As stated in my previous post, I’ve been planning to revamp the format of what you guys read on my site for some time now. So today marks the beginning of the retooled Renaissance.
To set the scene, I’ll need to give you guys a bit of rules, regulations, and exposition. The main rule I’ll have is that I will not provide the actual names of any people, places or things. They are just characters and backdrops in my novel of the mundane anyway, so their real names aren’t important.
As far as regulations go, I guess I’ll try and keep the shit up to date and interesting. I mean, if my entire day is about me having to take a shit at work, you better bet your bottom balls that I’ll provide every ounce of warm, sticky, spackle-like detail, that I am able to muster up. You’ll really feel as though you were sitting in the front row as the head of that turd crowns before its shoulders breach.
So as I start into my new internet journal, you should know a few things. I work for a clandestine agency under the federal government. The details of my particular operation are classified from the public. However, I’m also currently under review for a new clearance level, but that’s irrelevant at this point. So let’s get this party started.
In the beginning…
…well actually…in the today, the workplace turned out to be surprisingly easygoing. Yesterday, I attended my grandmother’s funeral, so I was welcomed back with a few hugs and handshakes. It was pretty refreshing to know that the 26 strangers I typically keep at arms length, gave more than just 1 fuck about me.
I also had a weird encounter with a coworker, today. And that’s how I’m going to transition into today’s blog post.
For the sake of anonymity and story telling, let’s call this coworker Maximillian Briggs. Max Dapower Briggs is a pretty interesting piece of nonfiction. He’s smart. Very smart. Much smarter than most people realize, actually. He’s also pretty talented. I know it seems like I’m pole-jocking this guy a bit, and that’s because I am. Max and I have a lot in common but it’s hard to make guy friends as adults. He can be a bit of a cock every now and then, but who isnt one from time to time? Needless to say, we’re not really friends, but the ground work has been laid.
Anyways, Max and I happened to need to use the bathroom at the same time today. Normally, I opt to use the executive toilets in the warehouse presidential type building 4, but today was a bit of an emergency. So we ended up both walking into the public toilet. I should’ve known that a “scene” was about to unfold when he turned to me and called me his “bathroom buddy.” That wasn’t the awkward part, by the way.
As I walked into the bathroom behind him, I instinctly put my arm out to catch the door from closing on me. However, instead of the vertical piece of geometry that’s meant to keep out non-males, my hand grazed the unmistakable form of four fingers, complete with knuckles. Bashfully, I pulled back, only to hear Max bolster about the level of intimacy we had just shared, touching hands in the men’s room.
I tried to ignore him, pushing past him to reach the urinal that offered the most privacy, a side unit separated by a wooden divider and perfectly placed beneath a crudely scribbled piece of graffiti that read, “no dick play.”
As I reached down for my zipper, Max’s voice echoed through the latrine. I ignored him. “What? We can’t have a conversation while we’re peeing?” I continued to ignore him, realizing his voice was coming from the stall next to mine. More intimacy.
Finally, as the few remaining droplets of urine, escaped my urethra, I spoke back. “I’m sorry. I just have a rule about not engaging in conversation, while my hand is full of my own penis.”
“Oh that’s fine,” he replied. “I’m not using my hands, I’m moreso just letting it control itself.”
I was speechless. The situation wasn’t what took my voice though. It was the level of genius he used that stunned me. He was a game changer. To pee without the guidance of his fingers, meant he could leave the restroom without the need of washing his hands. He could cut down on about 32 seconds worth of hygiene practice. His efficiency was astounding. I realized in that moment, that I wasn’t dealing with your ordinary bathroom pervert, but an extraordinarily high level toilet sage. He could have so much more to teach the men of the soldier’s latrine, if we would simply listen.
When he was finished voiding what could only be considered ichor at that point, I offered to stand at the door, protecting his path back to the work floor as his knight.
As the work day moved closer to its end, he attempted to preach the words of the bathroom encounter to all those who would listen, but his efforts fell on deaf ears. I felt that as his disciple, I needed to put the truth to page, for every possible eye to read.
Time will tell if the great pervy sage, or as he should be known, the Master Hentai, will continue to bestow his wisdom on future encounters.
So things got a little gay and mythical today. But that’s how a Wednesday should go. If I go to work on a daily basis and I don’t get to see a unicorn tap dancing on a rainbow, I’m clocking the fuck out.
What a day. Thank you Max Dapower Briggs, wherever you are.
Disclaimer : This is a post about real events. However names are fake as hell. The description of all events and incidents are slightly altered by the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events should be considered purposeful and hilarious as fuck.