[funnybird]

Okay, I've been meaning to post about this for ages. The London borough we live in is big on re-cycling, and has recently starting collecting food waste from residents for use in a giant communal compost/wormery. We have these small plastic buckets with carbon filters (to keep smells in) in the lids for the kitchen, and larger containers with lids to empty them into, which are left outside for collection by the council. It's a great idea; very green and ethical, and the carbon filters are very effective, but if not emptied frequently enough (and our's never is) the results are often spectacular. The other day the Boy opened the container in the kitchen to deposit some orange peel, and discovered that the contents were steaming and had grown a huge fuzzy coat of mould which looked like fur. We thought about naming it; it was probably the closest thing we'll have to a pet! Also, I must mention the the smell at emptying out time; it's like the vomit of someone who's been eating shit. I have to hold my breath while I'm doing it. I'd love to know where it goes after it's been collected. Imagine how stinky that must be!

[tiramisu]

OMG! This is the most deliciously nasty thread I have ever seen! I have lurked around here for awhile, not really having anything to say, but now...well.

My DH has a tempramental gallbladder, and about 5 years ago, he ended up in the ER, thinkin he was dying. By the time my 10 year old and I got there, they had already given him 3 hits of drugs, without much relief. He wanted to go home to be miserable in his own bed, so I helped him get up. That's when the poo hit the fan, (sorry, I couldn't resist). Mount St Richard exploded from both ends. He was bent over the waste basket, puking, while the vilest, rankest substance I have EVER smelled oozed down his jeans. I had to hold a wad of tissues over my nose to keep from joining him at the trash can.

Unfortunately, I didn't think to send my son out of the room right away, so he's been traumatized for life. When DH finally quit erupting, I went out of the room - a room that had a door, thank God - and called the nurse over.

Just approaching the room, she could smell it, so she wouldn't come very close. When I asked her for some kind of garments, she dug into a closet and came out with paper pants. I took them in to him and helped him out of his jeans. He threw his jeans, underwear, socks and his workboots all in the trash can on top of the puke. I was secretly thankful that I wouldn't be washing it all later.

Finally, he was ready to hobble out of there. When we left the room, I called the nurse over again, and apologized profusely for leaving her such a God-awful mess. She just looked at me for a few seconds and said, "Child, you don't honestly think I am going in there, do you? That's what we have housekeeping for!"

Thankfully, we've never seen anything that bad, since, knock on wood. But every once in awhile, he'll mention that he knows I really love him, having stuck around after that experience.