Just then, in the next stall, the taco bell chalupas from lunch were catching up to Brittney, the rotund girl from room 112.  The explosive sounds reminescent of the firebombing of Dresden filled the air along with a stench that made the exhaust of Auschwitz smell like the mall food court. "I hate to interrupt your lesbo experience, but do either of you bitches have any shit paper, or even a tampon?  I need to wipe my ass and I'm fresh out," yelled Brittney.