I have just returned from the toilet facilities here at work. I simply must tell you about my ordeal. Here we are.

Upon entering the toilet, I was taken aback by someone standing there. This usually scares the bejesus out of me as I am never prepared for the possibility of someone being on the other side of the door. Often, when I am exiting a room via a door and someone comes through from the opposite direction, I will verbalise my shock. This is often by way of a muted "Fucking hell" or "Jesus Christ". I do this purely to disarm the assailant.

So anyway, we are deviating from the topic. I entered the toilet, got a nasty little shock, and then had to exchange platitudes with the diminutive troglodyte. "Hi Darren" I said, with no discernible sincerity or politeness. "Alright Ian! Are you going to kickboxing tonight?" he replied. My heart sank, I was hoping to leave the conversation at "Hi Darren" as I had, after all, ventured to the toilet to engage in a dump, not a conversation with this poison dwarf.

"No", I stated in response to his question. Again, I did not want to give this pest any more rope. "I am, I'm looking forward to it" he gushed. By this point I had locked myself in a cubicle, hoping that he would get the hint. He kept on talking but I didn't acknowledge his gassing. I figured that if he can't see me, he can't hear me. For all he knows I could have been wittering on about nonsense and the like.

I forged a shit baffle out of a few squares of toilet paper, wiped the seat thoroughly, and sat down to greet Mr. Brown. It was as the food baby was crowning that I remembered that the interminable little nincompoop was still in the toilet, preening himself in front of the mirror. I seized up, unable to deliver the parcel. I had to wait for the twit to leave the vicinity before normal service could resume. Well, it was a full 3 minutes before he had finished tarting himself up. As soon as I heard the door close I set about cutting the rug and delivering this baby. I was incensed at having to wait to begin my bowel movement, but the anger soon dissolved like so much bicarbonate of soda once the finished article had been expelled.

I removed all trace that anything had ever happened there, washed my hands with the finest soap, and vacated the room. It was the perfect crime. I even had the great fortune to get stuck behind this really fit girl on my way back to my desk. I checked out her behind and it was really quite enjoyable. I call this "The Kinder Egg Experience" because I got chocolate for starters and a toy at the end of it.