After ten hours in a room with attorneys from our D.C. office we decided to unwind with wine and meat at a Fogo de Chao. There was one guy who skipped the salad bar completely, his plate constantly full of lamb, chicken, and beef.

Today was payback for him. He spent this morning groaning and writhing in pain. His gut felt like it was rotting.

He skipped lunch, and pulled me aside when I returned to the office.

Beefeater: Dude, I gotta tell ya something.
Me: Duuuuude, go ahead.
Beafeater: I finally eliminated last night's meal.
Me: Ummmm. Congratulations.
Beafeater: That's not it. I know you've got a sick mind, so you're gonna enjoy this.
Me: Here we go...
Beafeater: So I'm dropping my deuce, and it all came out in one piece. In a straight line, rising above the water level, and almost the same height as the seat. I actually had to step off of the toilet and pinch it off to keep from making a mess.
Me: A walk off dump?
Beafeater: Yes!
Me: You're the David Ortiz of our law firm!
Beafeater: I didn't flush if you want to take a look. Middle stall.
Me: No thanks.