Pissues and Shituations: A Tale of Public Bathroomery

Yesterday I had an emergency shituation arise while at the Crestwood PetSmart. I was shopping for a new mousy swing stick toy for my kitty, Mr. Meowmington, when a pressure arose against at my back door that required immediate attention. Unfamiliar with the bathroom layout of the PetSmart, I decided to shuffle down to the Best Buy, 2 stores down. Why not just ASK if they have a bathroom at PetSmart? Well, firstly everyone who works there is a 16 year old girl and I have a MODICUM of decorum and propriety; secondly, I didn’t have the time. Perhaps they DID have a bathroom, but what if it turned out to be one of those one seat-no stallers with cedar brick juvenile prison walls RIGHT next to the cash registers? My unholy explosion would echo throughout the store and out into the sky like Kirk screaming ‘KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHNNNNN!” into a blender set to ‘frappe’. No, an immediate decision was reached and there was no time for second guessing, off to the Best Buy I went.

I’d been to other Best Buy bathrooms, and although I’d never had the pleasure of frequenting the facility at the Crestwood Best Buy, I knew it would be like the others. Best Buy made this great move when designing their stores, of putting the bathroom as FAR away from the electronic dorkery as possible. Every BBB (Best Buy Bathroom) you go to is down a long hallway, way in the back. Complete privacy and MY kind of atmosphere. It was around 8:00 PM on a Wednesday, and there were only 4 people in the store, so I tried to hurry without being too obvious as to my end goal. I made my way down the long hallway, which seemed to stretch out further the quicker I went, like the hallway in ‘Poltergeist.’ There was a video screen hanging from the ceiling in back, and I could see that there was nobody behind me. I entered and the flickering overhead light welcomed me with short buzzing noises as it tried to decide if it wanted to burn out permanently. There was nobody in the room and I made my way to the handicapped stall.

I sat, relieved, took a deep breath to gather my strength for a poo birth, looked to my right and saw there was not a shred of toilet paper in the toilet paper hanger thingy. Fuck. Then I heard the bathroom door open and someone come in. HOW was this possible? I was in the bathroom for all of 2 seconds and I could see in that monitor there was NOBODY behind me when I came in; and it takes 7 minutes to walk down that fucking hallway. As soon as it squeaked closed, I heard the bathroom door open almost immediately and another set of feet entered, and another, the door closed again and BANGED open hard. ‘Squeak-grit…squeak-grit…squeak-grit’ oh fuck…that was the sound of a squeaky wheelchair and rubber tires on cold tile. I just wanted to flush myself down the toilet and be gone from this evil place.

The bathroom had gone from an uninhabited oasis in a desert of dookey, to the interior of a clown car. Every nightmare I could conceive in a bathroom environment was coming true; no toilet paper, people IN the bathroom with me, and one of them obviously waiting for me to leave the handicapped stall. I had to leave without shitting, my head hung low. I (nearly) made it all the way home…but why not just shit at the Best Buy and be done with it, you ask? Well, therein lies my story:

Pissues & Shituations:

A Tale of Public Bathroomery


Written by: Terry Allen Cumming

Brought to you by: Cous’n Cumm’ns Entertainment

Cous’n Cumm’ns Entertainment: We’ll talk about damned near anything!


Well, well well; what a tasty looking blood cell. I'm cumswalla the poo bacteria and we're gonna be blood-cellmates. Awwwwww, yeah.
“Well, well well; what a tasty looking white blood cell. I’m cumswalla the poo bacteria and we’re gonna be blood-cellmates. Awwwwww, yeah.”

Far be it from me to resort to pee-pee – poo-poo as a story subject, but I believe it’s high time somebody discussed the intricate and nasty assness of the public toiletry. I mean, hell I don’t even want to use MY bathroom at home because of the arrant microbes and dastardly diseases lying in wait for some sleepy white blood cell of mine to let them penetrate my bloodstream like a long veiny black cock penetrating a tiny prison snitch.

I have a little OCD when it comes to bathroom cleanliness (except the occasional poo streak on the back of the toilet but don’t worry, like every other man on the planet, I power-wash that shit off when I pee. Aren’t dicks great guys? High five!) I scrub my bathroom down every day with scrubbing bubbles, Windex, Mr. Toilet, floor cleaner, and a hose hooked up to a bleach dispenser. ANYTHING really to kill as much nastiness as I can without ‘Honey, I shrunk the OCD Man’ ing myself down to Ant Man proportions and going Jason Voorhees on individual bits of ick (Coming this fall TO FOX!) So just the THOUGHT of unleashing my Johnson in a public bathroom of ill repute, in which I have NO control over the volume of human filth (‘but…these go to 11’), makes me want to head for ZE hills.

Case in point…the bathroom at my job.

Let me start by saying that being me is no picnic. Not because of outside factors or ‘bad luck’, but because of my own neurosis. Besides a fear of bacteria, I have so many ‘dick’ issues in my own brain that it would drive a normal man insane (said the voice in my head.) This leads to my first public bathroom issue:


I don’t know about you, but I find something…undignified about pissing in public restrooms. This feeling is compounded by disgust and impatience at the thought of having to do it next to or around other people. I mean, Wrigley field still has a fucking TROUGH, where 30 drunk guys who you wouldn’t trust behind the wheel of a car, haphazardly wield their hogs of varying shapes and sizes while swaying back in forth, out of sync to Mr. T singing ‘Take me out to the ballgame,’ with their heads thrown back nearly doing a backwards spider crawl while swigging a miller lite. Uh uh, I ain’t the one. And keep in mind that all of these men are doing this NEXT to one another, while a golden stream of urine travels at about 5 MPH out of their John Thomas’. How did I come to 5MPH? Simple:

Assuming drag is negligible:

distance traveled=1/2 at ^ 2

1=1/2 at ^ 2

time in the air = square root ((2×1)/9.8) = .45 seconds

since we now know how long it is in the air, we can now calculate how fast it is going horizontally:

distance = velocity x time velocity = distance/time

v = 1m/.45 seconds= 2.2 m/s = a filthy 5 m.p.h.

Now, in a NORMAL bathroom, which is ANY that doesn’t offer buffet style pissing as Wrigley does, there’s no problem. If I started to pee and someone comes in, I try to force it out to finish quicker (which, as men know, is uncomfortable at best), and if someone is in there already, like as not I’ll just leave and try another bathroom. Now, I do this NOT because I have a small dick (to which I’ll freely admit to you, I mean…not that it’s a MICRO phallus or anything. It’s average, but still.) but because I fear the ways people will discern the size of said pethis. I’d rather someone kneel 4 inches away from me, directly to my right while staring unblinkingly at my dingus as I piss, than have someone HEAR me piss.

A few examples; let’s say I’m pissing in a toilet (not a urinal) in an empty public restroom and somebody walks into the bathroom while I’m mid piss. I’ll give you a moment to complete the image in your head…got it? A LITTLE bigger than that..O.K., I will immediately aim to the inside back of the toilet so as not to be hitting the water. I do this because if this guy hears my splash, he may think “Sheesh, that guy must have a narrow urethra,” or “EGADS! That man must have a giant bladder that can’t form enough pressure to force his piss out!” or “Wow, what a weak stream, he must have a tiny penis.” WHATEVER the case, in my mind this guy’s thinking about my dick and I just can’t have that. Meanwhile, NOBODY is thinking about my dick EVER, this is my neurosis.

OR, let’s say I’m exposed at a urinal. And I say exposed because, at the very LEAST, a stall affords me the comfort of anonymity. Sometimes I’ll even wait in the stall AFTER I’m done pissing, until this numbnuts leaves so as to conceal my identity completely. But, the urinal, me, pissing. So I’m pissing at the urinal and somebody walks in, well now I have to force my cock down like I’m shifting in a Nascar race, so as to ensure I’m hitting the little hockey puck on the bottom of the urinal. In this case I WANT to create a noise because, if I’m silently pissing on the porcelain, this guy may be thinking “oh, he’s just standing in front of the urinal holding his dick like a maniac” or “he must have a pin prick which just pokes straight out and hits the back of the urinal making no sound at all” or “what a small dicked asshole”, WHATEVER, you get the point. In my head, he’s thinking about my dick again.

I hear some guys in the bathroom piss with all the pressure and force of a firehose pointed at a cup of water. I get visions of them hosing down John Rambo in a police basement somewhere (just showed my age.) Sometimes I wish I had a huge hog just so I could piss comfortably, not for any kind of female satisfaction reasons.

“…the fuck?”

Now, my first issue with the work bathrooms is that someone is ALWAYS in them, and I have no choice but to piss during the day; I’m human, it’s kinda what we do. However, working in a place in which the public uses the facilities, not just co-workers, is fucking solidly disgusting because you’re all a bunch of nasty mother fuckers. Yes, even you, ESPECIALLY you. However, this isn’t the regular public at my job. Without revealing too much about what I do, let’s just say that these people are in my office because they are poor and have medical issues. This creates an almost unbearable bathroom environment. Sometimes I walk in there and get that look on my face like when Sam Neill first saw the Brontosaurus in ‘Jurassic Park.’

‘Piss Twins' starring Danny DeVito urinal and Arnold Schwarzenegger urinal
‘Piss Twins’ starring Danny DeVito urinal and Arnold Schwarzenegger urinal

Here’s a little description of the bathroom at work. You walk in and on the right is a long counter with 2 sinks. Opposite of that are 2 stalls, one handicapped, the other a shoebox. Then, and this is the weird part, there are two urinals separated by a tiny partition (see picture… and yes, I took a picture of the urinals at work. What? I’m a journalist exposing nasty, mindjabidness.) The first of these urinals (closest to the shoebox stall) is one of those weird ones that pokes out of the wall and has a tapered front that comes out just a little too far, like a cold porcelain chin waiting for you to dip your balls into it. I often ponder who could have created such a device and what their whole bottom parts must have looked like for them to think this was the optimal piece of urinating equipment; was it a bowlegged cowboy? A crazy mad scientist whose ultimate creation was to be a toilet/urinal hybrid? Or perhaps it was supposed to be a new-fangled water fountain and the inventor died without writing any notes before he was finished? Whatever the case, this is the WORST piece of bathroom accessory I’ve ever run into outside of the fucking trough. One has to stand way back beyond the partition to use this thing, and let me just say if it wasn’t for that partition, I’d probably have sepsis from never pissing by now. Oh, there’s just water splashing and piss spraying everywhere, it’s fucking disgusting. The other urinal is your standard nasty porcelain wall basin.

Now, I don’t like it when ANYBODY is in the bathroom while I am, but sometimes guys will come in while I’m mid-stream at the ‘normal’ urinal, walk around the stalls, see me pissing and proceed to pish in a stall. Fine, of two evils, this is the best scenario I can hope for. God forbid someone come into the bathroom while I’m getting my piss on and not have the god damned common courtesy to use a stall. I feel like I’m being held hostage there until I’m done and can quickly absent myself from the premises. However, this DOES happen.

Stand at the red line and play the 'Bozo Buckets' of pissing
Stand at the red line and play the ‘Bozo Buckets’ of pissing

Guys will walk around the stalls and proceed to unleash their dork like they’re NOT hunkering up to a lippy medieval torture urinal. This is the ultimate violation of my human being-ery. These men are standing 8 inches to my left and 6 inches behind me, splashing their urine all over the place in what is essentially a birdbath for peckers. Why won’t these ‘ternal’ (Yes, I’m creating a new word which is an amalgam of ‘terlet’ and ‘urinal’) users aim for the porcelain? Meanwhile, I’m rigid and pressed as close to the normal urinal as I can get while staring straight ahead at the tile wall, like someone trying desperately not to be a witness.

Sometimes these men will drop their pants to the floor, sometimes they’ll stand straight up, back arched, like they’re about to salute a four star general, sometimes they’ll hunch over and wince, and the worst one, the one that makes me wanna run out of the bathroom screaming and projectile vomiting, is when they dip their head forward like a vulture. Oh! It looks like they’ve unhinged their necks and now they’re trying to dip their face down into the same water into which they micturate.

When this happens, my mind just conjures images of their deep yellow soda/coffee waste back-splashing on their lips, cheeks, forehead, and glasses; fogging the latter over as the warm piss dots the cool lenses, creating a piss coating that this PERSON IS GOING TO LOOK AT ME THROUGH!

OH I just imagine the 2 liter of Pepsi this fat fuck here drank before he got to this point on my life’s path, obstructing my clear view of relief ahead with his vomitus waste, chaos theory-ing itself in all different directions; on the partition, the stall wall, his own hand, pants or shoes, the back of my shirt, my….*UUUHwulf*…sorry, I just threw up a little in my mouth.

And there’s NO shame or apology. Just this apathetic ‘Yeah, I pissed next to you, so what?’ SO WHAT?!? You pissing next to me is EVERYTHING. It’s all that’s wrong with the world!

Sometimes these men want to make awful office small talk while our dicks are out, as if we’re parents without much in common whose children are on a dick playdate. “We made it to hump day” they’ll say on Wednesday; or “thank god it’s Friday.” or “Happy Monday!” or any banal combination of a glad tidings followed by a weekday name. Look, I don’t even want WOMEN to talk to me while my dick is out, much less this mustachioed dullard wearing a stained paisley shirt whose life is as interesting as a sidewalk crack.

Now, I don’t know if some men have the bladder control of a 94 year old woman, but there are times when I’ll be pissing quietly to myself in the normal urinal and men will RUN into the bathroom at top speed, as if they were recently hired to play a Dodge Challenger in a Fast & Furious movie, essentially stripping loudly with belt buckles clacking and zippers unzipping and clothes rustling as they come blazing around the stall corner, skip stepping on one foot, drop everything and begin making ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhhh’ noises as they hastily piss out their contents. ARE YOU 5 YEARS OLD? What the fuck? Have some piss dignity for Christ’s sake.

My second piss issue with the bathroom at work is that I have to walk around the stalls in order to get to the urinals which means I don’t know if anyone is in the bathroom until I’ve fully committed to walking all the way in. I won’t use the ternal one EVER and if someone is pissing in the normal urinal, I just leave. But now this guy is thinking “Did he just come in to look at my ass and go? An ‘ass and go’ if you will?” or “maybe his dick changed its dick mind; what a troublesome dick he must have” or “what a small dicked asshole”, WHATEVER, you get the point.


Ok, I freely admit to shitting at work. I have to. There’s some kind of freaky clock inside me that makes me shit at the same time every day. This is why I get to work so early. I don’t have to start work until 8AM daily; however I get there at about 720. Now, I don’t need to take a 40 minute shit, I just want to make sure I shit before anyone else gets there.

You see, they clean the bathrooms overnight, so when I walk in there at 720, I can still smell that chemical bleachy aroma that tells me it’s ok to let all my separates hover over the stink hole. I can tell nobody has been in the bathroom yet because when I’m the first person in, the motion lights come on. If I come in and they’re already on? Well, without knowing the situation, I’ll hold it until I get home; trying hard not to dive bomb my co-workers with suicide farts throughout the day.

keystone Kapers
“I’m just gonna shit behind one of these blue counter thingys”

Now, there ARE other bathrooms in my job, but they are ALL similarly crowded. There are days where I just HAVE to shit, and I’ll run around that building like that old Atari “Keystone Cops” video game; going up and down elevators, running hastily up and down escalators, being chased by toy airplanes, going through a door in the left side of my building, only to somehow come out a door on the right. Shitting at work can be a nerve wracking experience.

That being said…the thing that drives me mad, the thing that makes me want to proclaim, like a petulant monarch “WHO DAAAAAAARES!!?!?!”, is OTHER people shitting. OH, for Christ sake, they groan, moan, grunt, whimper, and sometimes talk to themselves like Robert Durst all to the tune of kersplunks, kersplashes, and farty exclamatory explosions. How anybody can make such noises in front of or near other people within a 4 block radius is beyond me.

When I have to shit at work, the FIRST thing I do is a clean walkthrough of the facility to make sure I’m alone. I yell ‘CLEAR!’ like a secret service agent, and then proceed into the handicapped stall. That’s right, I said the handicapped stall. I ONLY use handicapped stalls ANYWHERE because I’m not going in that tiny one and trying not to touch the walls like a shit taking version of ‘Operation’. And if you want to complain about me using a handicapped stall when I’m not handicapped, let me ask you this: do I SOUND normal to you?

Now, I won’t even walk into a bathroom to shit until said shit is at its optimal placement at the precipice of my asshole. I want to be at peak shit so I can sit, dump, wipe, and go. I do practice shit runs at home to make sure I’m in and out in 30 seconds. In a perfect world I’ll cop a ‘one wiper’. I used to refer to this as the ‘NO wiper’ or the ‘Teflon shit’. You know, that one in a million shit that requires no clean up; but then I was reminded by someone, far wiser than I in the ways of shittery, that I have to wipe AT LEAST one time to KNOW it was a Teflon shit, hence ‘one wiper’.

Shit, wipe, leave. I have that monogrammed on a pillow somewhere. And NEVER ever in front of any human being (shitting in front of your dog is ok.) Shitting and pissing is the ONE thing that everyone on this planet has in common, yet it’s the one thing that should keep us ALL separated.

Case in point: There are those who will be evacuating in a stall and start talking to me as if we have some bathroom commonality. I’m officially advocating for worldwide bathroom silence. No more grunting, moaning, talking on your phone, or acknowledging another’s existence of any kind! Unless, of course, you’re killing them and flushing them down the toilet because they are a turd and have broken one of the preceding rules of silence.

Other people shitting is another reason why I find it hard to piss at work. Sometimes there’ll be somebody shitting in a stall while I’m pissing and my mind forms this image of them eating some nasty gyro the night before that some Greek guy sweat into, on top of which lie tomatoes that he sliced and placed on the gyro with his fingers that he only recently used to scratch his sweaty ass crack before sniffing them; then the man eating the gyro brought it up to his lips using his hands which were recently scratched by his cat’s pee-poo paws after it went stomping around in piss and shit clumps, where he bit into it with cigarette stained teeth that haven’t been brushed since Reagan was in office , and chewed it in his mouth which was recently used to go down on a 300 pound roller derby queen named ‘Sambecca’, after which it was swallowed and festered through 32 feet of intestine overnight, during which time the itty bit of nutrient from the tomato was sucked out and used to keep this guy alive, the rest of which was deposited as a dirty filthy shit into his colon where it came to rest comfortably and mingled with 30 odd years of meat waste made similarly by strangers, and is now being forced out of this puckered brown starfish , where tiny fragments will break off from the main loaf in the form of microscopic particles and mingle into the air I breath, the air in which my pissing hog now lingers, and touch not ONLY my skin but the inside of my head through the smell; then when I shit, these microscopic bits of nasty will become a part of my own and the cycle will go on and on and on as long as people use public bathrooms and smell each other’s shit. Oh, the fucking humanity!

 Cleanliness is Next to ‘Not Happening’

The Persistence of Poo by Salvador Doodi

The main reason to which I attribute my absolute loathing of using the bathroom at work is the untold nastiness that has befallen this small area of the globe. In this bathroom, I’ve walked in on homeless people washing their feet in the sink, an old woman taking a shit in the MEN’S room with the stall door open and her shirt off, a man with a garbage pail over his head like a Three Stooges skit, and a turd, half of which was on the sink counter, the other half of which slid down to the floor below like a Salvador Dali painting: ‘The Persistence of Poo’, if you will. In this situation I ran away, like Forrest Gump, to the west coast, and then back again to the East coast, screaming the entire time. As a matter of fact I’m still running, screaming, and typing this into my blog from Wyoming, if you hear a man screaming while running down your street…that’s just me (Unless you’re in Indiana, then it could be most anybody.) That’s the filthiness of the public, THEN there’re the people who work with me.

The men in my office either have no sense of how annoying they are, or they were brought up wrongly. One time I walked around the stalls to find an Asian man texting directly in front of the normal urinal; like an inch away. He wasn’t pissing as both of his hands were tip-typing away on his smart phone. Just standing their texting. When he heard me, he backed up two steps without looking away from his phone as if I was going to slide into the 2 foot 1 inch space he’d created to take a leak in front of him. So I killed him and flushed his body down the toilet because he was a turd.

Another time a guy in my office was talking on his phone by the sink when I walked in. I walked around to the urinal and as I was pissing, he put his phone on ‘speaker’ and then began pacing the bathroom while I pissed; I just heard the loud disembodied voice of a New York City Garbage man on the other end of the phone echoing off of the cold tile walls as he cursed vehemently and talked of ‘shoving things up the twats’ of women of low consideration. This voice would get louder, and then lower as the man holding the phone would pace the length of the bathroom. So I killed him and flushed his body down the toilet because he is a turd. Then I went to his buddy’s house, killed him, flushed him down the toilet, turd.

Sometimes I wish I could be a vampire. not to have cool powers, although never having to piss or shit again would be a great power alone, but so I could have lived throughout time and pinpointed exactly when bathroom etiquette was thrown out the window like a bucket of shit into the streets of Chicago, ‘Jungle’ style.

Then there are the hundred other annoyances in the bathroom at work. Sometimes I’ll look over at the bottom of the stall and see, from my vantage point at the urinal, shoes. However, these shoes are facing the wall and ONLY 2 inches away from it! So, either the guy in the stall is shitting backwards, OR he’s pissing directly OVER the toilet instead of in front of it! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN THIS SITUATION!?!?! ARE PARENTS NOT TEACHING CHILDREN HOW TO SHIT OR PISS? WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SUBJECTED TO FEELING SOME KIND OF WAY ABOUT THIS AT WORK!?!?!

Tell me WHY, men (yes, MEN, multiple manses) DROP their fuckiing pants at the urinal? YOU HAVE A ZIPPER! There is no need under the great blue sky to unbuckle your belt, unbutton your pants, unzip your fly, and bend at the waist to push your pants down to your ankles in order to piss standing up! There need not be 4 points of articulation to a piss! EVEN if you have the thickest choad of a cock, it will fit through your zipper, I PROMICE you. Experiment for all the men out there, hell even women can do this: go get a can of Coke out of the fridge, unzip your fly, and push it through into your pants. You find nearly NO resistance. WHY MUST I THINK OF ZIPPERY CHOAD COKE CAN EXPERIMENTS AT WORK?!?!?!?

And even if the pants don’t come all the way down to rest on the piss dripped bathroom floor, why are buckles and buttons being TOUCHED in the bathroom. Now this is 100 percent of the time and in EVERY men’s room I’ve ever had the displeasure to frequent. Men will UNBUCKLE their belt and unbutton their pants to piss. WHY? You run the risk of your buckle touching the urinal, in which case it must be immediately burned and disposed of. OR in a WORST case scenario, you’ve now created a flap that, with the WEIGHT of your buckle, could swing over and ‘ting’ your pants button against the urinal, in which case your pants must be immediately burned and disposed of. Now you’re not wearing any pants at work. You should be killed and flushed down the toilet because you sir…are a fucking turd.

The Wrap Up

I know EVERYONE has SOME issue with bathrooms that they just don’t talk about. I have a friend who HAS to shit at home. Just HAS to. If the urge hits him at work, he’ll take off the rest of the day to go back to home base for a shit. I have another friend who will shit ANYWHERE, in public, up a tree, on a bench, whatever; but he can’t piss within 2 miles of any living creature, man or beast. And finally I have a friend who can ONLY piss while taking a shower. What I’m saying is that we all have ‘piss-ues’, but no matter what yours are, own them because how you piss is who you are.

I once tried out for The Navy. I took a bus and stayed at a barracks overnight. In the morning, the recruiter made us all line up in front of 20 urinals for a piss test. I couldn’t go. I was devastated because I was young and thought there was something wrong with me that I was SO nervous to piss in front of other men. After everyone was done, the recruiter looked at me and I apologized and began to stammer out an excuse. Before I could, he put his hand on my shoulder and said “Son, some people are piss shy, happens all the time, come out when you’re done.” Now, I didn’t have a father growing up (I know, ‘WHHHHHHHAAAAAA’), but this gesture meant a lot to me. My point is that you should never be ashamed of your hang-ups because someone else has the same issue…and most people have even worse ones. Oh, and keep your fucking pants buckled when using a urinal!

The End

My Worst Bathroom Pick (Besides Work & Wrigley Field)

Marcus Movie Theater, Orland Park – The problem with having a bunch of children and slow adults working for you is that NONE of them want to clean the god damned bathroom. This place is always filthy and smells of buttery piss. Plus it’s got those ‘all the way to the floor’ urinals that really skeeve me out because there’s piss splattering all over your shoes.

My Best Bathroom Pick (Besides home base)

Merichka’s Restaurant, Crest Hill – Although it’s small with only one stall and 2 urinals, this bathroom was recently VERY nicely remodeled and the stall made near floor to ceiling. It’s like going into a tiny room perfect for shitting OR pissing.


The Stall at Merichka's
The Stall at Merichka’s


Deleted Scenes


Deleted scene 1

The ladies public restrooms look like a 3rd world country  with garbage all over them, unflushed toilets, or overflowed toilets because no matter HOW many signs get put on the wall…dese bitches is STILL gonna attempt to flush their menstrual sundries (‘Menstrual Sundries’ was my band’s name in high school.)



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