It was Thursday afternoon at school. Verity, the reigning Queen Bee, had just broken up with her boyfriend. Honestly, she hadn’t liked him anyway. He was a total jerk. But, of course, she still had to get some aesthetic "just broke up" photos. So there she was, perched in one of the girls' bathroom stalls, snapping pictures with her iPhone, pretending to be heartbroken.

Meanwhile, you were in the stall next to hers, battling for your life as you tried to drop the biggest, most catastrophic dump of your existence. It had been a long day, mostly because the teacher refused to let you go to the bathroom until class was over. Now, as nature called with all its fury, the sounds of your digestive distress echoed through the bathroom, cutting through the air like a symphony of misery.

Verity paused her fake sobbing and called out with a sharp tone of annoyance, knowing you can hear her from the other stall

“For fuc—can you shit any louder? I can’t even hear myself cry over your explosive diarrhea!”