Bros fucking love taking dumps. Whether it’s the #161 hangover shit, your average morning growler or just a good old fashioned #97 upper decker, it doesn’t make a difference. It’s a fucking enjoyable experience that bros will not only willingly #25 describe (size, length, color, texture, smell, etc.), but in certain special circumstances, we’ll even take pictures of that shit to send to all our bros to prove just how fucking big it was. While bros always enjoy the luxury of their #32 Bro Pad’s home turf, sometimes we just don’t have that luxury. You see, #164 after College is over, bros move on to the real world where we’re forced to sit at a desk for 8 hours a day, doing nothing but drink coffee and surf the internet. Obviously that bitch Mother Nature will hit you up at some point, but there’s no reason to screen that call. Bros fucking answer that shit because we love taking dumps at work.
One of the many great things about being a bro and not a girl is the pride we get to take in our shits. As shocking as it might seem, even hot girls poop, which is fucking disgusting. Girls are always so embarrassed and self-conscience about the smell of their dumps, which is a good thing because they fucking should be. Bros, on the other hand, love everything about their shit, from the buildup where they talk about how they’re “about to give birth to a fucking 15 pound child,” to the aftermath where they brag about how they “BLEW THAT SHIT UP, SON.” So why should this be any different at work? Well first of all, thanks to fucking #133 feminists, bros aren’t allowed to talk about the damage they’re about to inflict on the toilet and they’re DEFINITELY not allowed to send people pictures of their shit. But somehow in this fucking brocist World of censorship known as “the workplace” bros still manage to find a way to make their shitting experience an enjoyable one.
No matter how fucking loaded a bro’s Dad is, every time he gets that first job out of College he’s gonna break down how much he’s making per hour. There’s no better time where this information comes in handy than when he’s taking a dump. Basically the longer he sits on that toilet reading ESPN articles on his smart phone, the more money he gets paid. Making cash to take a dump is about as bro as it fucking gets.
But where are you gonna do it? Every bro’s got his home away from home at work. It pretty much all depends on “what are the chances there will be some fucking guy next to me.” Sometimes I’ll hit up 5 bathrooms to find an empty row of stalls if there’s a fucking shitting convention in the first 4 and no matter what, I ALWAYS use the handicapped stall. “BUT NYB, WHAT IF A DISABLED PERSON NEEDS TO USE THE BATHROOM?” OH, YEAH RIGHT – umm, pardon me, but the last time I checked I work at an actual company, not the fucking Special Olympics. And besides, when has anyone ever seen an actual handicapped person use the big stall anyways? Try fucking never. I’m pretty sure they only invented the handicapped stall to make it easier for people to hold their balance when they’re #52 banging in a public restroom.
Unfortunately, sometimes even your fucking deserted island of a bathroom will get invaded by Others. This is the fucking worst. You know, you’re just sitting there going through old text messages and shit, having a great time, when some huge ass old Indian dude sits down and immediately starts panting and grunting like he’s having a fucking heart attack. When this happens, half of me wants to the ask if he’s OK, while the other half of me is so terrified I want to fucking waddle-run out of the stall with my pants around my ankles. If I’m forced to fucking stay and listen the only noises worse than hearing my parents have sex, then you better believe I’m gonna time my exit so I don’t have to make eye contact with this fucking beast. I mean, imagine finding out it was your boss or some shit. How could you come to work everyday after you’re pretty sure you witnessed his miscarriage?
Nobody loves dumping in public, but when you’re at the office, you gotta face that music. While loser bro-haters might get out the disinfectant and paper seat shields or even do “the hover,” bros don’t give a fuck. We’re fucking Honey Badgers. We plop down, break out our smart phones, start counting our growing paper stack, and enjoy the shit out of our fucking shit.
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