Toilet stories, part 1

(warning: this blog post contains kind of graphic references to pooping)

Every morning, after the caffeine does its thing and I'm on my way to the bathroom to do my thing, I say something like this to the toilet god:

'Please, just a few minutes of solitude while I purge my guts of the evil within. Amen.'

Six out of ten times, this works. I'm in - I drop a deuce - and whoosh - I'm out. My guts won't work properly with others in the bathroom. They're shy. Especially, when someone is parked in the stall right next door.

Last week my solace was breached when what sounded to be a silverback gorilla entered the next stall. And apparently this beast had eaten and was trying to pass a handgrenade. A series of guttural grunts and groans were quickly followed by several loud explosions and splashes. I aborted my mission and hastily exited before the inevitable olfactory fallout contaminated the room.

I waited an hour to retry the mission -- just to make sure the odor and the coast was clear. At first, the mission was a go. And by this time, the guts were beginning to get angry. But before the soldiers could deploy, there was a revisit by if not the same gorilla, another who'd eaten at the same munitions dump.

Throughout the day, I had two more failed missions before success.

My kingdom for a private loo...