My God, how had it come to this? It had been prophesized that this day would come. As Craif lay on the floor of the large bathroom stall with his belt around his neck he stared at ceiling feeling not an ounce of shame. This was a stall designed for the “handi-capable” folks that were still functional and didn’t require the use of adult diapers. “Fuck ‘em” thought Craif. In his mind it was his own hard work that brought in the money that was used to pay for these nice facilities. He would shit and nap wherever he saw fit.
As Craif removed his belt from his neck he wondered if David Carradine was a genius or a monster. Either way, he decided that autoerotic asphyxiation was better left in Bangkok where it was created. Craif rose to his feet and peered over the edge of the porcelain alter and into the holy colonic baptismal font. His eyes could only behold for a moment the unholy demon that he had brought forth. A wraith of fecal matter that was the stuff of nightmares.
![The Chronicles Of Kammi Sutra: Lust Of The Merman by [Broadfist, Naomi]](https://i0.wp.com/images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/51mcPSSaZOL.jpg?w=217&ssl=1)
“That was not Christian,” Craif said aloud. But these days, what really was? He flushed five times to get the bulk and then a sixth time to handle the remainder. The spawn of hell put up quite the fight but Craif was victorious. He washed his hands thoroughly and muttered ruthless obscenities under his breath as he discovered they were out of paper towels… again. Apparently, his hard work the previous month was not enough to allow the company to properly stock the bathrooms.
As he left the bathroom and began walking back to his desk he squinted in pain as his eyes struggled to adjust to the soft florescent glow of the office lights. “What day is it?” he thought to himself. He had been in that bathroom for a long time. Like a really long time. Like so long that his friend were beginning to think he was dead. No such luck for Craif. He would have to go on with his suffering.
As he sat at his desk he pulled his phone from the pocket of his now three-day-old dress pants. Craif didn’t even bother changing his underwear anymore. So he sure as shit wasn’t going to create more laundry for himself by putting on a fresh pair of pants everyday. He looked at his phone and opened his Candy Crush game. Level 6002? He though he was farther along than that. He would have to write the game programmers a strongly worded email demanding additional levels. He should be able to kill a solid hour of work time doing that.
As he look down to put his phone back in his pocket he notice a piece of paper had fallen on the floor. It was in the shape of a little origami penis because that was the type of Renaissance man Craif was. He picked it up and opened it ever so carefully. “Might be money,” he thought to himself. As he unfolded the little prick he realized that it was the lottery ticket that he had purchased the day before with money he had stolen from a homeless orphan’s collection can. He pulled up the previous night’s winning numbers on his work computer so as not to burn up his own data. As he compared the numbers on the screen to the numbers on his ticket Craif began making a sound that resembled 10,000 babies laughing at the thought of their own fiery damnation.
To be continued…