So I’m sitting in the cuarto de poopie again, tending to the dark side of the moon and minding my own damn business, when I hear some lumbernuts come in and trudge across the gunnery range toward the wall-bound pisspot. I go back to reading, unaware that storm clouds are brewing up someone’s ass.
“unZZZZiiiiippppp… buuuuuurrrrppppp… HHHhhhhnnnnnnnnrrrraaarrrpppp… blattt… blattt!”
I look like a fucking spotlighted deer I’m so surprised. If there was a short haired pointer in the stall with me, he’d be on three legs and wimpering right now. As I raise my head up from the editorial page, I’m wondering was that frikkin’ real? Did somebody’s ass just sucker punch my sensibilities?
“HHHHHaaarrrrrrppprrrroooggaaaa… hunnnrttt… hunnnrrrtttt!”
Motherfucker! It’s goddamn anuscane season! *** Aromecia*** blew through first and scattered my previous understanding of the laws of harmonics and now here comes ***Bungholio *** to shiver my fucking timbers. Jesus, does this guy have a tuba shoved up his ass? Calling Dr. William Grey at Colorado State, Hey fucker, did you forecast this shit?
“Pppppfffffaaaarrrrrrrrtttttttttt… pppffflllattttt… pfffllaaatttt!”
Where’s my fucking plywood? I need a board to secure this damn stall up before I’m swept away by the colon of death. It’s like you can feel the pressure differential in the room and I half expect the light to begin to flicker and fade. I imagine out of the corner of my eye seeing some brown dust devil come spinning across the floor, scattering pubic hair and the sports page in my direction. Aaargh, run away! The sonofabitch can spawn tornadoes out his ass!
"BBbbllllloooooppppppp… hhhhaaaaarrrfffff… haaarrrfffff’
That’s it! Clappostinkia and Dungariffic were the final straw. I knew there was a tidal surge of methane heading my way and I was headed for higher ground. I packed up my trousers and headed for the door obeying a primal evacuation order, just like his ass had.
Jesus frikken Christ, can you sue a company cafeteria?
