Editor-in-chief Bratton's office has its own bathroom. But the editor-in-chief now wants to stay in the public bathroom. Because when he opens the bathroom door, an indescribable breath begins to pollute his office.

The ceiling, walls, and floors of the bathroom are covered with yellow and sticky objects. The yellow water flows into the office carpet the moment the door is opened, as if moistening the arid land.

It's over, this expensive handmade carpet can only be thrown into the garbage dump.

The editor-in-chief lifted his pants and looked sadly at the sticky object falling down his pants legs. Every time a lump fell, it made a very textured squeak.

Some sticky objects will slide down the editor-in-chief's thighs, nourishing his dense leg hair. He is old, has a big belly, and is wearing fat pants. You can imagine that the crotch of these pants is very large and is a good container.

Now this container is filled with good things from Feitian.

Editor-in-chief Bratton's pace is very difficult, it is really difficult. Every step he takes will leave deep footprints and water marks on the ground.

Looking back at the toilet, it made people feel even more sad and angry. The hole that was like the abyss of sin is now full of feces and full of feces.

But the editor-in-chief had to take steps and leave. He grabbed his tears and sadness and lifted his pants up. The moment he buckled the belt, the sticky object was squeezed and burst out.

The cold, damp, cold, and terrifying breath invaded instantly. This feeling will echo in Bratton's mind for a lifetime, leaving him with tears of sadness. He finally decided not to wear these shameless pants because it was too undecent.

The editor-in-chief washed his hands in the bathroom with a lot of sadness. He tried to clean himself up, but it was useless. He tried to press the toilet to flush, but the amount of feces in the toilet pit could not be flushed.

Despair!

Today is Christmas Eve.

If I had known this, Editor-in-Chief Bratton would have taken leave to spend a warm night with his family and children. Why should he be a mess in the office? But now everything cannot be turned back and it is difficult to look directly at it.

"Hey, is the building management office? I am Bratton from the 16th floor News Department. Yes, it's me. There is a problem with the toilet in my bathroom and I need a cleaner. Wait, one is probably not enough, so I'll send a few more people here.

Also do you have extra-large-sized pants, or clothes or something? I would be grateful if it can be provided. And don't forget the air cleaner. You guessed it, the problem is a bit bad. Very bad!"

After calling the management office, Editor-in-Chief Bratton stood pitifully at the desk. He was naked and wearing only shorts, and took off his upper clothes.

I don’t want to stand at this station, and the state of not being able to sit is really tormenting.

With the reflection of the glass window in the office, Bratton could see his embarrassed appearance. He even found that there were a lot of yellow Cancan sticks to his hair, and he was so disgusting that he wanted to jump off the rooftop of the headquarters building.

"Why does this toilet spray? How can it spray? What's the reason?"

The editor-in-chief is angry and anxious, but he has no way to vent. He can't even move, and he will release the stench once he moves. He thought about three classic philosophical issues, but one of them is fruitless.

After waiting for a long time, the fat black aunt rang the editor-in-chief's office with cleaning tools. The newspaper office was a big space. Low-level staff worked in an open grid, and the editor-in-chief had an independent office in a corner of the floor.

The black aunt knocked outside the editor-in-chief's office for a long time before the crack opened a little. She saw a bald middle-aged face behind the door, and an indescribable strong smell came over her face.

"Oh..., God!" The black aunt was really 'lost in appearance', her fat face was shaking. She covered her nose and shouted, "Sir, what did you do in the office?"

"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

"Don't worry." The black aunt patted her chest and stepped back and said, "I have worked in this building for more than ten years and have seen any scenes. Your bathroom toilet is broken, right? I can handle this."

There were still many employees working overtime in the big office, and they turned around when they heard the conversation. Editor-in-chief Bratton could only open the door and quickly pull the black aunt in.

But less than three seconds after the black aunt entered the door, she quickly broke free from Bratton's hand, and snatched the moment before the door closed, turned around in panic and escaped, shouting loudly:

"God, forgive this sinner. The smell in the office is like a shit pit. I have worked in the newspaper for more than ten years. It is the first time I have experienced the smell of super invincible Wakanda!"

With such a voice, Editor-in-Chief Bratton felt that he could die. He was the respected, noble, decent and calm editor-in-chief of the New York Times. But he would soon have a nickname, which must be unrelated to some kind of human excrement.

The black aunt opened her mouth and quickly called the newspaper's security guard and night shift manager. It seemed that Editor-in-Chief Bratton was shaking in his office, so everyone in the newspaper building knew about it.

The security guards came wearing gas masks and evacuated all unrelated staff on the same floor in advance. They asked Bratton to come out of the office and soon saw the editor-in-chief who was in pain...

Bratton wore shorts, with a body on his body, shit on his head, and an extremely primitive atmosphere - several security guards were stunned by the scene. Even wearing gas masks, they could still feel the endless smell that was drilling into their noses.

"Sir, what happened?"

"The toilet is sprayed."

"What?"

"Literally, the toilet was sprayed. I was sitting on the damn toilet, and then I heard a strange sound, like a horror coming from the deep sea.

It was gurgling, and I was puzzled at the time. But unfortunately, I was not alert. But I felt something was wrong. It had already launched an impact and then it spurted out.

What are your eyes? Do you think I like this? I am the victim. This must be your dereliction of duty in your work, which led to such an embarrassing situation.

You are holding your laughter, right? You must want to laugh very much, right? You bastards, I curse you also experienced the tragedy of spraying feces on the toilet. I want you to feel the impact of the chrysanthemum being exploded. You can wait, this is definitely not..."

The editor-in-chief's emotions exploded. Faced with the strange expressions of the newspaper security guards and managers, he couldn't help but curse.

The others quickly understood what was going on, but instead sympathized with the unlucky editor-in-chief, and even wanted to come forward to give him a hug and comfort him.

etc......

Hug and comfort are spared, and even approaching is free.

Bratton took a few steps forward while scolding him. But every time he took, the others took two steps back and loudly begged the editor-in-chief to calm down.

This is both shit and urine, so terrible, it is even more courageous than Guan Gong riding a Red Rabbit Horse!

At this moment, there was another gurgling sound on the ceiling of the office, as if something was surging rapidly in the pipes.

Bratton immediately shouted excitedly, "Listen, that's the sound. It's coming, it's coming again, it's coming in a stronger posture. You guys wait and see."

Everyone in the big office changed their eyes when they heard this and turned around and ran away.

Then there was a bang, as if some stuck piston was washed away.

A stronger stream of shit spurted out from the bathroom in Bratton's office. It rushed open the bathroom door, penetrated the office ceiling, and crossed the barrier of the blinds...

The yellow, white and black, undescriptive, undescribable, and undescribable thing came again. It poured into Editor-in-Chief Bratton's head and mind!

It's over, it's completely fun!

Don't be safe this Christmas Eve.
Chapter completed!