Knight of the Light

Editor-in-Chief Bratton’s office has its own bathroom. But the editor-in-chief can't wait to stay in the public bathroom now. Because when he opened the bathroom door, an indescribable breath began to pollute his office.

The ceiling, wall and floor of the bathroom are all yellow sticky objects. The thin yellow water flows into the carpet of the office as soon as the door is opened, as if it has moistened the dry land.

After all, this expensive handmade carpet can only be thrown into the garbage dump.

The editor-in-chief raised his trousers and watched sadly as the sloppy sticky objects fell down his trouser legs. Every time it fell, it made a very textured chirping sound.

Some sticky objects will slide down the editor-in-chief's two thighs and moisturize his thick leg hair. He is older, has a big belly, and wears fat pants. It is conceivable that the crotch of this kind of pants is very large, which is a good container.

Now this container is filled with good things from Fat Field.

The pace of Editor-in-Chief Bratton is very difficult, too difficult. Every step he takes will leave deep footprints and water marks on the ground.

Looking back at the toilet, it is even more distressing. The hole that looked like the abyss of sin is now full of manure, full of dung.

But the editor-in-chief must take steps and leave. With tears and sadness, he lifted his pants up. The moment the belt was buckled, the slimy object was squeezed and burst out.

The icy, damp, gloomy, terrifying aura invaded instantly. This feeling will echo in Bratton's mind for a lifetime, leaving him with sad tears. He finally decided not to wear these shameless trousers, because it was too shameful.

Your editor-in-chief washes his hands in the bathroom with sorrow. He tried to clean himself up, but it didn't help. He tried to flush the toilet again, but the amount of manure in the toilet pit just couldn't be flushed.

Desperate!

Today is Christmas Eve.

As I knew this, the editor-in-chief of Bratton would definitely take time off to spend a warm evening with his family and children. Why bother to be a shit-cutter in the office? But now everything can't look back, it's hard to look directly.

"Hey, building management office? I'm Bratton from the 16th floor of the main news department. Yes, it is me. There is a problem with the toilet in my bathroom and I need a cleaner. Wait, I'm afraid that one is not enough. Name comes.

Besides, do you have oversized pants or clothes? I would be grateful if I could provide it. And don’t forget the air cleaner. You guessed it, the problem is a bit bad. Very bad! "

After calling the management office, the editor-in-chief of Bratton stood pitifully at the desk. He had two long hairy legs naked, only a pair of pants, and his upper body was taken off.

I don't want to stand at this station, and the state of being unable to sit is really torturing.

With the reflection of the office glass windows, Bratton's embarrassed appearance can be seen. He even found that there were a lot of yellow things stuck to his hair, and he was so sick that he could not jump off the roof of the headquarters building.

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

Your editor-in-chief is so angry and anxious that he has no way to vent. He can't even move, he will release a stench when he moves. He considered three classic philosophical issues, but none of them were fruitful.

After waiting for a long time, the fat black aunt brought cleaning tools to the editor-in-chief's office-the newspaper office is a large space, low-level staff work in open squares, and the editor-in-chief has 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 door opened slightly. She saw a bald middle-aged face exposed behind the door, and an indescribable strong smell came on her face.

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

"Hush hush hush..." The editor-in-chief didn't want too many people to know what happened to him. He was careful, earnest, and low-key pleading, "Madam, I have a special situation here. I hope you can see it later. Deal with it calmly."

"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 everything. Your toilet is broken, right? I can handle this."

There are still a lot of staff working overtime in the big office, and they turn around when they hear the conversation. Editor-in-Chief Bratton could only open the door a little bit and quickly pulled the black aunt in.

But less than three seconds after the black aunt entered the door, she quickly broke free of Bratton's hand, and immediately before the door closed, she turned around in a panic and escaped, and shouted desperately:

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

With such a voice, Editor-in-Chief Bratton felt he could go to death. He used to be the editor-in-chief of the New York Times, a respected, noble, and decent man. But soon he will have a nickname, which must be inseparable from some kind of human excrement.

The black aunt opened her mouth and quickly called the newspaper security and night shift manager. It seemed that the editor-in-chief Bratton had **** in his office, so everyone in the newspaper building knew it.

The security guard came wearing a gas mask and evacuated all irrelevant staff on the same floor in advance. They asked Bratton to come out of the office, and soon saw the painful editor in chief...

Bratton wore pants, naked torso, **** on his head, with an extremely primitive atmosphere-several security guards were stunned by this scene. Even if they wear gas masks, they can still feel the lingering smell digging into their noses.

"Sir, what happened?"

"The toilet is spraying manure."

"what?"

"Literally, the toilet was spraying manure. I was in the bathroom, sitting on the **** toilet, and then I heard a strange sound, like the terror coming from the deep ocean.

It clanged, and I was puzzled at the time. But unfortunately, I was not vigilant. But I felt something was wrong, it had already made an impact, and then it spewed out.

What are your eyes? Do you think I like this? I am the victim. This must be the negligence of your work that caused me to experience such an embarrassing situation.

You are holding back your smile, aren't you? You must want to laugh, right? You bastards, I curse that you have also experienced the tragedy of toilet spraying. I want you to feel the impact of the chrysanthemum explosion. Wait, this is definitely not..."

The editor-in-chief's emotions exploded, facing the weird expressions of the newspaper security and management staff, he couldn't help yelling.

Others quickly understood what was going on, but turned to sympathize with the hapless editor-in-chief, and even wanted to come forward to give him a hug, and in the meantime a few words of comfort.

and many more......

Hugs and comforts are avoided, even approaching is avoided.

Bratton scolded and took a few steps forward. But every time he took a step, the others took two steps backwards, and begged the editor-in-chief to calm down.

This is feces and urine too terrible, more courageous than Guan Gong riding a red rabbit horse!

And at this moment, there was another sound of gurgling on the ceiling of the office, as if something was surging quickly in the pipe.

Bratton immediately exclaimed with excitement, "Listen, that's the voice. It's here, it's here, it's coming with a stronger posture. Wait and see."

Everyone in the big office turned around and fled.

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

A more intense stream of **** sprayed from the bathroom of the editor-in-chief Bratton. It rushed through the bathroom door, pierced the ceiling of the office, and went over the blinds...

The yellow, white, black, indescribable, indescribable, and indescribable are coming again. It's dripping with Bratton's editor-in-chief again!

It's over, play it thoroughly!

Don’t be safe this Christmas Eve.

(Public account for attention and click)