Name: Anonymous 2010-10-26 10:27
SHE SAID "THIS IS AN EMERGENCY, AND I REALLY NEED TO USE YOUR BATHROOM. I KNOW THIS IS WEIRD, BUT THERE'S A $100 BILL IN IT FOR YOU."
STARSTRUCK, I STAMMERED OUT "IT'S NO PROBLEM, YOU CAN USE IT," AND SHE PROCEEDED STRAIGHT TO THE LOO AT INCREDIBLE SPEED.
AFTER A FEW MOMENTS OF SILENCE, I STARTED TO HEAR WHAT SOUNDED LIKE A MIXTURE OF THE CLANKING OF HEAVY IRON COOKWARE, A FOGHORN, AND GRIEVOUS HARM BEING DONE TO A BULL RHINOCEROS. THE WALLS TREMBLED. I YELLED, BARELY OVER THE RACKET, "KELLY, IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? I THINK WE'VE GOT ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE COMING." I COULD BARELY HEAR HER YELL OUT "IT'S COOL, BE OUT IN A SECOND, THANKS AGAIN."
AFTER MINUTES OF WHAT I ASSUMED WAS A POSSIBLE TIDAL WAVE, CLARKSON EMERGED FROM THE LOO. HER HAIR WAS IMMACULATE. AS SHE WAS WALKING OUT THE DOOR SHE PUT A $100 SPOT INTO MY PALM AND SAID A FINAL "THANKS."
BY THIS TIME, I HAD NEED TO TAKE A PISS MYSELF, AND WALKED TO THE BATHROOM. THE DOOR WAS BARELY CRACKED, BUT THE ODOR FROM WITHIN HAD ALREADY PERMEATED INTO THE HALLWAY. NOT WANTING TO WASTE ANY TIME, I JUST SAID "FUCK IT," AND BARGED IN HEAD FIRST.
MY EYES BECAME LARGE AS SAUCERS AS I SURVEYED THE DAMAGE. THERE WAS WATER EVERYWHERE. BRACKISH WATER, BROWN WATER, SHIT WATER, CHUNKS OF SHIT, DIARREAH, AND NO LESS THAN HALF A DOZEN QUARTER POUNDER LUNKER TURDS STREWN ABOUT. THE TOILET ITSELF WAS COMPLETELY BLOWN OPEN. BITS OF PORCELAIN HAD EXPLODED INTO THE WALLS, DESTROYING THE DRYWALL, TINY SHIT-CERAMIC BLOW DARTS. MY MAGAZINE RACK, FORMERLY FULL, MOSTLY OF MAD MAGAZINE AND ESQUIRE, WAS UTTERLY DESTROYED. YEARS WORTH OF MAD MAGAZINE FOLD-INS WILL NEVER WORK AGAIN, EITHER RIPPED INTO CONFETTI OR COVERED IN WET SCAT.
I CALLED A PLUMBING GUY IN ABOUT AN HOUR LATER. SAID HE'S ONLY EVER HEARD ABOUT ANYTHING LIKE THIS ONCE IN 40 YEARS. HE SAID THE PIPES UNDER MY HOUSE ARE PROBABLY ALL BLOWN, ALL THE WAY TO THE SEPTIC TANK. I'M FUCKED. MINUS KELLY'S GRACIOUS $100, ESTIMATES ARE LOOKING TO BE AT LEAST $19,000 TO GET THIS THING BACK IN SHAPE.
IF YOU'RE EVER AT HOME ON A DAY OFF, SITTING ON YOUR COUCH, WATCHING "THE PRICE IS RIGHT," AND HEAR A KNOCK ON THE DOOR...YOU MAKE DAMN SURE WHO IT IS. IF IT'S KELLY CLARKSON, YOU KEEP THAT DOOR LOCKED TIGHT. DEADBOLT IT TWICE IF YOU HAVE TO. DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE I DID, FRIEND.
STARSTRUCK, I STAMMERED OUT "IT'S NO PROBLEM, YOU CAN USE IT," AND SHE PROCEEDED STRAIGHT TO THE LOO AT INCREDIBLE SPEED.
AFTER A FEW MOMENTS OF SILENCE, I STARTED TO HEAR WHAT SOUNDED LIKE A MIXTURE OF THE CLANKING OF HEAVY IRON COOKWARE, A FOGHORN, AND GRIEVOUS HARM BEING DONE TO A BULL RHINOCEROS. THE WALLS TREMBLED. I YELLED, BARELY OVER THE RACKET, "KELLY, IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? I THINK WE'VE GOT ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE COMING." I COULD BARELY HEAR HER YELL OUT "IT'S COOL, BE OUT IN A SECOND, THANKS AGAIN."
AFTER MINUTES OF WHAT I ASSUMED WAS A POSSIBLE TIDAL WAVE, CLARKSON EMERGED FROM THE LOO. HER HAIR WAS IMMACULATE. AS SHE WAS WALKING OUT THE DOOR SHE PUT A $100 SPOT INTO MY PALM AND SAID A FINAL "THANKS."
BY THIS TIME, I HAD NEED TO TAKE A PISS MYSELF, AND WALKED TO THE BATHROOM. THE DOOR WAS BARELY CRACKED, BUT THE ODOR FROM WITHIN HAD ALREADY PERMEATED INTO THE HALLWAY. NOT WANTING TO WASTE ANY TIME, I JUST SAID "FUCK IT," AND BARGED IN HEAD FIRST.
MY EYES BECAME LARGE AS SAUCERS AS I SURVEYED THE DAMAGE. THERE WAS WATER EVERYWHERE. BRACKISH WATER, BROWN WATER, SHIT WATER, CHUNKS OF SHIT, DIARREAH, AND NO LESS THAN HALF A DOZEN QUARTER POUNDER LUNKER TURDS STREWN ABOUT. THE TOILET ITSELF WAS COMPLETELY BLOWN OPEN. BITS OF PORCELAIN HAD EXPLODED INTO THE WALLS, DESTROYING THE DRYWALL, TINY SHIT-CERAMIC BLOW DARTS. MY MAGAZINE RACK, FORMERLY FULL, MOSTLY OF MAD MAGAZINE AND ESQUIRE, WAS UTTERLY DESTROYED. YEARS WORTH OF MAD MAGAZINE FOLD-INS WILL NEVER WORK AGAIN, EITHER RIPPED INTO CONFETTI OR COVERED IN WET SCAT.
I CALLED A PLUMBING GUY IN ABOUT AN HOUR LATER. SAID HE'S ONLY EVER HEARD ABOUT ANYTHING LIKE THIS ONCE IN 40 YEARS. HE SAID THE PIPES UNDER MY HOUSE ARE PROBABLY ALL BLOWN, ALL THE WAY TO THE SEPTIC TANK. I'M FUCKED. MINUS KELLY'S GRACIOUS $100, ESTIMATES ARE LOOKING TO BE AT LEAST $19,000 TO GET THIS THING BACK IN SHAPE.
IF YOU'RE EVER AT HOME ON A DAY OFF, SITTING ON YOUR COUCH, WATCHING "THE PRICE IS RIGHT," AND HEAR A KNOCK ON THE DOOR...YOU MAKE DAMN SURE WHO IT IS. IF IT'S KELLY CLARKSON, YOU KEEP THAT DOOR LOCKED TIGHT. DEADBOLT IT TWICE IF YOU HAVE TO. DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE I DID, FRIEND.