I had just been hired by an IT services company and it was my first day on the job. Unfortunately I had celebrated my new position the night before with a couple of guests hailing from Louisiana. The evening was marked by volumes of cheap beer followed by an entourage of the cheapest thing we could find resembling steak. Naturally, not wanting to offend my guests, the steak was seasoned with a concoction of the hottest peppers and spices this side of Mexico.

Eager to start my new position, I arrived before eight AM. I proceeded to chug coffee with reckless abandon. This was no ordinary coffee. The receptionist who made it was well-weathered, a solid three hundred pounds, and not likely to be affected by the tar-like substance she so dutifully served every AM. Not wanting to misstep my new boundaries, I politely passed on the doughnuts -- which, in hindsight, would have probably prevented the forthcoming disaster. About 9:30 AM, there came a rumbling the likes of which has never before been heard on this earth.

I was twenty-eight years old at the time, with highly refined interpersonal skills and a strong work ethic that did not permit such superficial interruptions. The staff at this company was fantastic. I worked directly for the owner. Throughout the interview process and beyond everyone had gone out of their way to make me feel like part of the team; so naturally, when I arrived on my first day and there was not an office available, the owner offered me his office until mine could be arranged. I gladly accepted the offer, as the 9:30 Armageddon bell had not yet tolled.

So I took my position behind the owner's computer and began dutifully attending to the projects I had been assigned for the week. Slowly the office began to darken, as if an afternoon thunderstorm had moved in -- but it was only 9:30. I ignored the prediction for a fecal thunderstorm and went on about my duties. Then the first clap of intestinal thunder arrived, followed shortly by a gut-wrenching bolt of lightening that brought to attention every hair on my body.

The thunder and lightening continued in a reign of defecatious glory for several more minutes. Still not wanting to clue my colleagues in to the perilous situation, I resigned to the tasks at hand, hoping the ominous weather would soon dissipate. As I had predicted, the calm before the storm soon arrived and I sat in self-loathing comfort that I had waited out the storm without plowing a path of the destruction to the restroom.

What I had not accounted for was the F5 turd-tornado that was quickly approaching. As I sat there, still oblivious to fecal destruction that would soon be upon me, I had the sudden urge to fart. I saw no harm in a quick expulsion, as I was alone in the office and no one was likely to make their way back to the owner's office without an invitation. Confident in my decision, I lowered myself slightly in the owner's chair so as not to create my own clap of thunder with what was about to be born. I was in perfect form: my ass-cheeks were slightly apart, my gut was clenched, and I was ready to embark into the world of never-ending flatulence.

I quickly ran through the motions in my mind, preparing for the routine I had executed so many times with flawless perfection. A quick push from the platform and it was just a matter of executing my signature movement. A perfect 10! The water was calm and I had no reason to think the judges would perceive otherwise. As my body relaxed from the stress of flight, I reached down to waft a sample of my performance up to my nose.

As I reached, however, I realized something was terribly wrong. The air my hand encountered near my crotch was considerably warmer than is to be expected following such a well-rehearsed routine. The smell was familiar, but there was definitely something awry. Slightly puzzled, I adjusted my positioning so as to ensure I would get the full effect of my creation. My ass-cheeks slid slightly.

It was at this moment I knew something was terribly wrong. What had I done?

My hand continued its inspection swoop -- and sure enough, there was something in more than just the air. The warmth I had questioned previously was accompanied by a concoction that can only be compared to a mixture of honey, peanut butter, and milk chocolate. Worse yet, the s'mores sandwich, which was a side effect of my near-flawless performance, was not content being restricted to my slacks. Having been converted to a commando during my days in the military, I knew I would have to mount an all-out offensive -- or risk buying an expensive executive chair.

As I retreated from my current position, I quickly assessed the damage, which fared far worse than I had anticipated. The thick brown sludge -- which I had previously thought would be just another brilliant performance -- was quickly engulfing the owner's chair and beginning to resonate in the fine Italian leather. My work here was clearly done; but the reign of destruction was just beginning.

I was now in a full sprint for the restroom, hampered only by slowing at doorways to ensure no one would witness my performance on the first day of work. I scampered from office to office like a field mouse at the onset of a horrific storm. But this was no mouse-nose -- it was a wildebeest about to rear its ugly head. As I came within eyesight of the restroom I relaxed my bowels slightly, preparing for the mission that was yet to be accomplished.

By this point I was out of range of virtually all enemy combatants. I could focus on preparing for a counter-assault. My hands fumbled for anything that might hamper the assault. As I entered the restroom, a fierce battle began. I can honestly say: I do not remember the early moments of the attack. The ground beneath me began to shake violently. The piercing white walls of the bathroom were overcome with a translucent vapor. There was howling of beasts and demons for several moments; and then, like a thief in the night, the turd-tornado retreated to the brown sky in search of its next victim. I quickly cleaned myself up -- and then remembered the carnage I had left behind in the owner's office. I scrambled for paper towels and various cleaning supplies and headed back to the battlefield.

I thought this whole experience had lasted only a few moments, but after a close inspection of the owner's chair, I fear it may have been longer. The shit-pie I left in the owner's chair was by this point partially baked. Most of the liquid had become one with the fine Italian leather. So I focused my attention on the remaining residue. After several minutes of frantic scrubbing, I had removed the obvious, and was content that so long as no one came within two feet of the drop zone, my secret would forever remain in the vaults of Alfred Shitcock. My slacks met with a far worse fate. My first day of work was complete by 10:00 AM.

-- The Phantom Duke