The stream of your celebripiss stories has not yet run dry. Here’s a starry one from Courtney from Dublin:
Was at the premiere of Gangs of New York a few years ago and was at the urinals with Leonardo DiCaprio. Most famous person I’ve peed next to. Fairly important to the story that I point out I am in fact a man with the name Courtney and not a crazy lady in the gents.
Pete has raised the stakes to celebripoop:
A few years ago, a friend of mine got us backstage, access all areas passes to the Download Festival. We had access literally everywhere – backstage, artist green rooms, even managed to see some bands sets from the side of the stage. One advantage to this was the ability to use the artists’ toilets and shower facilities backstage.
We had just watched Faith No More on the main stage and headed back for a few beers. The day’s festivities had caught up with me, and by this time I needed the loo. A diet consisting entirely of alcohol and no actual soild food is always going to have a certain effect, and it was with some trepidation that I approached the toilets.
Upon entering the loos, I sensed that this was going to be a sit down visit rather than a stand up, so duly sat down and let armaggeddon commence. Upon finishing, I flushed and exited, but left behind an aroma that satan himself would be proud of. As I left, I held the door for someone who was approaching, only to notice that it was Marilyn Manson. My good nature took hold, and I felt some kind of warning was in order.
“I’d give that ten minutes if I were you” I offered helpfully. Mr Manson just looked at me and casually nodded, and entered the cubicle area, whereupon I heard a distinct muttering of “fucking hell” followed by a clear retching sound. Result!
As we noted in AMT278, a double celebripiss is quite a feat; Dave here certainly found it too much to bear:
I relieved myself next to Dirty Den from Eastenders. Turns out he was doing the panto and staying in the hotel I was in for my school formal.
I didn’t notice who it was at first when I pulled up beside him until our heads turned and we both gave a nod of acknowledgement to one another. I got stage fright and couldn’t go, though thankfully he quickly finished and left.
Thinking I was now free to do my business with out the pressure of a famous face stood within splashing distance, I set about focusing myself on the job at hand, when who should drunkenly burst through the door and stagger up beside me, none other than ex-Westlife singer Brian McFadden. He was a twat. He swayed about and I’m sure he pissed on himself. I left him to it and went back out with a bladder still half full of wee.
Later that night Brian came into our disco and took over the DJing! He was shite. All the girls flocked over to him asking for pictures and autographs and he responded by hocking up a greener and spitting it at them. He was removed/escorted out by the bouncers soon after.
In Brian McFadden’s defence, Westlifers are only happy when sitting on high stools. They should have fitted an extra-high urinal for his needs.
