Of course, there were also those who didn't even bother with cesspits or makeshift plumbing systems. Some people would drop anchor wherever they happened to be standing -- even inside a building. The floors were rarely (if ever) cleaned, so feces, garbage and other delights would accumulate en masse; a scholar described the floors as "harbouring expectoration, vomiting, the leakage of dogs and men, ale droppings, scraps of fish, and other abominations not fit to be mentioned." The solution to get rid of this horror cocktail was to simply add new layers of rushes to cover up the filth on the floor, eventually creating a layered floor material not unlike devil's own lasagna.
On paper, castles fared somewhat better than plebeian bungalows, because they often featured sewers that ran underneath the wooden floorboards of the privy. The only flaw in this design was that wood tends to rot, and a river of liquid bacteria directly underneath the floorboards doesn't exactly stall the process. There are accounts of people plunging through the floor and drowning in the pits of liquid shit underneath.
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"Hey, has anyone seen Lars? He was just- oh ... crap."
This was made all the worse by the fact that if you lived in medieval times, you were going to spend a whole lot of time in the toilet. Back in those days, the mechanisms that caused diseases were mostly unknown, and the attempts of keeping waste water and drinkable water separate generally consisted of a quick "Oh God, please don't let there be an actual turd in it this time" before filling the bucket. As such, people tended to have either the runs or massive constipation (brought upon by deliberately avoiding water) a lot of the time. Medieval bowels were so obstructed that there are stories and paintings from the era devoted to describing this peculiar plight.