Editor-in-chief Bratton's office has its own bathroom. But the editor-in-chief now wishes he could stay in the public bathroom. Because when he opens the bathroom door, an indescribable smell begins to pollute his office.
The ceiling, walls, and floor of the bathroom were all filled with yellow and sticky objects. The thin yellow water flowed into the carpet of the office the moment the door was opened, as if it was nourishing the dry earth.
It's over, this expensive handmade carpet can only be thrown into the garbage dump.
The editor-in-chief lifted his trousers and looked sadly at the slimy objects falling down his trouser legs. Every time a lump fell, it made a very textured squeaking sound.
There are also some sticky objects that will slide down the editor-in-chief's thighs, moistening his thick leg hair. He is old, has a big belly, and wears fat pants. You can imagine that the crotch of these pants is very big, and he is a
Good container.
Now the container is filled with good things from the fertile field.
Editor-in-Chief Bratton's steps were very difficult, too difficult. Every step he took would leave deep footprints and water marks on the ground.
Looking back at the toilet, I felt even more sad and angry. The hole, which was like an abyss of sin, was now full of feces.
But the editor-in-chief had to take a step and leave. Holding back tears and feeling sad, he pulled up his pants. The moment he buckled his belt, the sticky substance was squeezed and spewed out.
The cold, damp, cold, and terrifying atmosphere instantly invaded. This feeling will echo in Bratton's mind for a lifetime, leaving him with tears of sadness. He finally decided not to wear these shame-covering pants because it was too indecent.
.
The editor-in-chief washed his hands in the bathroom with full of sadness. He tried to clean himself up, but it didn't help. He tried to flush the toilet again, but the amount of feces in the toilet pit could not be flushed.
Desperate!
Today is Christmas Eve.
If he had known this, Editor-in-Chief Bratton would definitely take time off to spend a warm night with his family and children. Why should he be a troublemaker in the office? But now there is no turning back and it is difficult to look straight at it.
"Hey, is this the building management office? I'm Bratton from the press department on the 16th floor. Yes, that's me. There's something wrong with the toilet in my bathroom and I need a cleaner. Wait, I'm afraid one is not enough. Please send a few more.
Name comes.
Also, do you have any oversized pants, or clothes, or anything? I would be grateful if you could. And don’t forget the air cleaner. You guessed it, the problem is a little bad. Very bad!”
After calling the management office, Editor-in-Chief Bratton stood pitifully in front of his desk. He had two bare long-haired legs, only wearing underpants, and took off his upper body clothes.
I don't want to stand at this station and can't sit down. It's really torturous.
With the reflection of the glass window in the office, one could see Bratton's embarrassed appearance. He even found that there were a lot of yellow things stuck to his hair, and he felt so sick that he wanted to jump off the rooftop of the headquarters building.
"Why does this toilet spray? How can it spray? What's the reason?"
The editor-in-chief was angry and anxious, but he had no way of venting his anger. He couldn't even move, as he would release a stink if he moved. He thought about three classic philosophical questions, but to no avail.
After waiting for a long time, the fat black aunt knocked on the editor-in-chief's office with cleaning tools - the newspaper office is a large space, low-level staff work in an open square, and the editor-in-chief has a separate office in the corner of the floor.
The black aunt knocked outside the editor-in-chief's office for a long time before the door cracked open a little. She saw a bald middle-aged face revealed behind the door, and an indescribable strong smell hit her face.
"Oh..., God!" The black aunt was so beautiful that her plump face was shaking. She covered her nose and shouted: "Sir, what did you do in the office?"
"Shhhhhhh..." The editor-in-chief didn't want too many people to know what he was going through. He begged carefully, sincerely, and low-key, "Madam, I have a special situation here. I hope you can see it later.
Deal with it calmly."
"Don't worry." The black aunt slapped her chest, stepped back and said, "I have been working in this building for more than ten years and have seen all kinds of scenes. The toilet in your bathroom is broken, right? I can handle this."
There were many staff working overtime in the big office, and they turned around when they heard the conversation. Editor-in-chief Bratton could only open the door wider and quickly pull the black aunt in.
But less than three seconds after the black aunt entered the door, she quickly broke away from Bratton's hand, grabbed the moment before the door closed, turned around in panic, and ran out, and shouted desperately:
"God, forgive this sinner. The office stinks like a shithole. I have worked in the newspaper office for more than ten years, and this is the first time I have experienced the stench of this super-invincible Wakanda!"
With such a voice, Editor-in-Chief Bratton thought he could die. He used to be a respected, dignified, and calm editor-in-chief of the New York Times. But soon he will have a nickname, which must be related to some kind of nickname.
Human waste has nothing to do with it.
The black aunt opened her mouth and quickly called the newspaper's security and night shift managers. From the description, it seemed that Editor-in-Chief Bratton had pooped in his office, so everyone in the newspaper building knew about it.
The security guards came wearing gas masks and evacuated all irrelevant staff on the same floor in advance. They asked Bratton to come out of the office, and soon saw the editor-in-chief who was in pain...
Bratton was wearing underpants, shirtless, with shit on his head, and had an extremely primitive smell. Several security guards were stunned by this scene. Even if they were wearing gas masks, they could still feel the lingering smell hitting their noses.
Drill inside.
"Sir, what happened?"
"The toilet is spraying feces."
"What?"
"Literally, the toilet was spewing feces. I was in the bathroom, sitting on the damn toilet, and then I heard a strange sound, like a terror coming from the deep sea.
It made a gurgling sound, and I was confused at the time. Unfortunately, I was not alert. But I felt something was wrong, it had already launched an impact, and then spurted out.
What are you looking at? Do you think I like this? I am the victim. It must be your negligence in your work that caused me to experience such an embarrassing situation.
You're holding back your laughter, aren't you? You must really want to laugh, right? You bastards, I curse you to experience the tragedy of feces spraying out of the toilet. I want you to also feel the impact of having your anus exploded. Just wait, this
Absolutely not..."
The editor-in-chief's emotions exploded. Faced with the strange expressions of the newspaper's security and management staff, he couldn't control himself and cursed.
Others quickly understood what had happened, and began to sympathize with the unfortunate editor. They even wanted to go up and give him a hug and a few words of comfort.
etc......
There is no need for hugging and comforting, and there is no need for even getting close.
Bratton took a few steps forward while scolding him. But every time he took a step, the others took two steps back and loudly begged the editor-in-chief to calm down.
This is both shit and urine. It’s terrible. It’s more courageous than Guan Gong riding a red rabbit horse!
At this moment, there was another gurgling sound on the ceiling of the office, as if something was surging rapidly in the pipes.
Bratton immediately shouted excitedly, "Listen, it's this sound. It's coming, it's coming again, it's coming with a stronger attitude. Just wait and see."
Everyone in the big office changed their expressions when they heard this, and turned around and ran away.
Then there was a bang, as if a stuck piston was pushed open.
An even stronger stream of shit spurted out from the bathroom in Bratton's editor-in-chief's office. It burst open the bathroom door, penetrated the ceiling of the office, and crossed the barrier of the blinds...
That yellow, white, black, indescribable, indescribable, indescribable thing is here again. It’s flooding Editor-in-Chief Bratton’s head again!
It’s over, I’m done playing!
This Christmas Eve, no one will be safe.
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