Skibidi toilet
I made a pass to go to the bathroom cause I had to go really bad. I went to the bathroom in 4th period I knew for a fact no one was gonna be in the bathroom so I was happy I could use the restroom in piece. As I slowly walked in the bathroom in got really cold. I went to the bathroom and as I waited for the automatic flush to flush suddenly a creature came out the toilet and started singing SKIBIDI DOP DOP DOP DOP DOP DOP SKIBIDI DOP DOP DEEP DEEP! I ran out the bathroom in horror turns out the creature was SKIBIDI TOILET!!
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when you gotta go YOU GOTTA GO
The app apparently believes bodily functions operate on a calendar invite. I was expected to calmly wait for approval, however every second felt like a dramatic countdown, ultimately being pure dismal. When the pass finally came through, I had approximately no time left to make it down the hall, and the consequences were so mortifying that I now bring an empty zaxby's takeout box to school every day to have my own port-a-potty instead of relying on this pitiful bit of technology.
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Count your days securly
Securly Pass: The app nobody asked for, yet somehow everyone has to suffer through.
I just wanted to go to the bathroom, not apply for a visa. Why do I need an ELECTRONIC HALL PASS to walk 30 feet down a hallway? 😭
The app acts like I’m trying to escape the country when I’m literally just trying to use the restroom. “Request denied.” BRO I HAVE A BLADDER 😭
0/10 experience. Would give 0 stars if the app didn’t require a pass for that too.
I just wanted to go to the bathroom, not apply for a visa. Why do I need an ELECTRONIC HALL PASS to walk 30 feet down a hallway? 😭
The app acts like I’m trying to escape the country when I’m literally just trying to use the restroom. “Request denied.” BRO I HAVE A BLADDER 😭
0/10 experience. Would give 0 stars if the app didn’t require a pass for that too.
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67
not good
The great betrayal
A Memoir of One Person, One Bathroom, and an Unreasonable Amount of Diarrhea
Prologue: The Warning
It began innocently.
There was no thunder. No earthquake. No ominous choir of angels.
There was only me, sitting peacefully, unaware that my digestive system had already drafted its declaration of war.
Looking back, there were signs.
A strange rumble.
A brief moment of intestinal uncertainty.
The unmistakable feeling that something inside me had made a decision without consulting the rest of my body.
I ignored it.
That was my first mistake.
Chapter One: The First Wave
At 10:17 a.m., I felt the urge.
At 10:18, I understood the seriousness of the situation.
At 10:19, I was no longer a civilian.
I moved toward the bathroom with the determination of a person who knew exactly what was at stake. Every step became a negotiation between hope and catastrophe.
I reached the toilet.
I sat down.
And then—
BOOM.
What followed cannot adequately be described as a bowel movement.
It was an event.
A phenomenon.
A hostile takeover.
My intestines, apparently dissatisfied with their previous management, had decided to liquidate the entire operation.
I stared forward in silence.
I had questions.
Mostly: Why?
Chapter Two: There Is No Victory, Only Intermission
Surely that was it.
Surely the body had emptied its reserves and peace would soon return.
I was wrong.
Ten minutes later, my stomach growled again.
Not a normal growl.
This was the sound of distant artillery.
I stood completely still.
The room seemed to shrink.
My instincts took over.
I returned to the bathroom.
Round two began.
By the third trip, I had stopped pretending this was temporary.
By the fourth, I had established a routine.
By the fifth, I had developed a complicated emotional relationship with the toilet.
It was always there.
It never judged me.
It simply waited.
Chapter Three: The Long Night
Time lost meaning.
Morning became afternoon.
Afternoon became evening.
At some point, I looked at the clock and realized I had spent an unreasonable portion of my day within ten feet of the same porcelain throne.
I began measuring time in bathroom visits.
I began measuring hydration in sips.
I began questioning every food decision I had ever made.
Was it the leftovers?
Was it the sauce?
Was it something I ate three days ago?
Was this revenge for every time I said, “I’m sure that’s still good”?
I would never know.
The only certainty was that my digestive tract had become my greatest enemy.
Chapter Four: The Final Battle
Then, at last, came silence.
I waited.
Nothing.
I waited longer.
Still nothing.
I cautiously stood.
The world did not end.
I walked away.
I returned to my room like a survivor returning from war.
I drank some water.
I looked out the window.
The sun was shining.
Birds were singing.
Somewhere, people were living normal lives.
They had no idea what I had endured.
But I knew.
I had seen the abyss.
And the abyss had diarrhea.
Epilogue: Never Again
I emerged from the experience a changed person.
I no longer take a peaceful stomach for granted.
I respect bathrooms.
I respect hydration.
I respect leftovers.
Most importantly, I respect the warning rumble.
Because sometimes, your body whispers.
Sometimes, it growls.
And sometimes, it gives you exactly three seconds to make peace with your god before destroying your afternoon.
This is my story.
This was my battle.
And, against all odds—
I survived.
Prologue: The Warning
It began innocently.
There was no thunder. No earthquake. No ominous choir of angels.
There was only me, sitting peacefully, unaware that my digestive system had already drafted its declaration of war.
Looking back, there were signs.
A strange rumble.
A brief moment of intestinal uncertainty.
The unmistakable feeling that something inside me had made a decision without consulting the rest of my body.
I ignored it.
That was my first mistake.
Chapter One: The First Wave
At 10:17 a.m., I felt the urge.
At 10:18, I understood the seriousness of the situation.
At 10:19, I was no longer a civilian.
I moved toward the bathroom with the determination of a person who knew exactly what was at stake. Every step became a negotiation between hope and catastrophe.
I reached the toilet.
I sat down.
And then—
BOOM.
What followed cannot adequately be described as a bowel movement.
It was an event.
A phenomenon.
A hostile takeover.
My intestines, apparently dissatisfied with their previous management, had decided to liquidate the entire operation.
I stared forward in silence.
I had questions.
Mostly: Why?
Chapter Two: There Is No Victory, Only Intermission
Surely that was it.
Surely the body had emptied its reserves and peace would soon return.
I was wrong.
Ten minutes later, my stomach growled again.
Not a normal growl.
This was the sound of distant artillery.
I stood completely still.
The room seemed to shrink.
My instincts took over.
I returned to the bathroom.
Round two began.
By the third trip, I had stopped pretending this was temporary.
By the fourth, I had established a routine.
By the fifth, I had developed a complicated emotional relationship with the toilet.
It was always there.
It never judged me.
It simply waited.
Chapter Three: The Long Night
Time lost meaning.
Morning became afternoon.
Afternoon became evening.
At some point, I looked at the clock and realized I had spent an unreasonable portion of my day within ten feet of the same porcelain throne.
I began measuring time in bathroom visits.
I began measuring hydration in sips.
I began questioning every food decision I had ever made.
Was it the leftovers?
Was it the sauce?
Was it something I ate three days ago?
Was this revenge for every time I said, “I’m sure that’s still good”?
I would never know.
The only certainty was that my digestive tract had become my greatest enemy.
Chapter Four: The Final Battle
Then, at last, came silence.
I waited.
Nothing.
I waited longer.
Still nothing.
I cautiously stood.
The world did not end.
I walked away.
I returned to my room like a survivor returning from war.
I drank some water.
I looked out the window.
The sun was shining.
Birds were singing.
Somewhere, people were living normal lives.
They had no idea what I had endured.
But I knew.
I had seen the abyss.
And the abyss had diarrhea.
Epilogue: Never Again
I emerged from the experience a changed person.
I no longer take a peaceful stomach for granted.
I respect bathrooms.
I respect hydration.
I respect leftovers.
Most importantly, I respect the warning rumble.
Because sometimes, your body whispers.
Sometimes, it growls.
And sometimes, it gives you exactly three seconds to make peace with your god before destroying your afternoon.
This is my story.
This was my battle.
And, against all odds—
I survived.
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