Stalking The Shameful
It was just another Wednesday at the office for Chip Brown. There I was, standing at the drinking fountain, filling my coffee mug with water. Suddenly, I heard the unmistakable roar of an anus letting loose in the men's room.
The door to the men's room, which has a set of small ventilation louvers near its bottom, stands within ten feet of the drinking fountain I was using. Being a radical Shameless Shitter, a curious PoopReporter and a rabble-rouser, I recognized a golden opportunity. Nonchalantly, I finished filling my mug with chlorinated water and decided I had a few drops of urine in my bladder that I might as well void before heading back to my cubicle.
The instant that I pressed my left hand against the men's room door and began pushing it open, I heard another thunderous roar echo off the tiled walls and floor. It sound like an angry raccoon on steroids tossing galvanized trashcans down a set of bleacher seats. A wry smile cracked across my face as my coffee mug and I entered into the room, hunting for Shameful co-workers.
Upon entering, I knew immediately I had cornered a real trophy -- the ass blasting stopped instantly as my unlucky co-worker cowered in the stench of the handicapped stall like a young boy. Breaking taboo, I addressed the urinal directly to the left of the occupied stall, the only thing separating predator from prey an aluminum stall divider painted a sickly ochre color. I let my prey notice my black leather engineer boots as the fluorescent lighting glinted off of the silver boot ring. I made sure he knew exactly who I was.
As I stood there, the Shameful dumper sat in absolute silence. Not a cough, sniffle nor rustle of clothing to be heard. Although I was standing and he sitting, I was clearly in the driver's seat. I took my time shaking the last driblets of urine from my pecker and slowly zipped my zipper. I then sauntered over to the sink and began to let the water run warm. Still, not another sound from the stall. I began methodically washing my hands; still no sounds from the stall. I then walked over to the towel dispenser and began drying my hands. Still no sounds from the stall.
At last I tossed the damp hand towels into the wastebasket, grabbed my coffee mug and headed towards the bathroom exit. I opened the door slowly and stood for a moment at the threshold, listening for signs of life from the occupied stall. Still, nothing.
I finally exited the men's room and stood just outside. Suddenly the raccoon returned with a vengeance -- a cacophony of sounds erupted from behind the bathroom door. I could literally hear the entire contents of the poor soul's lower GI erupt and echo in the porcelain bowl. An audible groan of pain and relief was released from my cornered co-worker. The joy he must have felt at finally having the room to himself to do his Shameful dirty business!
He thought he won, but I am no fool. I quickly re-entered the men's room, loudly dragging my boot heels across the floor. Once again an eerie silence enveloped the facilities. I returned to the sink and stared into the mirror. I saw a hint of evil gleaming from the eyes of my reflection.
The stench of a Shameful Shitter began blinding my senses, but I stood my ground. After another moment, I again left my prey to marinate in his juices of shame. I headed back towards my cube, feeling the exhilaration of sighting in a trophy buck but letting it pass for another year. I possess both power and mercy. Let he knoweth my name.
-- Chip Brown, Shameless Revolutionary