Posts Tagged ‘toilet’

I'm home! And now it's time for a story about a toilet.

Thursday, October 23rd, 2008

Yes, fuckers and gentlefuckers, I'm back. Well, technically, I got back Sunday at midnight, but I had all of these gullible guest posters in the wings and decided to let them post away. Thanks to everyone who contributed!

I have some video to post soon, and I will give a recap shortly. Today, though, I just wanted to focus on one fantastic (sarcasm) element of a completely amazing (sarcasm again) trip to hell Saint Croix.

And, as is typical with my blog, this story revolves around the bathroom.

"Adam," my wife said exasperatedly, "there's another dead roach in the bathroom and it's huge."

"I'll take care of it, but I have to go the bathroom first. I'll be a little while."

"Okay, I'll go down and order our dinner and see you in 45 minutes."

I entered my substitute throne room and sat down. The only reading material I had was a crappy OK! magazine that I purloined from my wife's bag.

About five feet away, dead as dead can be, laying on its back close to the wall of the bathroom, was the largest cockroach I have ever seen. I'm not squeamish around bugs at all – I like most spiders and other bugs just annoy me – but this one creeped me the fuck out.

I continued with my important toilet-related business and became engrossed in a story about how Angelina got her body back so quickly after giving birth. That's when it happened. Out of the corner of my eye, over the edge of the magazine, I saw a twitch.

"What the fuck?" I closed the magazine and stared at Roachzilla. Nothing happened. I slowly picked up my magazine and began to read about Lauren and Heidi's fight when it happened again! "I saw you this time, shitbrick," I said. Almost in response, both antennae twitched violently. They reached around like little hands trying to feel their way in a darkened room.

The antennae was just the start. Shortly thereafter, the front legs began to slowly bend and extend. I was suddenly very interested in trying to finish pooping as quickly as humanly possible. "Oh why didn't I eat more fiber today?" I sobbed as I tried to mentally push the blockage through my colon. A vein popped in my forehead. The giant freakazoid roach's back legs began to slowly do the breaststroke in the air.

"I am NOT going to be stuck here when you flip back over!" I shouted at the violently thrashing roach. Tears streaming down my face, I sighed with relief as the last vestiges of waste was purged from my system. As I stood and reached for the toilet paper, Frankenroach's kicks found purchase and he righted himself. Antennae twitching, the fucking thing charged right for me!

"AAAEIIIIEIIIIEIEEIEIEEEEEEEEEE!" I'll admit I may have shrieked. A little. I went to smash the little bastard and he flew ONTO MY FUCKING HAND.

"AAAEIIIIEIIIIEIEEIEIEEEEEEEEEE!" That time I really shrieked. And I flicked my hand away and the roach flew directly into the toilet, where it landed upside down and struggled violently to free itself from its fecal prison.

"Eat shit and die, Mr. Roach," I said in a gravelly voice and flushed him to his inglorious death.*

*Okay, maybe I actually said "ohgodohgodohgod" in a high-pitched squeal and flushed him. But I thought of that line later.

In other Avitanews:

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The Throne Room

Thursday, July 3rd, 2008

It all started with the shorts.

A few years ago, I went to the bathroom in my house immediately after someone else had been in there. I sat down on the toilet, with my shorts down around my ankles, and proceeded to read a few books, do a jigsaw puzzle, and solve Fermat's last theorem while ensconced on my throne.

When I got up and pulled my shorts back on, I realized that the back of my shorts was wet. Upon further inspection, it was PEE! From the front of the toilet! That's when I figured out that it's not bad enough that men who go to the bathroom spray everywhere when they pee, but even men and women sitting down on the toilet may occasionally shoot pee out of the space between the seat and the toilet, which will drip down the front of the bowl and collect at the front of the toilet. The toilet is a nasty, nasty place, and I was forced to burn my shorts and bathe my hands in bleach and scalding water.

It was just about that point that I decided to start taking my shorts off when sitting on the toilet. I'll strip down from the waist down and hang them on the hook on the door or put them on the floor close to the door, away from the peeing, and enjoy my 45-60 minutes of solitude bottomless.

This has lasted for a few years now and has worked very nicely. On the very rare occasion that I have to use a bathroom at someone else's house, I just hang my shorts and underwear up and do my business. If, on the even rarer occasion, I have to use a public bathroom, I just use the handicap stall and do the same thing.

Then, one hot summer day, I was sweaty and feeling sticky and nasty, so I took off my shirt, too. And the undershirt. And you know what? It was awesome! It was like some type of regression – I flashed back to being a baby again. Sitting there, bare-ass naked – it's liberating and everyone should do it!

This has developed into a routine. My bathroom routine. If I'm going to be in there for the long haul, I'll go in, strip down, and enjoy my throne room in all of my naked splendor.

And, in typical Avitable fashion, the too-much-information does not end there with a happy ending. Today, after my weekly order of comics arrived, I walked into the bathroom, comics in hand. Put them on the counter. Dropped my shorts and underwear. Pulled my shirt and undershirt off simultaneously over my head.

And watched dumbfounded as my iPhone flew out of my shirt pocket and arced, in slow motion, directly for the bowl. The dirty, nasty, germy bowl.

"Noooooooooo," my voice echoed with deep resonance. I tried to dive for the phone, but my feet got caught in my shorts and underwear. My left hand managed to knock the phone over to the bathroom counter, but the result was that I lost my balance completely.

And by lose my balance completely, I mean that I landed, hard, on all fours, face down in the toilet bowl with my beautiful visage less than an inch away from that horrible, horrible toilet water.

And that's how I almost gave myself a swirly.

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Pissunderstanding

Friday, November 9th, 2007

Last night, I decided to call my little blonde (on the inside) alter-ego. I knew that, since it was after 8 PM, there was a chance that she had fallen asleep on the couch by then. Half of the time when I call that late, I get her husband, Jared, instead. We'll usually talk for a few minutes, he'll tell me that she's passed out naked and drunk in the tub again, and I'll hang up and go masturbate to donkey porn.

I walked into my office and picked up my phone. I had to pee, so I dialed quickly and walked into the bathroom with my headset on.

Right as that stream started to flow, sounding a little like Niagara Falls, I heard a male voice pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey," I said, almost shouting over the multi-decibel urine. "How's it going?"

"Good," he said. "I just woke up, actually."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up."

"Nah, man. It's okay."

"Is she asleep, too?" All the while I pee more than I have ever peed in my entire life. Where the fuck did all of this come from? I know he can hear it, too – you'd have to be deaf not to.

"Nah. She's around here somewhere."

"Awesome. So, how's work going?"

"Pretty good. How about you?"

"Well, you know. Your wife's been hot and awesome, like usual." Finally, my pee stopped. I could hear again!

"What did you say? Who is this?"

"Isn't this Jared?"

"Who the fuck is Jared? And what did you say about my wife?"

"Ummmmm….." FLUUUUSSSSHHHHHH.

Click.

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Maximum protection

Tuesday, October 2nd, 2007

So, I was sitting on the toilet, pooping, and I ran out of reading material.

I usually keep a stack of books, magazines, and comic books on the counter and stack them until they reach ridiculous heights and my wife tells me I have to put them away. I know that eventually, they will fall over and kill someone in the resulting avalanche, but I'll cross that lawsuit hurdle when I come to it.

This time in the throne room, though, there was nothing new to read. I'd consumed it all!

There was, however, a small black bag, sitting next to the pile of read material. I didn't remember ever seeing it before. I assumed it belonged to one of my employees. So, of course, I opened it.

And found tampons!

Now, I don't get weirded out by tampons. The idea that someone invented a way to cleanly and quickly stick a cotton ball into a woman's vagina to stem the flow of blood is a little strange, of course, but they clearly have a use. And not just for Aunt Flo.

They pop out nicely into your nostril for a nosebleed when you learn the hard way that you cannot break a board with your face.

They're excellent for dipping in a cup of tea that has red food coloring in it when you're pretending to be a cultured vampire.

And they're awesome as a substitute "binky" when you find a package of them under the medicine cabinet at age three.

I know that there are men out in the world who are relatively simpleminded and get skeeved out at the thought of walking into a grocery store and buying tampons. I don't understand why this should be an issue at all. Is the clerk going to think that you're a hairy woman in drag? Or that you're packing a vajayjay to go with that Adam's apple? Or maybe that you have a tampon fetish? Nope. The clerk is going to think that you have a girlfriend or wife and that you are a doting partner. Buying tampons for your spouse has no negative implications, unlike when you make a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up a cucumber, condoms, vaseline, batteries, and a turkey baster. Try explaining that one.

So, me and Tampon? We're old friends. I know all of Tampon's secrets, we finish each other's sentences, and we can share a silence at dinner without it getting all uncomfortable. And yes, that one time in middle school when I saw the used applicator in the trash, I might have done some very creepy and disturbing things, but that was then and this is now. I'm a lot older and wiser now.

What I guess I'm saying here is that I'm sorry I opened all of the tampons, assembled them on the counter, and drew little smiley faces on them, with word balloons that said things like "Hell no I won't flow!", "Wait a cotton pickin' minute!", " I ain't got time to bleed!" and "Twat did you say? I cunt hear you."

I just couldn't help myself.

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Futile

Wednesday, August 22nd, 2007

Last night

I dream of toilets and peeing. I dream of oceans and fountains, and peeing in them. I keep having a recurring dream where I wake up, pee, and then go back to bed and then wake up and pee again.

Finally, I wake up. And guess what? I have to pee like a motherfucker.

I gracefully stumble to the bathroom, wearing nothing but underwear and a pair of socks.

I lift the toilet seat and face the toilet.

A stream of urine like none the world has ever seen shoots into the toilet. It takes all of the strength in my right hand to avoid spraying urine around the room like a fire hose.

I close my eyes. Enjoy the feeling. Say "Ahhhh…" in satisfaction of the simple things in life.

Suddenly, without warning, both of my feet begin to slide on the cold bathroom floor. In opposite directions.

Placing my left hand against the wall in an effort to prevent myself from doing what's called the "Urination Split" does absolutely nothing, and my downward trend continues.

Meanwhile, the stream is not abating. Urine continues to flow at an ungodly rate. I fear that I shall soon become desiccated and shrivel into a piece of Avitable jerky.

My feet separate further. I am now more than a foot closer to the ground. Before long I will be urinating directly onto the bathroom rug.

I close my eyes and clench. Not my fist or my foot but my penis. From the inside. And the urine stops. But much like the little boy who stuck his finger in the dike, I couldn't hold back for too long.

Using both hands, I push myself upright.

Quickly, I sit down on the toilet and resume peeing. It sounds like Niagara Falls.

My wife walks in, sees me sitting down to pee, and shakes her head as she walks away to use the other bathroom. I hear her mutter something about "such a girl" and "no balls".

I finish, flush, wash, and slink ashamedly to bed.

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