I've been meaning to post this for some weeks now but I never know how to open and so after much thought I'm just gonna.. write. See where this goes..
I'm getting just a smidge fucked off with a problem I'm having with what should be a perfectly normal bodily function.
Sometimes daily, sometimes every other, I'll feel the need to poop arise so I'll go to the toilet and do the deed.
Unfortunately the events that follow have prompted this post.
You see, when I need to go to the toilet the first thing I expel, without fail, is slightly bigger than the size of my forearm.
I'm 6'4.
So this thing, so massive in its entirety has gone into the bowl, around the bend yet still sticks out of the water, crowned by a halo of steam, basking in its own magnificence like the glorious bastard that it is.
My arsehole, now lacking any form of elasticity droops, defeated, between my cheeks.
It's game over for flushing. I know it, you know it, and this thing, staring at me with its two peanut eyes, an inch away from tickling my balls knows it.
My girlfriend has sensed some disturbance in the force because she's at the door offering moral support and a plunger but there's no budging at this point. It's made itself quite at home. There's already a lock on the door and technically it's full of food that was in the house. The only thing left to do is charge it rent.
I wouldn't mind if that was it, I wouldn't, but it's not. No you see, that was the opening act. Admittedly a tough act to beat but introductory none the less.
Far less impressive but just as devastating, if not more so are the remaining stragglers and while small and unthreatening they fill any remaining gaps, melding into some crossbreed T-1000 Mr Hanky until you're left with a smooth impenetrable surface.
Picture, if you will, a freshly opened chocolate yogurt.
Now of course I need to wipe, I'm not an animal. Thus begins a second (third?), additional layer further barricading any hope of salvation.
Last week was particularly bad. Not man, plumber nor wizard could shift the beast. Three days it laid claim to the upstairs bathroom until it was finally slain by incessant nagging and two brave disposable toilet brushes from Wilkos.
For £1.29 they paid a hefty price.
You're probably thinking why doesn't he flush in intervals. I'll repeat, it's literally the first thing I expel, within a couple of seconds.
I've tried though, truly I have. I've proactively flushed, flushed mid-hang, I've flushed on the first splash, I've flushed after the previous flush. It's like watching an adult sat waiting for their turn at the top of a water slide and the pumps are just gushing water over them while they wait for the light to change and the lifeguard to wave them down.
Except the green light never comes.
It's not just at home either. At work I try to dive into the solitary disabled toilet so if there is a problem I can try and deal with it privately.
Restaurants can be pretty brutal, especially if they've got a weak flush and someone's in the stall next to me. There's only so many times you can try before bemused curiosity or fear for their safety begins an awkward conversation. I nearly always leave a tip, two in fact, but only one is financial.
Oh my god then there's friends house anxiety. Have you ever been sat on the toilet at a friends house trying to work out if cotton buds are not only strong enough to destroy a fecal mass but can then be flushed after?
I have.
I don't need this stress every time I take a shit, it's ageing me.