I wrote this awhile ago and posted it before, but it was locked after 2 views. Figured a mod took offense to some of the wording, so edited a bit. Maybe it?s a little more appropriate this time around? *crosses fingers*
Would you classify yourself as:
a) Silent Stallmate / Discreet Dumper
You try to find the restroom with the least number urinals/stalls to minimize the likelihood of human contact while committing the most personal of personals. After bolting between floors and buildings, you finally find an empty 2-man restroom. A huge sigh of relief, stroll in, bolt -- and you gently position yourself for the paradise ahead. Suddenly, you hear the restroom door hinges squeaking, and a sheer, indescribable terror shoots through your spine and you find yourself clenching so fiercely your abdomen aches and deltoids quiver. There's no way in hell you can go now. Even with the burning in your rectum, the ache in your lower intestines, you patiently wait for the cursed invader to finish his business and depart. You scream at the heavens when he takes not one, not two, but three paper towels. Then the worst comes, dead silence ? but you can still feel his presence (plus the door hasn?t done it?s squeak to signal his departure). Paranoia ensues, you KNOW he?s listening to you go, or he?s bent over trying to catch a glimpse of you identity. You huddle in terror, pants around your ankles, trapped within the confines of a 4x5ft, flimsy, completely defenseless plastic cube. Finally he leaves-- only then can the cosmos unite in one glorious cacophony of sound and pressure, a movement so heart-wrenchingly beautiful in the acoustics of tiled walls and sterilized plastic its said to rival even the grandest of orchestral composition. But we would never know, would we?
b) Restroom Raider
There is no force, human or divine, that will hold you back from the fate your digestive tract has destined for you. No restroom is too crowded, no location too public for you to do your work. You'll even acknowledge the guy that just exited the stall for you with a tight smile and a nod, a subtle connection of kindred spirit between those who truly understand the glory of the polysterene throne. Stalls on your left and right are occupied, one man to one urinal, more at the sink -- bring it on, the more the merrier. In the midst of, for lack of a better name- your audience- you recreate hiroshima for the masses in what can only be described as a fecal explosion. Splashing, grunting, the sound of air being forced out at a rate rivaling what a jet turbine can move -- nothing is too embarassing, nothing is too sacred, SACRE BLEU!
c) Some compromise of the 2, but you're definitely holding back.
Would you classify yourself as:
a) Silent Stallmate / Discreet Dumper
You try to find the restroom with the least number urinals/stalls to minimize the likelihood of human contact while committing the most personal of personals. After bolting between floors and buildings, you finally find an empty 2-man restroom. A huge sigh of relief, stroll in, bolt -- and you gently position yourself for the paradise ahead. Suddenly, you hear the restroom door hinges squeaking, and a sheer, indescribable terror shoots through your spine and you find yourself clenching so fiercely your abdomen aches and deltoids quiver. There's no way in hell you can go now. Even with the burning in your rectum, the ache in your lower intestines, you patiently wait for the cursed invader to finish his business and depart. You scream at the heavens when he takes not one, not two, but three paper towels. Then the worst comes, dead silence ? but you can still feel his presence (plus the door hasn?t done it?s squeak to signal his departure). Paranoia ensues, you KNOW he?s listening to you go, or he?s bent over trying to catch a glimpse of you identity. You huddle in terror, pants around your ankles, trapped within the confines of a 4x5ft, flimsy, completely defenseless plastic cube. Finally he leaves-- only then can the cosmos unite in one glorious cacophony of sound and pressure, a movement so heart-wrenchingly beautiful in the acoustics of tiled walls and sterilized plastic its said to rival even the grandest of orchestral composition. But we would never know, would we?
b) Restroom Raider
There is no force, human or divine, that will hold you back from the fate your digestive tract has destined for you. No restroom is too crowded, no location too public for you to do your work. You'll even acknowledge the guy that just exited the stall for you with a tight smile and a nod, a subtle connection of kindred spirit between those who truly understand the glory of the polysterene throne. Stalls on your left and right are occupied, one man to one urinal, more at the sink -- bring it on, the more the merrier. In the midst of, for lack of a better name- your audience- you recreate hiroshima for the masses in what can only be described as a fecal explosion. Splashing, grunting, the sound of air being forced out at a rate rivaling what a jet turbine can move -- nothing is too embarassing, nothing is too sacred, SACRE BLEU!
c) Some compromise of the 2, but you're definitely holding back.
