A man asking for trouble has reportedly done the unthinkable – gone to the nightclub bathroom for a deuce.
To single out Evo’s nightclub for having a disgraceful men’s room would be unfairly singling out what is a commonality among every late night drinking venue – they are completely fucked.
Paul Gork, 28, was halfway through a hearty drinking session and well into the groove on the dancefloor at Evo’s before a case of the gurgles struck around 11:30pm.
Fighting the twists in his stomach as long as possible, he realised it was time to give in after his headbanging had resulted in some rancid farts expelling themselves involuntarily and generating some scrunched up faces on the dance floor.
He left his friends with the flimsy excuse of heading to the bar to get a round of Vodka Cruisers.
His mood shifted from hedonism to strategic as he set upon the cubicles. Number one: covered in piss and miscellaneous stains. Onto trap 2: passable. He entered and wiped the seat in vain, the single ply toilet paper tearing and clotting with each smear of the well worn seat. Dropping his trousers right down to his boots, he continued on.
The occupied latch on the cubicle door was purely for show as some rascal had removed the mechanism in it years ago, forcing Paul to keep one his size 12 boots pressed firmly against the door for the duration.
The result was a frustrated anaconda poking its head in and out of his southern most, as he intermittently shifted his weight back and forth.
“come on you bastard,” he prompted.
“get rid of this brown serpent and you’ve bought yourself a few more hours on the d-floor, light as a feather.”
He could hear the thumps of the speakers in the venue, the pulse of the subwoofer a welcome ally- each pound an aid in the fight against digestive blockages formed from the spice bag he consumed hours earlier.
A cold sweat broke out as a group of four rambunctious bucks entered and suddenly went into a quiet chuckle realising someone is actually using the cubicle for a shit. His mind going through an exit strategy if they decided he was to become their prey.
The room went quiet as an enormous GALUNK! thundered from behind the cubical door, signalling the splashdown of a massive log in the bowl.
They left without issue and he returned to the task at hand. He reached out for some waste paper and got a handful of cylindrical cardboard. He’d used up all the toilet paper on pre-mission cleanup.
He sat for a while with mess still hanging from his bottom before making the internal declaration that sometimes you just have to serve up underdone.
He stood, yanked his briefs and trousers up in one swift motion so as to mitigate spread and spill and returned to his friends on the dance floor without washing his hands.
