Piles

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Earthquakes, droughts and volcanic eruptions. Plagues of locusts and flies. Flu, kidney stones and the clap. Diane Abbott, Justin Bieber, the SNP, and Birmingham City Football Club. These are just a very few of the tribulations meted out to humankind by a wrathful God, in retribution for the innumerable acts of greed, folly and stupidity it has committed down the ages.

Then we have…piles (aka haemorrhoids, in grander medical terminology). The other day, one of these gruesome little menaces caused much commotion by making a very unwelcome appearance on my now throbbing ringpiece, sending me hot foot to our medical practice. There I was forced to undergo the indignity of dropping my strides and bending over, so that my GP could slip on the old rubber glove and have a poke and prod at the bastard. She prescribed a course of suppositories, but they’ve proved to be useless so far, and they taste fucking horrible to boot.

‘Never mind’, said Mrs Knee, always on hand to dispense an unwanted piece of cod philosophy. ‘It’s all part of life’s rich tapestry’. Is it bollocks. Take it from me; piles are literally nothing more than a total pain in the arse.

Nominated by Ron Knee

Lived with me iron maidens for nigh orn seventy years. Occupational hazard for an old cunt that lives in the saddle. Got bunged up in Benghazi and spent many a morn trying to squeeze shite out orn the khazi. Finally the MO gave Yours Truly a syringe orf warm castor oil up the arse. Desired result but the pain! Infected piles burning hell orn earth and cunts find me affliction funny!!

Me tips for the callow cunter? Keep shite licuid by frecuenting Indian Restaurants (order the Vindaloo for guaranteed licuidity and a kinky blast orf heat ) and for personal comfort nestle your arse doine orn an inflatable cushion (carry with, am sitting orn one now). Bastard Cue Key has stuck.

Nominated by Sir Limply Stoke

53 thoughts on “Piles”

      • I used to have an LP with an *artistic* cover just like that.

        Seriously though, perhaps Saddick Kunt and Mangeldbum suffer from this very unpleasant and embarrassing complaint, judging by the sour faces they pull. To think I was unkind enough to think they both had giant buttplugs stuck up their arseholes. Come to think of it, perhaps that is what ails Mrs. Merkel?

      • WCB, it wasn’t a Leonard Bernstein Greatest Hits, was it ?

        The arsegrapes indeed a pain – my first encounter was after four weeks of cocodamol for a dodgy knee. Never really though about it until the little sods burst forth, blood spattering onto kitchen floor while I was doing washing up.
        Thankfully, GP was nice young blonde totty, although the PR job was fucking painful. I go back to see her, and no-one else if I need further piles advice, as I don’t show my rear parts to any Tom, Dick or Harry.

        Most tedious was all the endless washing – bedding, then of course affected parts before and after application of gunk and bullets. Arse had the unfortunate tendancy to rebel, and shoot the waxy little bastards all over the bathroom floor. More fucking fiddling about and cleaning up…

      • No it was an LP on the CTI Label called Skylark by Paul Desmond. Grey, black and an especially rich pillar box red it was, and bore no relation to the music or anything.

    • Remarkably clean. The owner of said battered cornhole did a wonderful job of scrubbing up.

      Must have bloody hurt though. Appreciate the effort!

    • Cunting Wank Rags. If you thought that was horrible then DO NOT Google “blue waffle” because that is a real cunt.

  2. I’d never suffered from one of these things until about a month ago.

    I hadn’t had a stiff, loose or Guinness shit so imagine my surprise when reviewing the lord of the household’s stool that there was a showing of blood there.

    That was worrying enough but to then feel a “protrudence” from the auld ring piece (which looked like an emerging alien a’la a Ridley Scott film – confirmed via mobile phone camera) gave great concern.

    Embarrassed as fuck, and not knowing any better I went to see the quack – who to be fair was very understanding and civil – who proceeded to give me the rubber glove treatment.

    He confirmed that it was a “Farmer” and that the reason for the blood was due to it having ruptured. He proscribed some cream and told me that it would likely worm it’s way back from whence it came in a few weeks time.

    So for the abject shock of a throne full of blood, to the constant feeling of a rogue dangle-berry hanging there for weeks, piles are most certainly cunts!

  3. Interesting piles fact:

    Lord Adonis wasn’t born, they just scraped a pile off his mother’s arse and it grew into what his is now.

    Good morning.

  4. Jesus, who chose that picture?

    Beware, unhinged rant approaching…

    Lots of papers and websites have covered the death of former Ipswich Town player Kevin Beattie. It’s been great to see the hair, ‘taches and sideburns of my 70s youth (confess your sins, older cunters). However, a major newspaper decided to put up a picture of the 1978 FA Cup winning team with a caption that indicted that Kevin Beattie was in fact Clive Woods. Remember when the BBC was accused of racism for putting up the wrong picture of a Pakistani cricketer? I’m betting no-one apologises for this caption.

    To be fair, the caption was probably written by some 12 year old intern who took one look at the Premier League table and decided Ipswich, and therefore Beattie, didn’t matter. To many nobheads, football didn’t exist before 1992, except for when the police were ‘responsible’ for the deaths of those peaceloving LFC fans at Hillsborough. I remember when the ‘elite’ sneered at football. After the Heysel riot in 1985, the Sunday Times ran a headline ‘A slum game played in slum stadiums.’ If you haven’t been at Layer Road (or equivalent) in the pissing rain in a crowd of less than a thousand, you aren’t a real football fan.

    Here’s the teams from the 1978 FA Cup Final. Remember those days?

    https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/1978_FA_Cup_Final

    Willie, I’ll keep an eye out for an Oliver Hardy lookalike who says ‘cunt’ a lot in my usual haunts, the Plough and the Thomas Wolsey.

      • You can derive a lot of wisdom from early Simpsons episodes. It used to take the piss out of the establishment in almost every episode, it’s likely why they neutered it around season 9 and turned it into the bland pap that it has been ever since.

    • Why are you bleating on about Liverpool? If you’re going to drone on about a nobody player who won a trophy four decades ago, don’t let your bitterness and jealousy drown out the grace on your grieving.

    • *I remember when the ‘elite’ sneered at football.*

      I think it became *cool* to like football when the New Labour Pansies of the North East took it up in 1997, to deflect from the fact that the only reason they liked it was it gave an excuse for Mandy and his friends to go into the locker room to sniff David Beckham’s jockstrap. If it had still been the days of the communual bath I am sure Anthony & co would have taken up playing as well.

      • Beattie was a very good player… A little dirty, but -like I said- a good player… And he wasn’t a nobody to Ipswich fans or those who saw him play… That Ipswich side featuring Beattie, Gates, Mariner, Muhren (brilliant), Wark, Butcher etc was one of the best opposition teams I ever saw at Old Trafford (alongside Everton in 1985)… United got a bit of that when they signed Arnold Muhren… He could open a tin of peas with his left foot… Wasn’t too fond of Alan Brazil, mind you….

      • @ Mr Boggs

        It also became “cool” as a useful ruse to promote the lie that New Labour affiliated with the working classes… along with all that other phoney Cool Britannia smoke & mirrors shite.

    • My grief counsellor died recently.

      Fortunately he was pretty good at his job, so I don’t give a shit….

      • One wonders if Bobby Robson hadn’t taken on the England job if Ipswich would have had a serious chance of winning the First Division title in the mid 80s?….

  5. Suffered with em since my 20’s. I won’t go any further than that but how did you guys get a picture of my arsehole?
    Only tips I have are get your medication from another country, anything and everything you get from the chemist or GP over here is utter shite, yet a tube of the real stuff from a Spanish or Turkish chemist will make them better overnight. It seems there really is no money in a cure in this country, why get rid of them with one tube, when I can buy one a week for the next 50 years…. cunts, all of them.

  6. Might have something to do with toilets themselves, it’s not a natural position to pinch a loaf. And sand papering our arse.

    If you got an outy rather than inny then dabbing witchhazel is good, soothing.

  8. I’d never heard of piles until my late teens. As soon as I knew what they were I started worrying I might get them.

    Sure enough, within a couple of weeks I’d sprouted a couple of grapes and had difficulty squeezing anything out without severe discomfort.

    Took fucking ages and several embarrassing trips to the chemist for Germoloids to shift the cunts.

    Conclusion: piles are psychological, the product of an overactive neurotic imagination.

  10. Is that an actual photo of your own Farmer Giles Mr Knee ?because they look exactly like my own arse grapes. I will have to warn you that uploading photos from my personal collection is an infringement of my privacy.

    • No thank fuck! My own little Chalfont has done the decent thing and healed up. I pity the poor cunt who is the owner of the ringpiece above; I think I’d fucking top myself

  11. @Sir Limpley…..Between your diseased horse-prong, acute piles and the ever present threat of Spontaneous Human Combustion , I don’t know how you cope. I do hope that your ring is filled with non-flammable gas.

    Best Wishes.

  12. Must have been a fucking nightmare for whichever Doctor had to deal with Elton John’s piles post-honeymoon.

    • Like an explosion in an islamic goat abattoir/black-pudding factory, I’d guess….apart from David Furnish asking if the gerbils have drowned,of course.

    • I’d have imagined it would be the easiest job in the world, wouldn’t even need the forceps… just a torch and pair of secateurs.

      • All storms are cunts and should be named Storm Cunt. In fact they could be graded. Storm Quim would be a bit of a breeze, Storm Twat would bring heavy rain and Storm Cunt would tear up trees and rip down buildings.

      • The silly cunts jailed that woman a while back didn’t they for calling her teddy bear Mo. Fuck me, a storm, there’d be beheadings everywhere!

  15. On the subject of piles. The IMF says we are fucking doomed so it must be true. The only hope is Theresa’s Chequers agreement which no fucker seems to agree with except Theresa.

      • There was a worse picture of her in the Metro (I only do the croggy and the Sodus); the wimmin was wearing “glasses.”
        Scary, Sue Perkins-style.

        I bet Macon shags her.

  17. Spotted at last nights Southampton vs Brighton game… A ‘fan’ watching the match with a Virtual Reality headset on! What is he watching? Is this the future? Why was the cunt allowed into the ground with it?!

    The look on the big lad’s face with the specs on says it all…
    That stupid fucking chinkee cunt needs a cup of piping lava level Bovril tipped over his stupid cunting head… Cunt!

    https://pbs.twimg.com/media/DnXV2MHWsAAft38.jpg

    • I don’t think it’s virtual reality, it’s an aircon unit for the empty space between their ears.

  19. A bit off-topic, but arse-related…

    Elton Musk is going to send a rocket to the moon (hope it’s an improvement on that shitty little cave-diving sub he had built), and he’s looking for paying guests.
    I’d pay for that Branston cunt to go up in it (unless he wangles a free ticket).
    If they both go moonbound, and the thing self-incinerates, a bloody good result.

  20. GOD OH GOD
    The rings of saturn
    First comes terry turtle kissing cloth followed by a space hopper of monster proportions and then comes the handgrenade followed by hot conkers and the aftermath of checking the shit paper for blood DABBING IT GENTLY and to see if the fart valve is still intact and if there is blood on it and if there is pop the farmer giles man pantypad on and grip your cheeks and walk around like john Wayne with a clenched rabbits tail
    Even with a pebble dash or a short follow through` the giblets take their toll
    FARMERS ARE A CUNT

  21. Years ago knew woman, butter wouldn’t melt type, turned out to be a bit of a dog and gave me interesting case of warts. Boy do they spread quick. Some blood, discomfort, go to doc. Actually he says, after root around, its internal piles. Rightyo. Shoves gizmo up arse with scissors on or something. I said, you know what. What he said, I said I have a fascinating urge to defecate. Yeah, it happens he said, you won’t. Don’t knock it til you’ve tried it eh. And the liquid nitrogen on your knob, jeez, even ISIS wouldn’t go that far.

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