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Snafu at the Den of Stench
submitted by Mark at www.dogzine.net

I walk briskly into the Den of Stench, known more commonly as the Men's bathroom where I am employed, to perform my fairly regular, after-lunch dropping of the kids off at the pool. My practiced eye cannily notes the pluses and minuses of each stall position as my gaze touches, analyzes, then moves on...

first and second stall: clear...
handicapped stall: roomy but built by stereophonic geniuses that have calculated the exact position of the toilet with relation to the walls so that a single drop of sweat slipping off your ass into the cool toilet water sounds like a giant deranged gorilla smashing down a tin shack with a sledge hammer...
three: occupied....
four: clear...
five: clear...
six: clear...
seven: occupied...
eight: the coveted corner position, DAMN!, occupied...
but wait...five, clear, with a buffer stall on each side????? Stupendous!!!!

I quickly take advantage of this great opportunity, closing the door and feeling serene false security flood over me as I turn the pitiful lock that would probably not stop a lobotomized legless antelope from opening the door with it's tongue. I assume the position on my throne, the satisfied king of my little tiled fiefdom. But wait....footsteps entering the room....I peer through my crack between the door and the wall knowing I am cleverly hidden from the perpetrators sight yet still able see clearly.......the shirt of one of the Facilities Maintenance crew.... "take the handicapped... take the handicapped" I repeat in my mind as he unhesitatingly takes the stall next to me. More footsteps....not wanting to comprehend what's sitting next to me performing unspeakable acts, I peer through the crack again.... hmmmmm... another Facilities crew uniform... OH MY GOD...... NOOOOO!!!!!! He goes straight for the clear stall next to me, boxing me in...My beautiful Utopian setting has melted into a terrifying Dantean scene within moments....

I close my eyes and focus.... shutting out the sounds of breathing and the smells......it seems to be working......I'm relaxing....the sphincter is opening.....My serenity is splintered by the sound of the person to my right hacking phlegm up from the very deepest parts of his lungs..... then a moment of silence while I realize my sphincter has now resumed it's kung-fu grip.....then the person to my right opens up again with the sound of someone urgently dumping a bucket of potatoes into a water barrel. The dumping is punctuated by moments of harsh breathing and soft groans. To add to the horror, the person to my left goes to the opposite end of the spectrum and releases a noise quite similar to a ruptured 80 psi air hose that has water droplets in the line.....

The temperature in my stall climbs to a balmy 150 deg. and I am sweating profusely. The unimaginable intestinal thing that I had, only moments before, needed to immediately purge my body of, was in no way coming out now... I must escape. My vision is becoming blurred, possibly because the smell that is emanating from the stall to my left gives me delusions of someone finding a road kill skunk that has been baking in the sun, swinging it by the tail and beating it against every surface in their toilet stall until it explodes.

The person to my right appears done now and is only making low cooing noises of unimaginable joy. I am torn as to whether I should run now and hope they take awhile in their stalls to recover or wait until they both leave and then slink away. I can't wait......I run.....I fling open the door and stumble into the open, buttoning my pants and tucking in my shirt as I go....each step I take, the air seems to become sweeter and cleaner until, at last, I am back in the security of my office.......tomorrow's Friday, thank god. Without thinking I relax my sphincter, gambling and winning...... barely.... looks like I'll be making another trip to the Men's room....... soon.




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