Remarkably, while the disgusted passengers racked up hundreds of frequent floater miles, the iron-nostriled corps of flight attendants continued to dispense their plastic trays of lukewarm lasagna and bone-riddled pudding without interruption -- albeit with a caveat that the passengers not overindulge, since the restrooms were declared no-fly zones.
That's right: the crappers were off-limits! One can only imagine the internal dialogue that must have been racing through the minds of the Shameful Shitters on board whose burrito-nozzles were beginning to feel the pangs of rear-engine failure somewhere over the mid-Atlantic:
"Attention, passengers. This is your colon speaking. It seems we're experiencing some extremely gusty tail winds and a tremendous increase in cabin pressure. We are currently in a holding pattern until we get the go-ahead to attempt a water landing. Until that time, I suggest you remain seated and fasten your seat belts. We're in for a long, long ride..."
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