"Okay, am I seeing things or is it getting… bigger?"
"You're seeing things. It never changes size."
"Are you sure, because…"
"Yes. It never changes. I took this assignment specifically because it never changes. Where else in this organization are you going to find a job where nothing ever happens?"
"See? See?! There goes the alarm! Check the readouts."
"No no no this can't be happening… oh shit, it's up half a kilo in the past minute."
"Call secondary containment. Now."
"Good morning, SCP-1581-1. How are you feeling today?"
"Kind of off, actually. Bloated."
"Yes, well, we've had… Tell me, when was the last time you had a bowel movement?"
"You know, I don't remember. That's weird. Usually I'm regular as clockwork. Carrots every six hours. They had to get me one of those little footstools so I don't get hemorrhoids."
"The, ah, Squatty Potty®, yes. But it's been more than six hours?"
"Yeah, I think… God, I think it's been since yesterday."
"That would explain it. I'll order a laxative."
"Explain what? Wait, it's not getting bigger, is it?"
"I'll be back shortly to see how you're doing."
"You ever wonder…"
"What it tastes like?"
"Ew, god no."
"Not even a little bit?"
"No! Wait, do you?"
"I mean, I'm curious. Remember Peters?"
"Yeah, he ate it because he went fucking bonkers, not because it was, like, delicious."
"But what if it was?"
"It's fucking baby food and it lives in an ass. Of course it wasn't."
"… dare you to eat some."
"No, Doc, nothing's moving. I was on the john for like an hour and nothing. You got anything stronger? I'm starting to feel really bound up."
"Well, it's difficult to prescribe for your case — most laxatives draw water from the walls of the bowel into the stool to soften it, but that isn't exactly appropriate here. However —"
"Doc, listen, I know I don't have bowels, just give me the meds."
"I'm afraid it's not that simple."
"Christ, it smells like the bathroom at Woody's on dollar pitcher night."
"More like my niece's diapers."
"No, there's definitely a note of vomit."
"A note? This isn't a fucking wine tasting."
"No, it's a carrot tasting."
"Will you stop with that?"
"Well, we have to do something with it, you know? It's going to break down the door soon."
"It's not like you could just eat all of it."
"I know that! That's why I called in Janitorial."
"To clean it up?"
"If by 'clean it up' you mean 'eat it,' then yes."
"Oh my God you are disgusting."
"Now, I'm going to introduce the enema tube into the anus, so please just relax."
"Are you sure this is — aaagh! Where'd you keep that lube, in the freezer?"
"Please hold still. Introducing the saline now."
"But Doc, listen, it's like… there's miles of carrots in there. How much saline do you have?"
"Shit! Shit! It's flooding!"
"Call Medical! Whatever they're doing, tell them to shut it the fuck down!"
"I SWEAR TO GOD IF I HAVE TO RE-WAX THIS CORRIDOR I WILL DO IT WITH YOUR FUCKING SCALPS."
"Saline irrigation stopped at just under 2.3 megaliters due to… ah, environmental circumstances. Patient appears to have fallen asleep — which is good, because I'm afraid we're going to have to do this the old-fashioned way."
"Get the arm-length gloves. We're going to try manual disimpaction."
"Excuse me, Doctor, but I think you mean you're going to try manual disimpaction."
"That, ah, is traditionally a duty performed by nurses."
"Doctor, may I remind you that Foundation policy dictates all procedures conducted on an anomalous patient must be performed by a medical doctor?"
"Yes, that is the policy. Which I fully intend to ignore."
"And I fully intend to inform the Ombudsman — who, I will remind you, is my mother — if you in any way attempt to make me put my hand in an eighth-dimensional ass."
"God damn it."
"Okay, this isn't so bad! It's like a smoothie!"
"A smoothie full of bile and shit, you fucking weirdo."
"No, it's good! You should try it."
"There is no way in Hell —"
"I got the vodka out of Anya's desk."
"Think of it like a Bloody Mary."
"… I got hot sauce in my bag."