Flush or Be Flushed

He yanked a few sheets from the toilet roll and haphazardly wrapped them around his head, layering them like a mummy's bandages. With a grand sweep of his hand, he declared, "All kings need a crown!" Then, with a smug grin, he settled onto his porcelain throne, proudly adorned in his flimsy, makeshift regalia.

Now for the spray. He saw the toilet roll holder and laughed. This is the part he always loved. He prepared to press the roll of toilet paper onto the holder, his fingers curling around the end of his dick, gripping it tight. He paused for a moment, feeling the tension build as he focused. He aimed and let loose a forceful stream at the toilet roll hanging limply by the side of the toilet. The paper turned yellow on contact, greedily soaking up the piss, leaving slow, shameful streaks that ran down the ruined roll. What was once dry and crisp now hung limp—drenched, useless, and completely trashed.

He then stood in front of the toilet, with the seat down, and began to spray more pee. Tilting his aim upwards, the golden stream soared in an arc before landing on the toilet seat. It splashed on impact, rebounding into the air and forming a second arc as it bounced again—creating two perfect, symmetrical streams. Grinning, he gestures at his masterpiece and declares, "Look at those… McDonald's Golden Arches! I'm lovin' it! This XL milkshake was definitely worth the price! Feel so good on the way out my dick!"

He lifted the toilet seat to inspect his work, a sly grin spreading across his face. He aimed carefully and began to spray, covering the entire cubicle wall in a steady stream of urine. He moved it around, making sure every inch was drenched, his aim deliberate as the liquid splattered and ran down the walls, leaving streaks of yellow. The toilet seat rim and sides were soaked too, dripping down onto the floor. Feeling satisfied, he stood back and thought, "I really marked my territory here," before chuckling to himself. Not the lame way Jacob did in Twilight, but the real way... with pee... like wolves and dogs do it.

Okay, enough ruling this kingdom for today, he thought with a satisfied sigh, as he quickly finished up with an upper decker and began preparing to leave. But then, reality hit—he'd completely screwed up the toilet paper situation and now had nothing to wipe with. Great, now I was going to have to walk around with shit stuck to my ass all day, unless I could figure out how to wash it off in one of these sinks. His frustration mounted as he stood there, his feet planted firmly on the urine-soaked rim of the toilet. After finishing up, he made the move to step down, but the slick surface betrayed him. He slipped violently, losing his balance, and slammed into the side of the cubicle. His body hit the urine-drenched walls with a loud, wet thud, leaving a streak of yellow as he crumpled to the floor.

A voice from one of the cubicles shouted, "Hey!! Quiet down with your wild sex in there, will ya?! I'm trying to inject myself with... my... umm, insulin," followed by a frustrated sigh. "You're messing up my focus, making it hard to find my vein." He grumbled, sounding more annoyed. "Couples these days... getting way too horny... can't even wait to get home before banging each other. I blame porn and social media... it's ruining everything."

Wait—someone was in one of the cubicles? I thought I was alone. I hadn't heard a sound, and I quickly scanned the area, eyes darting from one cubicle to the next. Maybe I should've checked above the cubicle walls, just in case someone was taking a long shit, or worse, jacking off. I'd assumed I was in the clear, just because it had been so quiet... He surveyed the mess again, stepping carefully, making sure he hadn't injured himself during his chaotic mission. No damage—thankfully—but now his trousers, leg, and shirt were soaked in urine, the sticky liquid clinging to the fabric. His zipper was undone, and his backside was smeared with shit, a grim reminder of his sloppy adventure. He grimaced in disgust and thought, Maybe it's time to bail before I get caught in the act. The real thrill of being the toilet king wasn't in the mess itself—it was in narrowly avoiding disaster. With a deep breath, he opened the door, his heart racing. But as he stepped out, he froze. A tall figure in a sleek, black, mafia-like suit stood just outside, staring at him with a cold, unreadable expression.

The guy moved in close, his gaze sharp and calculating as he sized Bishop up, eyes narrowing with suspicion. Without warning, he slammed Bishop against the cubicle door, the thin wood groaning under the force. "Who hired you?" he growled, his voice dripping with menace. "You work for the DiVincenzo family, don't you? Don't lie to me."

The air around them felt thick, as though the slightest slip-up would mean disaster. The man's presence was suffocating.

"W-wait... I don't... I don't... what are you talking about?" he stammered, his voice cracking. His heart pounded in his ears, the words tumbling out in a frantic jumble. "F-family...I was just—I'm just a guy, man. I don't know anything about that... please..."

He stepped in close, his hand locking around Bishop's throat with an iron grip, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You planting a bomb in there? I heard you lifting the toilet lid like you were putting something down there. You think we ain't watching? We've got eyes on you, kid. You move like you're in some kinda rush, like you're too damn careful, inspecting every damn corner."

He leaned in, his breath hot and heavy on Bishop's neck, the smell of cigar smoke still lingering in the air. "You've been following me, haven't you? Every Wednesday and Friday, two o'clock sharp. You think we wouldn't notice? You think you're that smart? You walk in here like a ghost, trying to blend in, but you stand out more than you think."

His grip tightened, choking the words out of Bishop as he spoke with venom. "A member of the DiVincenzo family hired you? You're a joke. You ain't exactly inconspicuous, kid. You're sloppy… amateur hour. They hired someone green, someone they could toss aside when the job's done, someone like you."

He stepped back slightly, eyeing Bishop with cold, calculating eyes. "You're expendable. Disposable. You're not anything special. You're just a tool…. just like the rest of the poor saps they send to try to wrack me!"

"No... nooo, I didn't... bomb... there's no bomb..." Bishop stuttered, his words coming out in a frantic jumble.

The mafia guy paused, his nostrils flaring as a sharp, foul stench hit him. His face twisted in disgust as he released his grip on Bishop, shoving him back against the cubicle door. He spat, his eyes watering as the rank smell of urine and the shit fumes from his unwiped asshole hit him full force. The disgusting fumes from Bishop's neglected backside lingered in the air, making his stomach churn. "Jesus fucking Christ," he shouted, grimacing as he tried to shake off the gag reflex.

The suited guy slammed the cubicle door open, shoving Bishop inside forcefully. His eyes locked onto him, cold and merciless. "Prove it's not a bomb. Flush that fucker now," he growled, his voice deadly calm. He took a step closer, his hand brushing his coat as he leaned in. "If you don't, and I find out you're lying, you're a dead man. Understand?"

Bishop did so without hesitation, his hand wrapping around the urine-covered handle as he flushed. "And the toilet makes weird, mechanical malfunction noises," he muttered, stopping to panic. If this doesn't flush... I'm a dead man.

A loud, fart-like noise erupted from the toilet, followed by a slow rise in water. The pipes groaned under the strain, the toilet struggling against the upper decker he'd left behind. He watched in dread as the water climbed higher, threatening to spill over. This is it, he thought, his heart racing. It's not going to flush.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, the gurgling intensified, and with a final, desperate whirl, the toilet sucked it all down. The water level slowly lowered, leaving behind a murky, flushed mess of poop bits floaties in the toilet bowl. Bishop let out a shaky breath, his body sagging with relief.

The guy stared at the toilet bowl, his eyes narrowing in disgust as he took in the mess. His gaze shifted back to Bishop, a look of pure contempt on his face. He shook his head slowly, as if disappointed, before stepping forward. Without warning, he delivered a sharp punch to Bishop's gut, making him double over. Before Bishop could react, the guy slammed an elbow into his face, sending him stumbling back against the cubicle wall.

"You're a fucking waste of space," he growled, his voice cold and filled with venom. "Wasting my time with this garbage, huh?" He spat on the floor, his eyes burning with disdain. He took a step back, looking Bishop over with a mix of revulsion and disbelief. "You're nothing. Just a joke."

With that, he turned on his heel, his shoes clicking sharply on the floor as he walked away, disappearing into the shadows. The last thing Bishop heard was the sound of his footsteps fading into the distance, leaving him in a daze, humiliated and helpless.

After a long time, he finally pulled himself up, an unexpected sense of pride swelling within him.

I survived a run-in with the mafia... This is definitely going to be a story for the grandkids.

"Fuck McDonald's," he thought, a bitter, hateful laugh escaping him. "I've always preferred Burger King anyway... I'll be the Burger Toilet King instead."

Covered in grime, he stumbled out of the McDonald's bathroom, barely able to stand straight. As he made his way toward the exit, an authoritative voice suddenly called out.

"Hey!! Bishop, right?"

"I... guess..." Bishop mumbled, not even bothering to stop. He just wanted to get the hell out of there, away from all of this mess. He refused to make eye contact, his mind focused only on the door.

"You applied for a job here, correct? Sorry we rejected you before... thought you were a little too... overqualified for the burger-flipping position. But now, we've got something that's more suited to your... skills."

Bishop froze. "You do?! I'll take it!"

The man grinned. "Great! It's a cleaner position," he said, handing over an employment contract with a pen. "Sign it now."

Bishop didn't hesitate. He signed without a second thought.

"It's mandatory for two months. Seven days a week."

"Sounds good," he said, still processing the shock of it all.

"So, you're starting tomorrow, yeah?"

Holy shit... I got a job, Bishop thought, the excitement bubbling up. "I'll be here extra early."

"Good to hear... We definitely need the extra help. Customers are making a mess everywhere, and the current crew can't keep up. A lot of the female staff quit... Anyway, I've got orders to make, so I'll see you tomorrow."

Bishop grinned. "See you tomorrow!! Can't wait to work for a company I love so much."

Why are they offering me a job when I'm in this state? A bloody nose, paper wrapped around my head, urine-soaked clothes, a messed-up, creased shirt from the guy grabbing my throat, my fly was open, and I've got a shit-covered asshole. I can barely get my words out from being punched in the stomach, with saliva dripping from my lips as I speak. I guess now... I fit in better with the image of the rest of the people who work here at McDonald's more than before.

As he stepped out of the store, a burst of joy hit him. Then it all came crashing down.

Wait... CLEANER JOB?! MANDATORY FOR TWO MONTHS?

THIS JOB INVOLVES CLEANING TOILETS?!

I'M GOING TO HAVE TO CLEAN UP MY OWN MESS, PLUS VOMIT, SHIT, AND PEE FROM OTHERS?! FUUUCCCKKK!!!