magpie_complex
New member
Our new house is near damned perfect. Stuff is unpacked, setup is complete, I am happy.
Now, there was the time to inaugurate, or rather, to baptize this new house. It had to be done so by dropping a big fat shit down the bandwidth pipe of mother nature. And therefore, I headed to the bathroom downstairs to do just that.
Now, I am no quick sitter. Being the proud owner of five editions of Uncle John's Bathroom Readers, I can spend more than my share of minutes on the throne. Normally, this wasn't a problem. There was enough circulation to ensure a constant supply amount of fresh air, and if such supply was scarce, I could always use one of those smell-good sprays.
However, as I sat down and opened my book, I smelled something iffy.
Too iffy.
It smelled like shit. Full nose shit, as if I had just landed right into the asshole of Tubgirl in person.
Looking up, I found my answer.
The people who had made the house stuck the air vent right above the toilet bowl. And thus, despite the efforts of my escape fan to clear the stench, it was helpless. The air vent's grate was stuck open, and the flow was immense. And thus, whatever stench my feces were able to produce was blown right back into my face.
I gave the spray a go. Then one more go. Still nothing. In fact, it made the smell worse. Like when you mix a color you don't like with a color you like, you end up with some shit-brown color in the end. And shit it was, for I could no longer hold my breath.
Therefore, I do my job as quickly as possible, something my back end isn't used to, and therefore I burn from attempting to push my anus past its maximum rated speed. With my cheeks full of air and bigger than the ones on Chip & Dale, I flush and run out with more velocity than the Roadrunner himself. Only hours later am I able to come back and assess the damages.
The grate is hopelessly stuck open. I find my boxers next to the sink since I had left them behind in my rush. After four sessions of burning heavy duty, I realize I only managed to read two pages of my book.
'Tis a sad day.
For I no longer shall be able to bathroom read like I used to.
Bathroom reading comrades, I salute you and encourage you. Though I may have failed in the line of duty, I shall always be next to you, encouraging you and supplying you with the praises that true bathroom readers deserve. Amen.
Now, there was the time to inaugurate, or rather, to baptize this new house. It had to be done so by dropping a big fat shit down the bandwidth pipe of mother nature. And therefore, I headed to the bathroom downstairs to do just that.
Now, I am no quick sitter. Being the proud owner of five editions of Uncle John's Bathroom Readers, I can spend more than my share of minutes on the throne. Normally, this wasn't a problem. There was enough circulation to ensure a constant supply amount of fresh air, and if such supply was scarce, I could always use one of those smell-good sprays.
However, as I sat down and opened my book, I smelled something iffy.
Too iffy.
It smelled like shit. Full nose shit, as if I had just landed right into the asshole of Tubgirl in person.
Looking up, I found my answer.
The people who had made the house stuck the air vent right above the toilet bowl. And thus, despite the efforts of my escape fan to clear the stench, it was helpless. The air vent's grate was stuck open, and the flow was immense. And thus, whatever stench my feces were able to produce was blown right back into my face.
I gave the spray a go. Then one more go. Still nothing. In fact, it made the smell worse. Like when you mix a color you don't like with a color you like, you end up with some shit-brown color in the end. And shit it was, for I could no longer hold my breath.
Therefore, I do my job as quickly as possible, something my back end isn't used to, and therefore I burn from attempting to push my anus past its maximum rated speed. With my cheeks full of air and bigger than the ones on Chip & Dale, I flush and run out with more velocity than the Roadrunner himself. Only hours later am I able to come back and assess the damages.
The grate is hopelessly stuck open. I find my boxers next to the sink since I had left them behind in my rush. After four sessions of burning heavy duty, I realize I only managed to read two pages of my book.
'Tis a sad day.
For I no longer shall be able to bathroom read like I used to.
Bathroom reading comrades, I salute you and encourage you. Though I may have failed in the line of duty, I shall always be next to you, encouraging you and supplying you with the praises that true bathroom readers deserve. Amen.
