...but you beat me to the bathroom by at least five minutes.
This was time enough for you to seriously unburden yourself in the stall. The depth of your incredible stench was only completely obvious to me once I had started pissing. Sir, you took my breath away. This isn't something I ever thought I'd say to another man. You should visit a nutritionist and get your diet checked, because there's no reason why anyone's dookie should smell as bad as yours does. Now, I'm no dookie expert, but I would say your dookie is about as foul a dookie as I've encountered.
As my eyes watered and I forced my bladder to empty itself as quickly as possible, I held my breath. Feeling queasy, I fought to keep my lunch inside my stomach. The toilet strained as you flushed. I imagined the toilet thought it was pretty tough shit and able to handle nearly anything, but, today, you made this toilet your bitch.
I finished pissing and miraculously avoided severing my penis with the zipper as I made plans to exit the restroom faster than a whore leaving a confessional. As I opened the door to make my escape, you somehow got in front of me. How can this be?
You are a large man and I know you didn't mean to block the door, but you did. I stood behind you for what seemed like eternity, knowing that if I opened my mouth to say "excuse me, can I get by here?" that my lunch might soon follow. I knew that if your stench got inside my mouth as I spoke, I was sure to vomit.
So I held my breath as you washed your hands. Of course, such a power poo deserves an equally intensive handwashing. Great day, man! Only an obsessive compulsive takes as long as you took to wash. I think you missed a spot. ON THE INTERIOR OF YOUR HAND!!!! MOVE THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY!!!!
I continued to hold my breath. I wondered if this is what it felt like to drown. Scenes from "Titanic" flashed through my mind (that Celine Dion song was not helping, either), along with scenes from my childhood and vague kindly remembrances that I'd long forgotten. I was in a tunnel and I was walking toward the light. Your shrill whistle brought me back like a defibrillator paddle. Yeah, I guess I'd be cheerful,too, if I'd just excreted ALL the toxins from my body.
You moved like a big blob of frozen molasses as you reached for paper towels to dry your hands. I steadied myself against the wall. Death was iminent. As you turned, you said "Oh, do you need to get by?" YES, MOTHERFUCKER!!! I NEED TO GET BY!!! I WANT TO LIVE!!! In reality, I think I was more polite but I can't be sure. My oxygen depleted brain blacked out at some point.
As I opened the door, sweet, fresh air greeted me like the best friend I've always known it to be. But I was not out of the woods yet. The bathroom door closing created a bit of a backdraft and as soon as I began to take an involuntary gasp of breath in, I knew I would be taking in some of YOU also.
As I smelled you again, for what seemed like the very first time, I thought of everything I could to avoid barfing. The Snapple Lady? C'mon! How random is that? Xerox copiers? I guess I'm a dull boy. But I somehow survived YOUR trip to the bathroom and have lived to tell the tale. Sure, meeting you may have taken a month or so off of my life, but I AM ALIVE!! So, Mr. Fecal Grim Reaper, the next time you need to shit out your hot stinking guts, you might consider using your bathroom at home?
it's NOT ok to smell like ass.
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