You know, this wouldn’t really stop me. PCEC suggests a sternly laminated sign, possibly two would need to be deployed to turn back the more determined excretors.
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The Worst of Perth 
challenge accepted
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Time to pull out the reverse kanga?
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Oh yes.
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That, to me, is a target
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You’ve fallen for their wily ruse to improve our aim.
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New COP art installation. Just awaiting grasstrees.
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Luuuuxury. Eeee lad we was so poor we had to take crap in coal bucket. We was so poor our Da would scrape roadkill from NW Coastal Hwy for Christmas dinner. Our Ma cleaned Porter Manor, every Christmas young Christian let her lick dog bowl for treat. By gum it were good too! Did we complain? Noooo we knew our place in world ..
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Be wary, it could function as a nugget trampoline.
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Google ‘International Laser Warning Symbol’
Language is no barrier when it comes to quoit searing machines in PV Perth. Most inclusive
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A bumhole? Well I never.
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A bit more shite for you. Old Asia hands, and their bums feel free to identify.
Returning from a deployment in the field in SE Asia requires arsehole management and normalisation before you really feel ‘home.’
There you mostly squat over a hole, sometimes a porcelain one, mostly not. At first, the arsehole refuses to co-operate, muscle memory rebels. A proper, clean crap in these circumstances needs a single, quick gliding movement and should require no paper, coz there won’t be any and it takes ages to flush it down the hole with scoops of water anyway. So, it’s gotta be greasy. Chili and the local diet helps eg water spinach from the sewers. After a while you get used to it, it’s open sesame and don’t have to squat so long with various swampfever-carrying buzzers attacking your legs and bum.
Coming home presents a new challenge for your poor old arsehole, and sitting on top of a piece of porcelain doesn’t mean you can automatically drop your guts on demand like you used to. No more taking your boots and pants off or hitching up the sarong just for a shit, just drop your duds again. Great! But first you have to retrieve your old muscle memory, like kicking a footy after 10 years. Be patient, don’t panic, soon you’ll be snapping goals from the pockets like you used to at school. This is where a copy of the West shows it’s true value, as a filler while waiting for the arsehole to remember the ancien regime. Bit like intermission at the flicks. Only then can you truly say ‘Hi honey I’m home.’ And really feel it.
Whether she gives a shit is another thing.
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In Tauri excretis non credemus FFS.
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O vos omnes qui transitum per viam, hoc est latrinum et salutem. Amen.
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