THE BEER SHITS
Well it happens to the best of us, well maybe to the worst or you know it's probably just me. After a weeknight of drinking and going to work the next day the dreaded beer shits. It seems that being an alcoholic has its drawbacks.[p]
My problem starts with the location of my boss' office. I don't know who designed the set up but he is getting the short end of the stick. I should say the long end of the log because the restroom is right across from his office. Plus this is not a wide hallway, it's about as thick as Wiley Coyote after he realizes gravity works. Knowing this I usually keep my shitting for home. But this morning I was stuck, I had 7 hours left of work and there was about 7 minutes left until the shit was to hit the fan, literally.[p]
So I stroll down towards the loo with the intention of getting in getting out, mission impossible style. I'm not a fan of people knowing my colon activity (you are the lucky ones). So the key factor is not to let my boss see me go in... As I peer into his office as I turn into the can to see if he is even in there, here are my thoughts:[p]
«please, please, please, please, please do not be ther... EYE CONTACT! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Look away, look away, HEAD NOD! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Okay he knows your in here just shut the door (door shuts) and get down to business.»[p]
Thinking the hard part was over, because if I'm quick he'll just think I was taking a leak. As a start sitting down I let one massive fart rip, something my Dad would have bought a medal for me for. «OK he definitely heard that» I think. Still with time a factor I attack the bowl with a flurry of Rickard's Red draft beer and pizza. for the most part we can handle our own rank emissions, but this was something else. I started to gag on all the vagina juice I had last night. The good thing about beer shits is usually it's a 30 second dump. I quickly get up wash my hands and open the door if for anything it was for survival.[p]
I try and glance to hopefully see that my boss has left to spare me the embarrassment of my evil creation. All I see is him leaning over his desk with his golf shirt over his nose. «Run, god damn you, run» I tell myself. I didn't run but I did get the hell out of there.[p]
Now I sit here in my office writing this, with about 99% certainty I didn't flush, fuckin' beer shits at work
