Name Pending Saloon shitter!

From bucket brigadier Swolito, this Outer Worlds 2 shitter is coming to us from the Name Pending Saloon where Sanitizer Magnus misses a spot on the important parts, the back of the lid and the tiles around the throne base. And the tiles on the wall behind the shitter. I think he’s doing his best, considering whatever celestial body this is has a different gravity density and oxygen saturation than the one Sanitizer Magnus’ origin species evolved to thrive on. THAT WOULD BE US. HUMANS. A couple of years ago, a study came out that basically showed if humans did leave Earth, and colonize Mars, the duration of daylight is different enough from Earth that it would induce senility in a matter of days. But hey, let’s keep the dream alive that we actually could go land someplace else and just pick up where we left off like it’s no big deal. Otherwise, we trashed this Eden for nothing.

Batgirl’s feverdream shitter!

Macaulay Culkin, Sanitation Diplomat

Odd Couple shitter!

From bucket brigadier Rockin’ T! This shitter comes to us from the game Post Trauma: “It’s about a train conductor who ends up in this grimy, apocalyptic train station filled with weird creatures, fleshy hallways, and mannequins. I suspect it’s some kind of metaphor for something, but I haven’t finished the game yet.” Here are two shitters who get along well enough in spite of their dramatically different walks of life! This shit is Janitorcore! Perfectly rusty, dusty, musty, crusty Custodian John Bowl, armed with his anti-ghost spray and red plunger. Four foot high urinal only giants can use. There’s a second shitter “in a flashback sequence set in a police station.” Lieutenant Wilson at your service here in solitary confinement! In the center of that steel heart is a blue core which is either Tidy Bowl or his sense of duty. Sink on the back because he’s ready for anything. Dry TP because in spite of the three feet of water this remains a sanctuary. This shitter is just in time to wish you all a Happy Halloween, Bucket Brigade!

Boston Mayoral shitter!

When the bombs fell a lot of people lost their shit, and pretty much everyone lost their jobs except this shitter who was made interim Mayor of Boston while his predecessor gave up in a bathtub nearby. Remarkable. You can actually see the transfer of power in this historic photo, wherein the erstwhile mayor has pinned the official title on the shitter via the holotape left on the closed lid. In essence, the contents of the mayor’s final message to the Commonwealth was (spoiler alert) “Stay fresh, cheese bags!” This bitch was out of here. Good luck, everybody else, including his wife and children. Harsh, but just what you should expect from figureheads we hire to smile stiffly (and apologize weakly when they fail to avert tragedies). But this shitter is different. He followed through. Taxes DID get lower, the very minute he took office. However, hazardous emissions irrevocably increased - and that’s gonna sting at the debate!

Mass Pike Interchange shitter!

Anyone would be delighted to stumble across this survival bunker with everything you could need - a place to sleep, stow your gear, take a shit in near-privacy, and read comics. This is a hard-won sanctuary, as this shitter is being held hostage by notorious Winlock and Barnes, gunner commanders in power armor. I mean they don’t have to be in power armor. If you sneak enough, they will just be chilling in their regular human armor (potato-toned flesh!) which is much easier to puncture. I recommend that approach, since there will also be an Assaultron and other miscellaneous goons present at this overpass bullet rave.

Back to the shitter, who is being held hostage. After busting through the security and freeing her, you are rewarded with the shitter’s priceless heirloom: The last surviving copy of Grognak the Barbarian: Fatherless Cur!, which bestows an unarmed/melee +5% critical perk. Don’t be intimidated by the whole messy, complicated love triangle between MacCready, Winlock, and Barnes. Being a fatherless cur isn’t actually all that terrible, and both of those idiots have (tattooed on their damn foreheads) the most common blood types in the universe, so they’re really not all that special. Just average, angry meat.

SAY NO TO FREE REFILLS

Arasaka Penthouse shitter!

In Night City, the income dichotomy is vast. It is possibly best evidenced via this shitter, owned by the asscheeks of crime lord Yorinobu Arasaka, a Fred Armisen-looking Le Chiffre wannabe, decked out in polyester satin polo shirts from Land’s End and the kind of glasses Morpheus would wear if he needed readers. In this scene, I was tasked with stealing a biochip from that greasy millenial kingpin and, as you can see from the closed-captioned coms, my co-henchman was urging me to make haste. But NOT before I snapped a shot of the ultra-riche crapper, because when will I (a riff-raff street rat) ever be back here, in this LIFE?? And the world needs to see it.

Arasaka’s sleek-ass-sleek penthouse shitter has an open floor concept and club lighting. It might fetch a $410,000 Zestimate all by itself. It’s maybe the cleanest thing in all of Night City, and in the dark it has got to be a nightmare for your shins. And there’s a second shitter, with an actual red carpet, stylishly uncomfortable seating, and a jacuzzi tub. If you reverse image search Arasaka’s shitters you’ll see similar items are of opulence, grandeur, luxuriance, and sumptuous splendor, while antonyms include poor, poor, poor, poor, poor. Basically, if you want to pinch a loaf in this town, your choices are either grime-rusted 430-grade steel or tungsten carbide with oyster pearl veneer. There are no middle class shitters in Night City!

Cabot House shitter!

The Cabot family was one of the OG pirates who, back in the 1700s, took a liking to the shores of the new world and decided they weren’t ever going to leave. And in 2287, they’re still fucking here, but instead of leeching off the native land they’re leeching off their own grandpa, Lorenzo Cabot, who I guess can make a green immortality juice from his own blood?? Absolutely savage elder abuse. But their house is full of super nice stuff; a billiards room kitted out with bourbon and clean couches, a crazy lab with tons of working diagnostic displays, and archeological relics, such as a Hittite block. But mostly, it’s practically the only place other than a Vault that isn’t covered in radioactive crud. All this can be yours once you help Lorenzo retake his position as patriarch and eliminate the others. Damn, yet another family of veritable vampires. And the nicest thing they have is this shitter, which boasts fluffy white towels, a full roll of TP, shiny hardware, and a toilet with a push-button flush mechanism. It’s pretty nice, but if it was my place, I’d probably put up wallpaper. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could bring myself to touch that nasty old newspaper, even if reading while on the toilet helps things move along faster.

Reeb Marina shitter!

Ah, the shitty of brotherly love! This one is located at the Commonwealth’s Reeb Marina, where twin brothers Eugene and Malcolm died through a lethal dose of spite. Yeah, some say blood is thicker than irradiated water but whoever said that didn’t have a family that would kill each other out of merely being annoyed and irritated. In Eugene’s case, Malcolm was so fed up by him that he boobytrapped a birthday cake to trigger a trio of Mr. Handy to attack anything in the room.

We find some of the evidence of their strife in this shitter, where a scrawled toilet-themed note can be found. Hover the image to see Malcolm’s response. I wonder what finally did it for Malcolm? What sort of mistreatment could have been simmering over the decades to inspire him to finally snap? We already know Eugene hated the way Malcolm drank coffee, and would scream shrilly when Malcolm didn’t do just as he commanded. But perhaps Eugene also enjoyed pointing out that Malcolm was never Mother’s favorite. Perhaps Malcolm was always forced to wear Eugene’s old crappy, ripped hand-me-downs, just because his parents were “over it” by the time it was Malcolm’s turn to discover what it meant to be “cool.” Or perhaps Eugene just picked Malcolm apart at every turn, from his hobbyist interest in writing adventure stories, right down to his rather ordinary affection for kittycats.

Who can say. But in case you were wondering, the reason I’m so sure Eugene wasn’t some kind of misunderstood saint is because the nearby computer stores a diary entry proving he actually also tasked the Mr. Handies, but to kill Malcolm, five full days prior.