Pi Kappa Mu shitters!

Behold a trashed party house at Fraternity Row in Morgantown. I can’t say they didn’t have their priorities straight when they plunked a shitter down directly on the front sidewalk.

The other shitter is in the frat house basement. I’ve known people who live like this, and it’s impossible to interact with them. Since all the people from this frat house are skeletons, it’s almost the same experience, except less talking. Note the triangular anatomy chart on the shower wall. Get a shitty education with your brain damage!

Boyle Mansion shitters!

Sorry, aristocracy, but your shitters suck. The bathrooms in the Boyle mansion are bland, lame, and boring as fuck! For all their finery, these shitters have none of the nuance and mirth of even the poorest shitters of Dunwall. I guess it does speak to how the rich, creamy ruling class finds their own existence to be so utterly tedious, darling.

Distillery District shitter!

The most no-nonsense shitter of them all, full of shiny loots and resting alongside a stack of books to ponder. The noble chamber pot, located in a nook of the Distillery District, is primarily used by Slackjaw’s gang. But don’t think this is enough for the likes of The Bottlestreet Gang. There’s something beautiful about a bunch of big ‘n tall thugs perching delicately on the edge of a porcelain saucer.

And if you want insight into class disparity during Gristol’s rat plague, compare this hovel to the carved, solid walnut in the Boyle Mansion shitters.

Dunwall Tower: The Lord Regent’s shitter!

Hiram Burrows, Lord Regent and main antagonist for two-thirds of Dishonored, is a dreadful boogeyman who concocted a coup against Empress Jessamine and framed you, Corvo Attano, for her murder. This is where he shits: A darling and precious chamberpot that did not deserve this life. From the observer’s POV, this looks like a great government job. The opulent surroundings of Dunwall Tower, with all the finest appointments of a steampunk dystopia, and you get to bask in the eerie pale blue glow of this gaudy bedchamber. But, and I think all chamberpots everywhere would agree, you’d probably rather lay broken in an alleyway than be the personal shitpot of a genocidal dictator.

Don’t get the Lord Regent of Gristol confused with Hiram Burrows of Port Jervis, NY. Check out this mention of a real Hiram Burrows, who died of Typhoid, in an 1869 issue of The Evening Gazette.

Dunwall Tower shitter!

This one is a little fucky, but I’m not convinced that it’s the shitter’s fault. You can see the chamberpot is clipping into the wooden seat of the shitter. Is it trying to run? Maybe it has to do with the fact that there’s a highly combustible drum of whale oil, alongside the open fucking flame of a lantern mere feet from where you are supposed to feel most at ease. The wooden hinged lid is spattered with whale oil. This room reminds me a lot of this shitter on Talos I. The rogue government of Gristol can make hydraulic super soldiers that shoot rockets with no problem, but trust them to jerry rig a veritable bomb in a restroom. What a filthy debacle.

Not so fast, pal. First you empty yours, then maybe we talk about mine.

Oblivion’s ragdoll poses are things of grace, charm and beauty.