I understand completely. It’s tough to splash down a truly satisfying turd when one is worried about being blown up in the sanctity of a borrowed shitter. Been there, done that, got the stained skivvies to prove it.
I may have mentioned my long-term tenure at a narcotics task force.
Such a sensitive nurturing bunch of cops. Nobody and nothing were safe from the rotten bastards. Any foray into the bathroom of more than a minute duration provoked the same response.
The unwary would settle down on the throne. There for their reading pleasure was a stack of skin magazines. Kill two birds with one stone, take a satisfying dump and catch up on current events. Then the clock ticked past the minute mark. What is that smell? That sound is like a fuse makes in a Boris and Natsha cartoon.
There is a reason it sounds like a fuse. It is! Fireworks are illegal to possess within San Antonio city limits. every search warrant revealed illegal fireworks. These munitions were confiscated as contraband. They were later destroyed in a mostly safe manner. The site of the destruction was the occupied bathroom in the task force office. If the target was lucky only one twenty pack of firecrackers was slipped under the door. With a little planning a whole bundle could be slid under the door. Not quite as dramatic (volume wise) were the bottle rockets. What they lacked in sheer numbers was made up by the whizzing, ricocheting projectiles flying around a four by six-foot space, capped off with an explosion.
Except for one occasion constipation was not a problem at the task force.