Porcelain Thrones and Big Dreams

In the real world, he was nothing more than a mere peasant. But in this world… Bishop Ganglyton was a king—known far and wide, ruling over his grand domain!! [Cue epic music, dramatic lighting… before the truth sets in.]

This entire area belonged to me, as I reigned supreme as the Toilet King of McDonald's restroom—an undisputed ruler in this realm of porcelain and pipes.

To sit upon the throne of the Toilet King is no simple feat—many have attempted to overthrow me, yet countless souls have perished in their foolish attempts to claim what is rightfully mine.

Being the Toilet King was no easy task—my porcelain throne had seen many would-be challengers, each striving to take my place. Yet, one by one, they have met their untimely demise, swept away by the very forces they sought to control, leaving only whispers of their failed attempts.

My reign began when McDonald's cruelly rejected my application to become a humble burger flipper, citing my lack of qualifications. Apparently, listing my work at Amazon and Google on my résumé just didn't cut it. But hey, it was true! I earned two whole pennies on Google's YouTube, which, technically, made me a Google affiliate, and I was a seller on Amazon before they unjustly shut my page down. Two billion-dollar companies I worked for! And to top it off, I spent a few days at Starbucks to gain some experience. Quite the flex, right? Working for so many multi-billion-dollar corporations!

But alas, despite my impeccable credentials, they turned down my application—probably due to nepotism or some other absurd reason.

But alas, despite my impeccable credentials, they rejected my application—most likely due to nepotism or because they preferred an eye-candy girl they wanted to sleep with. Most likely, though, it was a combination of the two.

"THEY THINK THEY CAN REJECT ME?!" Hahaha! Foolish fools...

Being a king wasn't about asking for permission. It's about seizing what's yours through sheer force of will and conquest. They don't know. They don't understand.

But now...

THIS McDONALD'S TOILET? It belonged to me!

No cameras. No one was watching. Just pure, unadulterated freedom.

Bishop smirked, a glint of pride in his eyes. He grabbed a hefty handful of toilet paper, dipped it under the sink, and with a decisive flick of his wrist, hurled it toward the ceiling. It slapped against the surface with a satisfying thwack... and stuck.

The grin spread wider. This was his domain.

A flicker of memory crossed his mind—his first attempt, the disaster. The soggy wad of toilet paper hadn't stuck properly, clinging to the ceiling for only a moment before peeling away. Slowly, pathetically, it dropped… then flopped with a sickening wet splat right onto his face and head. Pure humiliation. But now? Now, the wet paper stayed. And he was king.

I can't wait to bring a girl here to my little domain to become the queen of the toilet. All kings need a queen. It's so much better than taking her back to my house, where things would be much more complicated. Here, she gets a meal, a little quiet time together, and—if the mood strikes—some 'sexy time' in the toilet cubicle. I've got the seat set up perfectly for cowgirl, all neat and ready for action. Plus, she'll be able to have sex with me without worrying about my parents overhearing us if we were at home. They never leave the house—so it's all about privacy. This way, it's way less awkward, and honestly, it's way more romantic to invite her here, with none of the usual pressures.

Bishop felt especially happy today because, in fact, he had a new girlfriend—one he had met just last night. And he's already got a plan to fast-track their relationship to second base. Or is it third base? The one that means sex, that's the one he's aiming for... a full run... whatever, he doesn't even care about sports, so he doesn't fully understand the analogy anyway.

He tossed more snowballs of wet toilet paper at the ceiling, then hurled one at the mirror, grinning as he said, "I do love me a good snowball."

As for the failed attempts and would-be challengers of his throne, his antics and reputation became the stuff of legend, chronicled in the local newspaper... The Daily News, which, despite being weekly, somehow always found room for him on the front page. His adventures were always featured front and centre, alongside a naked woman with her yum yums out—but strangely enough, it was the Toilet King who captured more attention than the boobs. One of the copycat Toilet Kings got caught, his scandalous actions plastered under the headline "Toilet King Caught in the Act." Yet, they didn't print his picture to avoid stoking racism or hate crimes, nor did they even name him… All they did was release a blurry photo of his shoes and call it 'evidence.' Now, the toilets had turned into a refuge for drug addicts seeking to inject in peace... or so they thought.

Bishop rummaged through the toilet bins, his hands flitting over discarded trash until he found it. "Aha!" he exclaimed, holding up a balloon. (it was a condom—but don't tell him that). He began to stretch it over one of the taps. Laughing to himself, he muttered, "It's gonna be priceless when some poor sod turns on this tap and it bursts right in his face."

He let out another victorious laugh, the sound echoing through the dimly lit room. He straightened up, chest puffed out, feeling like the undisputed king of this place, untouchable, as if no force in the world could topple him. For a brief moment, everything seemed perfect—until, without warning, the door rattled. His heart lurched, the sound of the door scraping against its frame sending a shockwave of panic through him. The laugh died in his throat, replaced by a rush of dread. His thoughts scrambled, and in a blind panic, he bolted, diving into one of the cramped toilet cubicles with all the grace of a startled rat. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps as he huddled behind the flimsy partition, praying that no one saw him.

He stood motionless in the cubicle, every nerve on high alert as he listened intently… Seconds stretched on, each one feeling like an age. Slowly, he leaned forward and peeked through a small hole in the toilet door, carefully pushing aside the greasy goo that obstructed his view, just enough to see through the peephole. He wasn't sure how the hole got there, but he didn't care—probably a rat, he thought, or maybe someone just bored enough to make it. The person leaving was just another customer, he assumed… Another dirty bugger who couldn't even be bothered to wash their hands after using the pisser!

He stared at the names scrawled across the cubicle walls, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. Feeling playful, he scribbled "is gay" under every male name he saw and "is a slut" under every female name, snickering like a madman.

Then, his eyes landed on a message: "Jordan loves Alex very much." Smirking, he grabbed his marker and altered it to say, "Jordan loves Bishop."

But then, he hesitated—wait a second—those were unisex names. What if Jordan was a guy and Alex was short for Alexis or something? Frowning, he scratched out Jordan's name and replaced it with his own, leaving the final result: "Bishop loves Bishop."

Whatever… that'd do. It was just graffiti, not a masterpiece.