Royal Flush

Royal Flush


You are entering the splash zone.
You are entering the splash zone.


I shuffled into the restroom at the roadside McDonalds.

With multiple sclerosis, when the urge hits–you must take care of business!

That’s the great thing about McDonalds–they’re everywhere.  I call them “America’s corporate rest stop.”

It also may explain why the arches are golden…but that’s a whole nuther discussion!



Gotta love technology!
Gotta love technology!

Making my way into a stall (because I must sit when I pee), I noticed the toilet had one of those automatic flush gizmos.

“Sweet!” I thought.

Being a partial germophobe, touching the toilet was one less thing to fret about.


I spun around & dropped my drawers.


Quick to the trigger!
Quick to the trigger!


Squatting…my ass had barely touched the seat when…WOOSH!

The toilet flushed with the ferocity of Niagra.

Icy cold overspray sprinkled my nether regions.

I flinched…recovered, then settled in to finish the task at hand.




Suddenly, a muscle spasm flexed my right leg to straighten.


A repeater!
A repeater!

The shift of my backside triggered the auto-flusher to fire like a howitzer…WOOSH!

Again, a frigid froth misted my manhood…forcing it to shut down…and retreat like a scared soldier back into my body cavity.

I tried to settle myself by thinking of warm things, but soon realized the moment had passed.


Scooching forward on the seat, I attempted to stand and pull up my pants.


Thar she blows!
Thar she blows!



My gentle movement caused the toilet to roar for the third time…WOOSH!


The thunderous sound recoiled off the metal wall of the bathroom stall.



Toilet tsunami!
Toilet tsunami!





A slight lapse of concentration was just enough to cause me to lose balance & sit back down on the seat again.

WOOSH!  The toilet exploded to life.

Thankfully my butt was spared from the chilly mist by a thin layer of denim.

I thought, I didn’t get this wet on Splash Mountain at Disney!



Now, having MS makes it impossible for me (and maybe you) to tuck, button, tie or zip pants without leaning against something…a wall…post…door…ANYTHING solid.

So I shifted myself right to press a shoulder against the wall.


The war isn't over yet!
The war isn’t over yet!


The motion caused the comode to scream in protest…WOOSH!


I thanked God I was covered as my extremities were slowly thawing with positive temperatures






To escape this water hell, I grabbed my canes & carefully scuttled past the throne.


I'll get you my pretty!
I’ll get you my pretty!





The SOB damned me one final time.

Daring me to stay.





I looked back at the automatic flusher.


Spewing evil.
Spewing evil.



Smoke bellowed out its seams while it glared at me with one, evil infared eye.





I slammed the stall’s door and moved my way to the sink.

Good idea, Einstein.
Good idea, Einstein.



I happened to look up where next to the mirror was a sign reminding me to conserve water.


Yes, I’ll…I’ll do that.


I’ll conserve water…and stop at the McDonalds at the next exit.

















3 Replies to “Royal Flush”

  1. The only thing worse would be, if you got out to the car and nature called again, and you had to shuffle back in to McDonald’s, and relive the tsunami all over again. Did you grab a Big Mac and fries on the way out?

  2. I couldn’t stop laughing odd sock! Sorry been there, done that all to often! My complaint is evidently I don’t move enough because my toilet doesn’t flush without me jumping up and down ( not) and the bathrooms of course is 2 miles from the door. That irritates me more esp when I’m tired! Pee in peace Doug! Lol