Case officer Peter Hoksbergen, 43, has left the toilet block worse for wear at Services Australia after wolfing down Chilli Con Carne leftovers during morning tea.
The shitshow has been likened to the great Perth hailstorm of 2010, a moment of wrath and fury – similarly raining down a merciless deluge of damage that did not discriminate and forever stained our memories.
Colleagues claimed warning bells should have rung out at 14 De Grey Place, when the “fat bastard” microwaved the Mexican-inspired dish for six minutes, retarding the lid of his Sistema Tupperware.
“You could tell by the mess he left in the microwave that this had a bit of everything – chickpeas, pinto beans, canned tomatoes, mince, chorizo and last but not least, chili,” said security guard Abdul Affiz.
Not long after, Hoksbergen was seen waddling to the restrooms with a shortened gait, tilting at the pelvis and holding the back of his black Anko trousers with one hand.
It was only when he slammed the latch to ‘engaged’ that witnesses believed the weapons of mass destruction were deployed.
It reportedly began with a torrid spurting of half-digested chickpeas, spraying out like a trigger-happy machine gunner in Long Tan.
Specs of feces reverberated off the porcelain, akin to a deluge of miniature hail balls bouncing off a Mitsubishi Magna’s bonnet.
“Damn you, demon child,” he muttered as his impressively hairy thighs made acquaintance with the plastic toilet seat.
Next followed the coagulation of canned tomatoes and chorizo bits.
One long drooper edged out before a volcanic torrent of red sauce hit the toilet water like a pressurized fire hydrant bursting at the mains.
Spasmodic blasts at the mercy of the rapidly deteriorating sphincter bucketed down with sounds like a plastic bag full of water ripping in half and splashing on the pavement.
“Hnnnha,” he painfully groaned every five seconds as he clenched his cheeks and cut off the oxygen supply, squeezing for dear life.
At this point, the door to the lavatories swung open and the footsteps of an innocent bystander approached a nearby cubicle.
However, no compunction was shown by Hoksbergen, who continued with his thunderous affair.
The footsteps came to a grinding halt, as if the victim was contemplating a daring retreat or to be consumed by the horrific sensory invasion at a moment’s notice.
The indecisiveness was met with one final nugget that thunked heavily against the bowl, plopping into the pool and causing the murky water to kiss his rectum.
The restroom was still.
“Alpha, Bravo, Foxtrot, I think that’s the last of ‘em,” he said into an imaginary radio in his hand.
“We’ve had a direct hit on a Cambodian fishing village, Sir.
“The whole joint has been coated with napalm.
“Yep, we were dealing with some real sick son of bitches down there.
“Over,” he continued as he stood up and looked at the wasteland.
Beneath him was a turgid mix of blood and brown, with a stench foul enough to sear your eyelids.
He wiped away a tear.
“We’ve won the battle,” he said quietly to himself.
“But at what cost.”
Doing his best to flush monstrosity, it was clear Hoksbergen had overwhelmed the pipes.
He tried pushing down both buttons, but the water continued to trickle down.
Pressed for time, he did up his zipper, skipped the basin, and fled the scene.
“Nothing to see here folks,” he chuckled to himself as he marched down the corridor with newly encrusted dingleberries.
The Karratha Bugle understands the incident has left authorities with no other option but to shut down the complex until specialised cleaners from Bangladesh arrived.
