I’m really glad nobody at work reads my blog. Even if I managed to avoid getting fired for it, nobody would talk to me for fear of appearing in a blog post. If my blog was circulated around work, I’d particularly like it to reach a particular individual whose identity I don’t know. I’ll explain in the form of an office memo.
MEMO TO: The filthy fucking beast who had a shit explosion in the middle toilet cubicle
FROM: All the decent humans in this workplace
RE: Well, the “TO” line pretty much says it all
Hello. You disgusting fucking animal. So it seems you have a case of explosive diarrhoea. I don’t hold this against you. We’ve all had unhappy visits to Arse Explosion Town. But why in the hell would you not clean up after yourself?
I’m not saying you have to clean every skid mark off the bowl every time. But is it too much to ask that you don’t leave liquefied shit sprayed all over the place? It is simply impossible that you did not realise this had happened. I am not a forensic specialist but the spectacular spray patterns speak to a particularly forceful bowel eruption. There’s no way you didn’t feel it.
It is among the less pleasant experiences a human can suffer to walk into a toilet cubicle and be confronted with such a mess. It’s bad enough when this shit happens in a public toilet but at work? We’re supposed to be professionals. We’re supposed to be adults. We’re supposed to be fucking human ferchrissake! Last I looked there were no shit-slinging howler monkeys employed here.
I’m guessing that you saw the unholy fecal fresco you created and thought “That’s gross, I’m not going near that.” Poor, sensitive you. How the fuck do you think I felt when it confronted me? The level of contempt this action displays for your co-workers leads me to suspect you’re the same prick that stole my piece of chocolate cake out of the fridge.
I can almost see how that played out too. You saw it and wondered whose it was. You may have even asked a few people if it was theirs. When nobody claimed it you decided you would eat it. Because you didn’t know who owned it. Well you knew fucking well you didn’t own the fucking cake didn’t you, you thieving fucking bastard!
Anyway, in summary: you’re a disgusting vile animal. I hope you stay anonymous because I’m not sure I could resist punching you in the face if I knew who you were. Oh, and I cleaned you mess up. You know how? There was a scrubbing brush, right there in the cubicle. You might try learning how to use one someday.