
You may remember a while back the stories of my struggles with the phantom
shitter.
I'm sure we all know how they went down, therefore
theres no need for a recap but there is a need for an update. Since
Ive moved floors and now use a new bathroom my causes of concern have all but gone away. I now rest easy. And rightly so due to all the fucking incredible warning labels
blue tacked, pasted and pinned up all the over the cubicle walls. First time i saw them i thought to myself how bad were these guys before to justify having warnings posted like please
don't wipe your boogers on the cubicle doors or be courteous and
don't piss all over the seats, people need to sit there, accompanied by a sun with sunglasses
that's there to reinforce the point and make things happy? I was truly worried what i had moved down into. However these warnings seem to have done the trick and i can confidently report that the phantom
shitter has not left his stain thus far.
Now onto my theories on who the phantom
shitter is, i believe it was one of the managers that for some reason reminded me of a shark yet
didn't really look like one. In my mind i called him
Sharky? He pissed at the urinal with his legs tightly together rather than a comfortable shoulder width apart. It always bothered me. He must be guilty.

REALLY FUCKED UP MATERIAL BELOW.
You have been warned.
Going off topic for a bit, there was once another person that i use to refer to as
Sharky. He was one of the retards (handicapped for you PC people) that use to go to
Moana Pool at the same time as my school class every Friday afternoon when i was 9 and 10. This guy really did look like a shark and he use to always walk on his
tippy toes, something i
wouldn't advise considering the surface area of
tippy toes and a slippery poolside floor. And yet i never saw him slip, remarkable. There was another guy who was always at the pool at the same time as our class. It was this old dude who always wore a pair of blue
speedos and you know what was always in those
speedos, an erection. This dude would just stroll past our swim training pointing straight ahead. I assume he was going to get his clothes from one of those shelf/box things but whose to know his real agenda. Thinking about it now, its so fucked up but i was 9 and oblivious to these kinds of things. And where were the lifeguards when this was going on. He must have been in cahoots with that angry old bastard of a lifeguard and was
allowed to get his fucking rise out of us kids. I sure hope i
wasn't his material.
True stories by David
Friday 10
th October, sitting outside in the sun having a Cascade beer.