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"Making a supervisor! TURTLE HEAD TOUCHING CLOTH! Taking a du*--" After shouting more euphemisms for taking a dump than Sara has ever dreamed could possibly exist for more than twenty minutes, the voice falls silent in midword. In morbid fascination, they wait for him to continue. He never does. After ten minutes, Jasper asks, "Do you think he's okay?" Sara doesn't answer. After waiting for several minutes more, she nerves herself up enough to go and check on him. She knocks on the restroom door, trying not to gag on the rank aroma that emanates from the bathroom even through the closed door. "You okay?" She wonders at the strange heati coming through the wood--maybe the bathroom isn't air-conditioned. No answer. Jasper digs through the dead clerk's clothes to find the keys to the restroom. When they open the door, holding their sleeves over their faces to try to block out some of the funk, they see...a very different man than the one that had gone in only minutes before. This man is almost nothing but hones and skin...LOTS of skin, in fact, enough skin to hold several normal men, enough so that he looks like nothing so much as a deflated balloon. He's also very, very dead. He's sitting in a colossal pile of his own odure--the toilet is overflowing with a veritable mountain of shit, nearly enough to fill a truck, possibly the single greatest BM ever in the human history. It's spilling out onto the floor, flowing out of the open door--they barely move aside in time to keep it from coverng their shoes. The air ripples with heat--the restroom is so hot that Sara is vaguely astonished that the toilet paper hasn't burst into flames, and she wonders if all of that heat somehow came from HIM.
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7/27/2008 5:30:35 PM
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