For Sale: Foffa Single Speed Custom-built bicycle

Sytex (a bloke I worked with) is on his way home from the pub when he realises he needs a shit. He gets a move on, but he can feel it coming, a hot weight in his gut like a gallon of chilli.
He's got his arse cheeks clenched, swearing and mincing up his driveway with his knees together, desperately fumbling in his pockets for his keys.
He finds the keys.
Gets his key in the door.
Turns the key.
And shits himself apocalyptically.
Everything comes out, a full and complete bowel evacuation.
He sighs, goes inside and John Wayne's his way to the kitchen. He doesn't dare risk going upstairs.
He peels off his kecks and is impressed to find he's shat himself from knees to middle back and right round to his bollocks.
He hoses off his pants in the sink and slings them in the washer, then tries to work out how to clean himself up.
He decides to run the tap, and just get his shitty arse right into the sink.
He hoists himself up, then slides backwards...
...and wedges himself firmly under the tap.
Water is going everywhere, his back acting like a thumb over the tap. It's blasting water into the sink, spraying shit all over the place. He's doubled over like a dirty humpty dumpty with his belly against his knees and his legs dangling, screaming and spluttering, trying to reach behind himself for the tap to turn it off.
Then he looks up and sees his wife stood in the doorway with half a dozen of her work colleagues. They'd just got a taxi back from a restaurant for a nightcap at Chez Sytex.
They stare at him, a naked, shit smeared man thrashing around in a sink, look at the huge pool of shitty water on the floor, then they leave, closing the door quickly and quietly.
He waits a bit, tried to think of something to say, then just shouts, "GO ON! FUCK OFF OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!"
He eventually gets free.
His wife eventually speaks to him again, weeks later.