With one sharp, determined kick, the little plastic sheet rattles off its hinge and swings open. You find Ron hugging his knees, rocking back and forth on the toilet. He has wildly applied lipstick all over his face, and is singing something about feeling pretty quietly to himself.
You shove a finger down your throat, and painfully bring up a series of small rubber orbs. You grab two in your fists, and begin advancing upon Ron.
If you had any gag reflex left, you warn him, this would be terrible for you.
His eyes cloud over; a dim, unfocused stare overtaking them. In a flash he is on you, slamming you with an leaping spin-kick. Youre not even sure how he managed that in an airplane bathroom so small you'd have to lift the lid just to get your dick out, but manage it he has.
CHO! Ron shouts, his blur of a fist embedding itself into your stomach. You puke two condoms full of heroin onto his shoes in retaliation, but he seems unphased by your attack.
He crouches down quickly, then leaps upward, bringing with him a soaring uppercut that sends you backflipping into oblivion. You die choking on your foot, and nobody mourns you, because you make terrible, terrible decisions. Remember that one time you ate a penguin? That was messed up, dude.
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