My plan was executed with ruthless efficiency. In the 36 hours leading up to my flight, I ate nothing except Indian, Mexican and Thai food. By time I boarded the aircraft my colon was afire, and I was ready to join the ranks of legendary defecators like Ewan McGregor and GG Allin. Soon after takeoff my a*** was ready to explode like a Hezbollah pager. I entered the bathroom and could barely lower my pants before a thundershower of liquid s*** spewed hot from the a**, its force ricocheting back off the plastic commode and soaking my undercarriage with wet feces. The stench hit with sudden shock, almost as if the smell was a startling sound, calling out its stinking arrival. The sheer volume of s*** was incredible, and my sphincter burned as it filled the bowl. Rising in the tiny bathroom to inspect my creation, it was clear the s*** had backsplashed everywhere around the toilet seat. I quickly scrubbed my a** with the 1-ply toilet paper, the result being wet soiling that resembled a map of Madagascar. A brief patch of turbulence shook the filthy stew in the commode like a bowl of soup, and I dropped my shitrag in it.
Without flushing, I returned to my seat, which was deliberately bought within view of the bathroom. Several minutes later a man opened the door and entered, a disgusted look crossing his face. I smiled. He closed the door behind him but re-emerged quickly. He checked the other bathroom adjacent, but it was occupied. Then he just disappeared, presumably back to his seat.
Later, a flight attendant entered wearing an N95 mask. I strained to listen through the roar of the Pratt & Whitney engines, but my p**** moved when I made out the sound of the toilet flushing. Another attendant soon arrived with cleaning products.
Upon landing I retired to my hotel room and ordered several pay-per-view adult movies.