of us (Me, moosey and Bob) piled into a cab and headed for it's lair. This cab ride seemed to go on forever. Not only due to the geographical distance to it's home but my 4 or 5 vomit stops on the way. Yes, my record attempt was looking shaky due to the copious amounts I rammed down my neck.

6 hours later (so it seemed) as the sun cracked it's arse accross the pre-dawn sky we arrived at a house in the middle of fucken no-where, like deliverence in the desert. She assured me she lived there alone and had no brothers who enjoy forcing others into partaking in bum fun at gun point. My unease was sated for the moment. Not wanting to stuff-around any more I insisted we retire to the den before the aclohol poisoning got the better of me or worse, I sobered up. Moosey prepared a makeshift bed for Bob out of some straw, pillows and a Doonah, on the lounge room floor. We then retired for the night.

The next few hours were a blur all I can recall to this day is the loss of feeling from the waist down like someone had parked a B-double on my crotch. There was also a feeling of asphixia in there somewhere before passing out completely.

Upon waking the first thing to hit me was the heat, so hot, then the smell, then the buzzing of the flies. Oh my God what have I gotten myself into. I squinted and glanced accross at the moose, who at this point was looking more like a hybrid wilderbeast/hippo, a wilderpotamus. Luckily it was facing away and all I could see was a fleshy mass resembling the great flesh wall of China. The game hunt was the furtherest thing from my mind and winning was no longer a priority, I just hoped I'd lost on a technicality, like NOT HAVING SEX.

I rolled the other way and my face slid in a pool of something not unlike newborn baby shit, but with more chunks. Well, if an innocent bed-spew is the worst thing that happens to me today I'll count myself lucky. I lifted the sheet to inspect the damage below, mainly checking to see if Mr Peckerwood (who as it happened looked more like pork-crackling than genitailia) was wearing the sponsors product. He wasn't, it was in the massive pool of shit beneath my arse and between my thighs. I panicked, not because I was covered in shit, we've all been there, but I might get caught.

I slid out from between the sheets and crab-walked my way to the en-suite bathroom. Not wanting to wake her with the shower I proceeded to wipe myself clean with her towel whilst cupping water from the sink. I was ghost-like as I retrieved my clothes from the floor and left the room to find Bob ramming the doonah beneath moosey's sofa.

The conversation that followed went like this:

Me: "Bob what are you doing, did you shit the bed too?"

Bob: "No the cat."

Me: "The cat shit the bed?"

Bob: "No it kept waking me and rubbing it's fucken head on me all night."

Me: "Yeah so?"

Bob: "So I punched it, I think it's dead. Stupid C*&^T of a thing, I warned it!"

Me: "Oh for fucks sake let's just get out of here."

I called a cab on her phone and set off down the road to meet it. We then realised neither of us had any money. So we did the only gentlemanly thing to do and snuck back into her house and stole $20 from her purse.

The Greasy Pig was in Sydney a few years back following a baseball team to the national grand final.

The local boys beat the Sydneysiders and the Pig joined the players for an evening of post-win frivolity.

One thing led to another and GP plus a few of the younger players arrived back at the hotel around 7am.

Just before everyone retired to bed, one of the lads noticed one of his teammates’ breakfast – complete with one of those stainless steel lids – had been left outside his door.

Feeling a bit peckish, the baseballer happily tucked into a good feed of bacon and eggs but still felt that while this act was low in itself, he needed to something even worse to really make a statement.

With that, he dropped his strides and proceeded to lay a great steaming turd on the breakfast plate.

Then he carefully replaced the stainless steel lid and waited for the inevitable ruckus.

It came around 8am when the victim, hungover and eager to tuck in to a big greasy feed of bacon and eggs, gleefully grabbed his breakfast tray and removed the lid only to find a great big grogan.

The poor bastard remembers this incident like a Vietnam vet recalling the most horrific of battles.

I guess you could say he was... struck out.

One evening the midget was out on the prowl as usual and manage to pick up one of those lovely ladies he is normally associated with. So he has managed to convince one to come home with him for a bit of extra curriculum activity if you know what i mean.

Anyway in between the hot and steamy love making the midget needed to go to the bathroom urgently so he told the fat chick to stay in bed he will be back in a minute.

So midget went to bathroom and sat down and had a nasty shit after a big nite on the piss. Then he had a thought "I'm not going to wipe". He went back to bed and continued to make love to the well rounded young lady when he whispered a sweet nothing in her ear, "Do you know what really turns me on? When a chick licks my ass".

So the lovely young lady obliged and licked the midgets ass SHIT AND ALL and hence the name was born: midget and fat chick.

Story is true on all accounts

Signed

MIDGET AND FAT CHICK

This particular incident almost caused justifiable homicide to be carried out on the perpetrator.

A group of lads were working in the fields and used to enjoy a swim in an irrigation canal during their lunch break.

One day it was particularly hot and the boys bolted down to the canal only to find one of their mates already in their squatting down up to his neck seemingly lapping up the cool refreshment of the water.

But as one of the guys started running towards the water, the guy already in there suddenly jumped up with two handfuls of his own shit and pegged both barrels.

"Whoflungdung" didn't miss either as great lumps of shit spattered across the victim's chest like shrapnel on some poor bastard out of Saving Private Ryan.

Understandably, the victim had to be quite strongly restrained or he would have killed Mr Whoflungdung but shit it was funny.

Almost everyone has a shitting story and I invite others to share theirs with the group. Not their shit, just the stories thanks. send them to articles [at] thegreasypig [dot] com

This one happened a little while ago at that great institution known as the Rockhampton B&S Ball.

No single event has inspired more truly disgusting acts of human depravity and hardcore piss drinking than this.

Our man was just beginning his day at the Recovery - which is the day after the main Ball and entails drinking as much beer as you can between the hours of 11am and 4pm.

As he walked in the gate around 11am, this bloke decided to drop his guts but in doing so, he drew mud.

But instead of wasting valuable drinking time to go clean up, he just started drinking while his arse cheeks were full of brown smelly liquid.

84 beers and eight hours later and our gallant hero still hadn't washed up but, as you can imagine, he had chafe worse than a Roman centurion on a 40km march through the Sahara.

His problems were compounded by the fact the stomach acids contained in the vile liquid had actually eaten away around his butthole and his inner butt cheeks.

Things eventually got so bad, bouncers later found our hero washing his arse out under one of those taps you find on urinals in pubs.

That was fuggin funny.

Well, the Greasy Pig outdid himself at the weekend.

Once again, he went out and wrote himself off with good mate Obi Wan Kenobi and once again he stuffed his face full of pizza.

Then, to top it all off, he crapped himself the following afternoon.

No, it wasn't what's commonly referred to as a "shart" (a fart that becomes a shit); it wasn't a mere follow-through when he tried to drop his guts, it was a full eruption of post-big-night-out crapola.

To make matters worse, it happened in the workplace.

To make matters even more worse, he wasn't wearing jocks.

GP felt the first pangs of a big crap struggling for liberation about halfway through a one hour car journey.

But he wasn't concerned. He'd felt far greater needs to find a shitter before and managed to hold on.

But the seething mass contained in his lower intestine refused to take no for an answer.

It was quite possible his body just had to eject its payload because it was so offensive.

Anyway, with each red traffic light, GP's need became greater but he was determined not to lose this battle because a loss would be diabolical.

He sped through the streets, not bothering to indicate around corners and putting his little car sideways on the home turn.

He got to work, ran to the door, unlocked it....shit! Have to turn the alarm off.

He did that but as he half-ran half-hobbled to the ablutions block, his churning guts gave way and unleashed a torrent of vile mashed potato-like poo into his underpantless shorts.

If you can picture the greasy pig loping towards the toilet with his hand covering his arse trying to stop the shit from falling out the bottom of his shorts, you'll know it was pretty funny.

The true horror unfolded when he gingerly pulled down his strides. It was bad.

Luckily there was a shower at work (which will never be the same again) and lucky he was the only bastard in there on a Sunday or things would have been really, really bad.

One thing which is somewhat concerning is it's not the first time it has happened to the Pig...in the past four months.

By the way, the shorts were washed in the shower but they have since been cremated....RIP.

A few of the boys were working in the cotton fields out west for a couple of weeks when one of them really needed to take a crap. There are no toilets in the middle of a cotton field so he just squatted behind a cotton tree.

As it turned out, this turd was huge. So big, in fact, he had to call some of the other lads over to check it out (as you do).

What they saw was a grogan of about 40 centimetres (about 15 inches in the old measure) long but the funniest bit about it was that it was thick at either end and skinny in the middle. When the boys pointed this out, the shitter explained the skinny part was where he had tried to clench his arsehole to break the turd off but it was so hard that it just kept pushing through the narrower opening therefore creating a skinny part in the middle.

This poor bloke had a big night on the drink and faced an hour drive to get to work. Being a bit of a homebody, he wanted to make it home and then have a nice after-grog bog.

But about 50 km from home he got severe gut cramps but figured he was strong enough to hold on....he was so very, very wrong.

After bypassing a couple of servos, he was horrified to admit he wasn't going to make it after all. So, as he's driving at 100 km per hour on the highway, he just couldn't hold back the tide and emptied his bowels into his jeans.

Those who have gone for a crap after a night out know the stool has the consistency of warm butter.

So our mate had to drive about 20 km sitting in his own shit. To make matters worse, he was wearing boxer shorts so the vile mess couldn't just be contained in his undies. But worse still, when he pulled up at his home, a woman walked up to the car and asked him if he could help her with her car which had broken down. Unable to explain the real reason why he couldn't help her, he just rudely told her he was late for work and didn't know anything about cars so leave him alone.

Poor bastard.