You've been up my ass about becoming my human toilet. Emailing me, messaging me, begging me nonstop to have my empty myself onto your face. And quite frankly, you've been irritating me. Your obsession and compulsion towards my kaviar is unending to the point of addiction, and when I finally use you as my toilet, I'm going to make you suffer for it. I have no intentions of making it pleasurable or nice -- I want to make you regret every decision you've made that has led you under my asshole. The only way I'll potty on you is if you hurt for it.