A really sh###y story in the NYT

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I was saying to my fiance the other day that I've never seen my boss in the men's room. Not once. He lives in town and I suspect he runs home every time he's in search of a smashing success -- or even a quick ****.

That'd just kind of weird to me. Maybe he's a germaphobe. Not sure there's an appropriate way to broach that topic: "Say, boss, how come I never see ya in the ****ter?"

Contrast that with other co-workers who spend so much time in there I suspect they're napping.
 
I just rocked a **** and there was music and dialogue coming from one of the stalls.
 
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An old roommate from my bachelor days used to time his bowel movements for when he'd be at the office. He liked to say it made him a professional ****ter, since he was on the clock when he was in there. Also, too, because we'd often run out of TP at the house we'd rent.
 
An old roommate from my bachelor days used to time his bowel movements for when he'd be at the office. He liked to say it made him a professional ****ter, since he was on the clock when he was in there. Also, too, because we'd often run out of TP at the house we'd rent.
Cool story.
 
An old roommate from my bachelor days used to time his bowel movements for when he'd be at the office. He liked to say it made him a professional ****ter, since he was on the clock when he was in there. Also, too, because we'd often run out of TP at the house we'd rent.

This is the exact reason I take my ****s at home. Shop is too cheap to keep stock of TP and it's less than five minutes to wipe with something better than single ply.
 

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