April 5, 2013 3:13 PM by Billy Heywood
2 cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee and several held-in-farts later, I decided to lay siege on the toilet. As I walk past the cubicles, I hear Patrick’s headphones blaring ACDC like it was walkup music for my upcoming at bat. But instead of batting, I was taking a massive deuce. I get in there, poised, calm and ready to do battle with the porcelain underbelly, I see a man kneeling on the other side of the stall. Mind you, I share a bathroom with 4 other companies within the building, so I have zero shame when it comes to saying what I feel, knowing that I will never see that man ever again.
Moaning, and coughing. Dry heaving and burping. I could tell that this guy had the spins…hard. Either bad sushi or a late night out the prior evening, this guy was puking his guts up. Sure enough, after hearing faint stomach growls, I saw his feet shuffle across the floor and heard the all familiar barfing noise. Barf after hurl, hurl after puke, all smacking the toilet water like a jet ski in a small pool. The smell of vomit engulfed the whole bathroom, and I honestly thought I was going to start throwing up or die. Not being able to move out of the stall, I decided to give it all I had and start pushing it out. Farts, poo, squeks, flops, chunks all came out. It felt like there was a tank crew inside my colon pushing out artillery, blanks and live ammo.
I was horrified. I finished my poop and got out of there before the toilet stopped flushing. The noise that the 5 minutes of continuous barfing and pooping was enough to make the hardest men wet themselves.
On the turtle walk back to my cube, I wondered who had it worse in that situation…me or “2 Knees” Johnson in the stall next to me. Would you rather have uncontrollable diarrhea, or vomiting?
Me? Give me diarrhea any day of the week. I can eat anything I want, drink anything I want, and it will all come out brown soup. If I was vomiting, I couldn’t eat 95% of the things I love to eat, because I would see them in the toilet, and be scarred for life. Nothing, and I mean nothing, kills a boner for a great kind of food than tasting it coming back up.