"Huh, huh, always the egomaniac, Chad? Though I have to admit getting drunk bastards to write your name on you probably helped you keep your identity," Bruno said with a grin looking down at the toilet with Chad written on it and the stall walls in a variety of media and styles. He closed the stall door, and latched it. "Honestly, I only meant it to be two weeks, and it's been a few years. Sorry, Chad- oh, crap." An odd grumbling sound came from Bruno's belly, he clutched it with his hand and grimaced, adding, "I'm really sorry about this, but you're probably used to it now anyway. I've got irritable bowel syndrome, whenever I get nervous or anxious, uh, sorry, Chad?" He quickly undid his belt and jeans and sat on Chad.
Bruno? Seriously? NO! thought Chad. He tried gurgling his message, but the stuff streaming out of Bruno's ass pretty much obscured his words.
"Aaaah!" sighed Bruno, as he wiped the sweat from his brow. His stomach churned again. He moaned, bent over, and started farting loudly.
"Puh-leash, shtop, Blu-nah!" gurgled Chad with disgusting diarrhea floating his mouth/bowl.
"Sorry, Chad," Bruno whispered, "I guess, I'm to anxious about how you'll react. As soon as I'm emptied out, I'll spray you with antidote."
Chad was silent. He wished Bruno had done that first and then used one of the real toilets. From the sound though, all the other stalls were in use anyway, and well, he was still a toilet. Bruno farted again, and a little more goop shot out of his ass. If Chad had a nose it would have crinkled up. The smell was so bad, whoever was on the other side of the stall commented, "Dude, Bruno, what have you been eating? Ew!"