On the topic of bathrooms, this reminds of a particular incident I had once.
I was in San Francisco and I had the shits really bad, so I went into one of those new fancy space-age bathrooms they have out near the coasts and towns. They're entirely self-cleaning; as soon as the doors close, boiled water and soap sprays, and rapidly sanitizes everything in there so they almost always stay clean. It was quite spiffy; and the newer ones know when there are people in it. The older ones did not, which my friend Jimmy Spitzer learned the hard way after I shoved him back in there for never returning a game he borrowed from me. Oh, he was steamed like brocoli in that thing, it was hilarious. Jimmy didn't think it was so funny, and neither did his parents since all the boiling water and soap make his skin peel like an onion and he was legally blind after the experience. BUT THAT ISN'T WHAT THIS STORY IS ABOUT.
There are times when a man has to make compromises in taking a dump. My dad told me a story where he had to take a shit on a piece a cardboard and rip a piece of his shirt off to wipe his ass since the place he was delivering at wasn't open yet. My tale isn't nearly as amazing, but it should suffice. It involves a gas station bathroom in the middle of the great California Valley. Some of you might already know where this is going. Have any of you ever been in a gas station bathroom? Trick question; nobody has, because they never leave them unless it's in a body bag. Gas station bathrooms are the last glorious havens for bacterial diseases that long should've died out. I saw somebody enter a gas station bathroom, and leave with a case of the bubonic plague before dropping dead in front of his car. Terrifying stuff.
Thankfully, I wasn't afraid. I'm the kind of person who makes people regret going into gas station bathrooms. I'm a walking maelstrom of insidious biles and putrid diseases when it involves anything dealing with the ass region. It was once so acidic that eroded a toilet seat with my excrement. YES I GOT IT ALL OVER THE TOILET SEAT. WHY? BECAUSE I'M A DESTROYER OF WORLDS. I WANT TO MAKE YOU HATE YOUR EXISTENCE, TO CRINGE IN TERROR WHENEVER YOU HAVE A BOWEL MOVEMENT.
Everybody needs the fear of God put into them. And that's what people like me do. We go into restrooms that are generally seen as the last resort or the last bastions of hope, and we make that person regret holding their bowel movements in for so long. We make it like they're walking into the gaping maw of Hell itself. When you walk in, the air is moist and thick enough that you're getting an STD just by breathing. The floors are soaked in muck and garbage and blood, and you don't even know where any of it came from. For some reason, it's even on the ceiling as well. The toilet is backed up. You have no choice though; you have to use it. You can smell, even feel the earlier lost souls who tried to traverse that restroom and probably failed. In fact, that unknown pile of whatever in the corner? Probably a corpse. Some poor bastard choked on the methane in there. You might, too. But you finish your business. And when you leave, you attempt to erase the entire memory from your mind. It never even happened.
But you'll still remember.
And we'll pay gas stations to never clean their bathrooms. Less money for them to spend, and more horrors and life lessons to teach to idiots who decide to hold it in until the last moment and use a gas station bathroom in the first place.
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