Human Ingenuity

The clock reads 2:35 am and I almost didn't poop. It is a common occurrence for Bob to wake up and take an early morning bowel constitutional. Usually it is a painless affair, or relatively painless--a diet consisting of Taco Bell and White Castle does tend to get a bit "messy." I had hoped to sit down, grunt a few dozen times and drop brown napalm on the porcelain jungle, however; that wasn't to be the case.

Earlier in the night, before going to bed, I had defecated and defecated well. I used the customary half a roll of toilet paper, as my hairy inner buttock requires heavy maintenance and eternal vigilance, unbeknownst to me this was not ordinary toilet paper, it was 2-ply. In other words, the sheets were double thick and, as I learned several hours later, much more likely to clog a toilet.

I am not one to be prepared in life; much of my existence consists of coasting by on my good looks, charm and rapier-like wit. Coasting is not the right word, actually. Drowning in my inequities would be more precise. Anyway, I never before saw fit to purchase a toilet plunger. A clogged toilet happened to other people--Democrats for example--but the porcelain god was full of tribute and ready to "give" back. I didn't know what to do, where to turn to, or who to call. I couldn't go next door and borrow/steal the parent’s plunger, it was too late at night and last time I came over after midnight, mom threatened to shoot me in the balls. I considered driving to Wal-Mart or Kroger to buy a plunger but it was cold outside and shitting my pants (at least partially so) isn't terribly uncommon, so I prioritized warmth over personal hygiene. You will be glad to know that it didn't come to splattering my undies, instead something far worse happened.

Here is what I mean by clogged: the toilet was filled with urine, brown sludge and the odd piece of corn; it was a cornucopia of the human digestive and excretory systems. I decided to think outside the box and endeavor how one man--sans a plunger--could overcome a shit filled flotsam. Then it hit me, I would use my toothbrush to push the excess toilet paper through the pipes. It seems that a toothbrush wasn't designed for this process as it broke in two. I was out of ideas, and the shock of cold water from the bowl considerably expedited my need to shit. It was now, never or in my pants. I decided to give it one last try and stuck my entire fist into the hole, which seemed to fit perfectly, and hoped to make a plunger out of my arm. It sort of worked. Ten minutes and three wet farts later I managed to unclog the toilet with only the aid of my child-sized fist. My colon was overjoyed.

The lesson from this incident: Don't shake hands with Bob.


Go to Hell