An Open Letter to The Chick in the Bathroom

Dear Girl Who Took a Major Number Twosie in my Office Bathroom,

I’m worried about you.  You seriously need to change your diet and you may even want to go see a doctor.  You produced the rankest, most foul number two I have ever experienced in the whole of my existence.  Admittedly, poo talk is the one topic of conversation that I cannot stomach.  I’m more than happy, in fact eager, to hear about your anal sex gang bang just, please, for the love of all that is right and holy in this world, stop at the part where you noticed poo on the condom.  That was over the line.  But I digress…my point is that although I like to believe that no one I know, especially no one I date, goes number two, I am not retarded and am able to deal with it in public restrooms…until now.  That was wretched.  You either have some serious intestinal issues or need to reevaluate your food choices.  It was worse than a fat man’s poo after Indian buffet; worse than an elderly person after too much broccoli; worse than a vegan after a black bean binge; it was just – worse, trust me.  So, please, for both of our sakes, take a moment to consider what I’ve said to you.  If you choose not to explore the root cause of your nuclear twosies, then please, please, I’m implore you to use the bathroom on another floor.

With the utmost sincerity,



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