💩 The Shitness: The Silent King 💩

Shit happens. I assure you, it does. Like right in front of one of your male coworkers, it does. It's just the two of us this fateful day. I was lucky enough to have an incredibly lovely dude next to me, day-in and day-out, in this large walk-in closet-sized office. No matter how lovely, I was absolutely not comfortable enough to fully shat my pants, just 5-feet away from his desk! Our oh-so-fucking-adorable office, with zero working air conditioning, in peak summertime heat, can only be described as the 'Brick and Brighton'-level of adorableness. (Gag. Sorry.) Immediately transformed, before my very nostrils, into an oxygen-deprived brick-oven nightmare. The culmination cunt was lit...with an explosive-diarrhea match! Right. In. Front. Of. Lovely. Dude. I freeze. My hands are extended, all ten fingers and palms out, as if a police officer had magically showed up and told me to 'Freeze!' My jaw fully drops: pure, automatic reaction. Never in my life has this happened before. I didn't have a stomachache or system issue of any kind prior to this very real shit-storm I now find myself in! I excused myself calmly, while panicking at the speed of light, ass cheeks clinched so tight...the fear of a second-coming was all too real. The very public, two-stall restroom, shared with a restaurant, and conveniently located on the other side of the business complex. The crevices. Oh. My. God...the crevices! When the fuck did I decide that I no longer need to carry baby wipes at all times?! Restaurant happy hour goers enter, "Oh my fucking God. Let's get the fuck out of here...something died in here!" Yep...you pretty much nailed how I'm feeling, random bathroom-girl. Emotionally speaking, I'm already deceased. After failing, with tons of small, camo-brown rolled paper pieces stuck up in and all around my crack, thighs...and the fucking forementioned crevices! Everywhere! I give up the hopeless cause and go back upstairs. After washing my hands, like a surgeon. My coworker kindly asked no questions while I shove my laptop, and who knows what the hell else in a random box, nearly running while saying, "I will just be leaving. Not coming back today". Barely able to form proper sentences because the bathroom trip was a piss-poor excuse of a cleanup job. If I could smell what I was smelling...and the general poo-fume that bombed within the space. He could too. No words. No questions: girl, you got shit to deal with. Thank you for your reserved quietness, in the midst of true putrescence, you Silent King! This may have happened a couple years before the diagnosis, but this now feels like the diabolical way that cancer manifested itself into my life. Splat! I'm here to disrupt your whole GODDOME world. The culmination of the cunt that is cancer... Welcome to The Shitshow!