o I (26M) went over to my friend’s (26F) apartment for a chill movie night. She made chili. Like, a lot of chili. I had three bowls. It was delicious but... things started moving inside me.

Midway through the second movie, I felt The Summoning in my lower gut. I excused myself and went to her tiny bathroom. What followed was a catastrophic bowel event I can only describe as an exorcism through my butt. I flushed. Nothing. The demon remained.

Panicking, I flushed again. The water rose. It kept rising. It reached the rim. Then it mocked me.

I couldn’t find a plunger. Why do people not have plungers?! I didn’t want to admit what had happened, so I made a very bad decision: I found a plastic spoon under the sink, broke it in half, and attempted a manual relocation of the... situation.

I panicked again and hid it in the only place that made sense at the time: her cat’s litter box.

Yes. I buried my poop in her cat’s litter box.

I thought I was in the clear until she texted me the next morning: “Hey… did you poop in Mr. Whiskers' box???”

Apparently, she took him to the vet thinking he passed a human-sized log. The vet confirmed: “That’s not cat.”

She’s furious. I confessed. She says I’m disgusting and owes her a new litter box and maybe a new cat because she’s “traumatized.”

But like… what was I supposed to do? Leave a floater? Tell her I destroyed her plumbing with the fury of three bowls of chili? I panicked!

AITA?