[quote name='Anexanhume']There was this one time when my friend and I (who was three years older than me, I was about 10 at the time) were visiting the St. Louis area with his family. We went into this restaurant at a fairly downtime, yet the old hag that they had roll out and service us was horrible. She questioned our orders as if we were new to English, gave us shitty service, and there was hair in our food.
Afterward, my friend's mother went to the manager of the place and complained, which resulted in us getting the meal for free.
But that was not enough. Justice had to be done.
My friend and I said we needed to go use the restroom before we left. Operation Make the Hag Pay went into action. We began by clogging the sinks with toilet paper and making them overflow, but that was amateur shit. Our next move was to go into the stalls and lase the toilets and stall floors with our Bear Grylls juice.
But still, that was not enough.
Fortunately, my colon came out of the reserve to assist in the operation. I told my friend I had to poop, and I went into the stall on my own. I pulled down my pants and placed my right cheek on the toilet seat while my left hung free in the air like an intrepid mountain goat. The fear of shitting on yourself or falling into your own shit is what I imagine getting a blow job on the edge of a cliff would be. Sure it's dangerous, but anything is worth the payoff.
In retrospect, I've realized something my ten year old could have never guessed; a turd falling approximately 18 inches onto tile floor sounds like skins slapping when you are doing a chick doggy style with a period of around 2 cycles per second. Any shorter and you don't get the sound. Any faster and the duration of the slap is simply too quick to emulate the prolonged dispersal of force that a semi-solid piece of fecal matter will undergo in this scenario.
I pulled up my pants and let my friend into the stall (the residual poop in my ass would be a badge of honor) and we proceeded to gathering toilet paper biohazard mitts for ourselves and went halvsies on my log. Then we made Bob Ross proud. We decorated the walls of the stall, both metal and tile with poop smears reminiscent of cave drawings of the millenia of yore.
Satisfied with our art and destruction, we left the bathroom and rejoined his mother, grandmother and sister in their van. As we put on our seatbelts, his sister (who was one year my junior) leaned over to us and shared a secret smile with us "I overflowed the sinks and got soap everywhere."
My friend and I then shared a knowing glance and chuckled to each other as we pulled away and concluded our mission.[/QUOTE]
Nice job, douche, you're disgusting and you got your "revenge" on the cleaning staff who had nothing to do with it. Really hope your story is fake.