An Open Letter...

Dear Friend,

As you know, I have absolutely no shame in taking a poop at work. I figure I'm going to stink some place up, and it might as well be a public restroom -- especially at the office. It's clean, modern, and because there are plenty of stalls, it's virtually anonymous.

And that's where you come in, generous pooper. I ensured I sat in the familiar comforts of my end stall, which is a respite sometimes, especially during the days I can't seem to get anything done. I chose that stall for one specific reason: It's all the way on the end.

So imagine my confusion when you interrupted my poop reverie and sat down in the stall immediately next to mine. True, it's a free country, and I realize it's a public restroom, but didn't you have to walk past 6 other empty stalls to pick the one right next to me? Were any of those unappealing?

At any rate, I suppose there are worse things: When I was in the Army, for example, there were several times when I sat on a toilet next to another toilet with no stall. At least in that scenario we could share the newspaper, but I digress.

As if your continued presence coupled with the knowledge of what you were doing weren't enough, my dear Prince of Poop, you decide that that very instant is an appropriate time to conduct a launch test for NASA. With you as the test vehicle.

I mean seriously, did you have a seat belt fastened prior to unleashing 36 millions tons per square inch of pressure? There at least had to have been an inner voice telling you to put your hands and arms SOMEWHERE to keep from getting them ripped the fuck off when you go flying out of your stall like an errant Iranian missle due to the sheer energy being released from your stinking ass. I thought the frickin' stall was going to explode onto me (really, it would be an IMPLOSION from my point of view, but whatever...) and I'm sure the people on the first floor were a little perturbed when the lights started to vibrate from the pressure.

And the worst part of it is, I still had a little bit left to go. I was working on it. Coaxing it. Visualizing the last little piece of turd gently hitting the water, finding its way to a new residence. Just as I was about to be rewarded for my efforts, your earth-shattering dookie explosion broke my concentration. After one or two more pushes and grunts (in vain, I might add, since the last of my turtle head retreated in frightened desperation to the depths of my bowel), I begin to clean up.

And that, oh gentle Dauphin of Defecation, is when you finally put the finishing touches on my retreat. At first I was alarmed by the sound: A sound of a 320 pound man trying to clean and jerk a fucking 18-wheeler. A huffing and puffing so fierce and intense the big bad wolf had to retire. A breathing so heavy it sounded like you were giving birth to a 20 pound baby through your ass. And you were constipated at the time.

I seriously thought you were masturbating, BUT:

When I exited my stall, the absolute stench of your fecal fiasco greeted me like a 10 ton heavy....thing. A big, noxious, green, evil, oppressive, 10 ton THING that punched me in the nostrils and invited me to the floor. A smell of liverwurst, onions, chitterlings, and dog shit all rolled up, deep fried, and rendered into its base component of the nasty shit that lives in your ass!

As you can see, my experience has been less than pleasant. I can understand someone needing to excorsize the evil Bud Lite demons, but did you really have to sit next to me?!

So, in conclusion, Caruso of Crappers, I would respectfully request you keep your nuclear ambitions in a stall that doesn't sit adjacent to mine. Really, I would request you keep that shit to yourself while you're here, entirely, but then you might explode and take out other people.

Also, if you're going to request toilet paper after a cropdusting like the one you did, don't stick your hand under the stall. That's just creepy.

Sincerely yours,

Anonymous Work-Pooper

PS -- I just ate a WHOLE Publix sub with extra peppers and onions. I'll be leaving that waste in stall #8 tomorrow, so be forewarned that I'm prepared to fight....