Low Flush Toilet Causes Family to Have to Move
With a planet that is covered with 70% water, our fearless leaders on Capitol Hill decided a while back to force upon us the innovation of the "low flush toilet" to conserve water consumption. Go figure being that the privileged hairy pimply asses on Capitol Hill all have access to high-capacity industrial strength toilets capable of flushing an intern down the drain if necessary. What the low flush toilet has meant to middle class Americans that we have been forced to change our potty habits to accommodate the disposal of the digestive by-products of our increasingly massive food intake.
Take for instance the other day following my face stuffing, gut gorging ritual of the "Thanksgiving" feast. After eating to the point of having to use a stick to ram down a last bite of pecan pie into my enlarged gullet, the digestion of the meal commenced.
The following day the bloated bulge that was in my stomach the day before was now lodged in my upper and lower intestines, forcing a turtle head to poke in and out of my sphincter which was nibbling away at my undies. Shortly thereafter, the cramps began alerting me that it was time to take the post "Thanksgiving" dump, the biggest dump of the year next to Christmas, the Forth of July and pretty much every other ordinary day. So I run down stairs drop trout and take my place on the porcelain throne, making sure to spread the butt cheeks wide to allow for better clearance of what was sure to be a huge blimp sized cigar.
Now, thanks to the mandated low flush toilets, there is a procedure you must follow in order to properly evacuate your bowls. You begin the process by first flushing the toilet and allowing for the Coriolis Effect to create a swirl that you will hopefully grunt and drop your cigar into allowing for a safe and uneventful passage of the cigar into the sewer system. Unfortunately without a bomb site this is a difficult procedure and often times fails to allow the cigar to properly slide down the toilet hole.
This was my case a few days ago.
I could tell by the way the toilet was gurgling and gagging that the butt blistering cigar I had just laid was a miss-fire. Instead of hearing the successful sound of the toilet swallowing up the cigar, I instead heard the sound of water backing up into the bowl signifying that my cigar had successfully clogged the toilet. I looked between my leg's, gently lifting up my balls, to see that the toilet water and half of the huge cigar I had grunted out was twirling upward toward the lip of the bowl. The other half of the cigar was firmly lodged in the toilet hole which was causing the back up. Panic ensued.
As the cool water reached my ass, I frantically searched for the non-existent plunger. Being that this was not and option I scanned my surroundings for something else that I could use to dislodge the lump of "Thanksgiving" discharge that due to my low power flush toilet had not made it to it's final destination. As the water began to cascade over the lip of the bowl and onto my pulled down pants around my ankles I realized that I was now in a seriously "fucked" situation. Standing up, I watched as the other half of the cigar went over the edge of the bowl like a canoe over Niagara Falls and landed in the cradle of my now soaked underwear. With the floor of the bathroom now flooded I hobbled around toward the back of the toilet and unsuccessfully tried to shut off the water valve which was encrusted with lime and would not budge.
Having no other choice I opened the bathroom door and with my pants still around my ankles I hobbled toward the hall closet and reached for a coat hanger which I hoped that I could use to dislodge the other half of my cigar out of the shitter tube. Then much to my horror, I heard several loud gasps. I turned my head to see my wife and several of her friends in the family room gawking at me standing there with my wiener hanging out and my wet pants and undies wrapped around my ankles just as the huge cigar cradled in my undies rolled out onto the floor.
With the water cascading down the stairs, I grabbed the hanger and made my way back into the bathroom and stepped on the cigar, slipped and fell ass first onto it which smeared shit across my ass and halfway up my back. All of this happened while my wife and her friends looked on in disgust. It was humiliating beyond anything that I have ever known before in my life. I could tell by the gagging sounds coming from the living room that a horror legend had been born that I would never be able to live down.
I had to forgo dignity, which at this point was a lost cause and in all likelihood would probably force me and my family to have to move to some far away shithole like Calcutta, and unclog the toilet. Racing back up the stairs I thrust the coat hanger into the bowl and after a few sharp stabs watched as the water turned brown and began to slowly recede back into the bowl.
The flooding had stopped, but the damage was already done. My house was flooded, and my wife was standing at the door crying as her departing friends paused and offered their condolences.
Thanks to the rapid nature of social networking, my story was soon spread around not only my neighborhood but around the globe. Seems that everyone loves a good potty story. Yes, we moved. My wife and kids now live in Calcutta and I live in Burma.
Thank you Congress for the low flush toilet!