I commence my day by going to the Midwest Express Clinic as i cannot afford to peregrinate to an authentic medico or anyone with a simple degree in anything. Instead I get diagnosed with IBS and perpetuate to struggle with the cerebration of soiling my pants circadianly. One time I was working at my favorite expeditious pabulum restaurant, Portillos's, I had to ascertain I bought my Diet Baja Blast to get thru the shift! I lurk upon the doors, ambulating into this fine establishment I call work, I proceed to apron up and get to my venerated obligations, grilling on the grill. I was bored, but not wishing what transpires next upon anybody.

I just feel it. It's peregrinated. Blood is commencing to drip out of my anus on the line! I panic as I cerebrate of what to do, kenning within 15 minutes the whole restaurant will be smelling my Blood-♥♥♥♥ anus juices. I come up with an orchestration, I'm going to have these juices slosh around in my pants, whilst I go to the local Kohls. I pull up and find all the attire I require, whilst doing so I descry me getting some very peculiar looks. I'm wondering what it could be, but I cerebrate nothing of it and goto the fitting room to ascertain all these comely habiliments are going to fit my mildly-exorbitantly corpulent body felicitously. I get into the fitting room and I abstract my pants, I am mitigated to determinately be capable of doing so as these juices have commenced to marinade in my pants. I sat down, alacritous to endeavor on these incipient pants and that's where it hit me. That's why everyone was looking. Blood had SOILED THRU my pants, exposing an astronomically immense red stain around my anus area. I was shocked to verbalize the least. Much more mortified. I panicked, "WHAT AM I GOING TO DO NOW" I yelled, ascertaining the my lord and savior, Dickey, was standing there, resplendently, succulent, looking very dainty. He tell's me "Don't fret my little honeyboo" "Daddy's got you". I immediately felt a sense of comfort. A sense of feeling consequential, wanted, profoundly relished. He brought me one of his G-String thongs, aswell as a pristinely incipient Portillo's crew member shirt. I felt like I was a component of the family. I was able to leave my blood/♥♥♥♥ soiled pants in the transmuting room for some minimum wage employee to have to deal with.

Here comes the frighteningly eerie part. The component i've been dreading most. Returning to work with my non-soiled pants. And returning back to my obligations as the grill chef. Peregrinating into the door, I am ceased by a shift supervisor, he asks me, "Mason, where did you go", I mentally conceived to myself, the only way I will get out of this is by telling the whole veracity and nothing but the veracity. "I soiled my pants sir, it wont transpire again". The whole staff team looks in regret. "You soiled... your pants... How old are you Mason?". I visually examine him with the deep and veritable regret in my ocular perceivers, "I'm 18, sir", "Your 18 and your still ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ ya ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ pants? Son I'm going to have to inscribe you up for this" I cerebrate deeply in the back of my mind and commence to verbalize. "Sir, please don't indite me up, I have a disease, I cannot control it" The manager states "I don't care if you have avails ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥, you never walk out on my line because you soil yourself. You utilize a deity damn bathroom are you an animal?" he asked with regret. "No sir, and it will not transpire again" verbally expressed me. "Peregrinate home ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥" verbalized the shift supervisor, with sincere hope in his ocular perceivers of this event not transpiring again.