Toilet Tsunami

I am not a person who takes everything personal. In fact I am pretty much not personal about anything. That’s because I live above my mind and am not bothered by reality most of the time, except maybe when some lady gets ahead of me in the grocery line with a zillion coupons and there I am on her behind with my ice cream getting all runny and I’m thinking, just great, now I’m going to have runny ice cream (which isn’t ice cream by now, it’s just runny cream which is not the point of ice cream even one bit). And there I am having to act all polite like that coupon lady isn’t wrecking my whole plans for the evening when she is. So I just roll my eyes really loud a few times to let that checkout girl and that inconsiderable lady know that runny cream is totally not my idea of a good time and even I have limitations.

Anyway, last night we had a bunch of friends to our house to eat mixed up food (which is what you get when everybody is supposed to bring something and there’s no planned ahead food theme and you end up with weird combinations like spicy sausage siting right next to orgasmic vegetables and other stuff you can’t tell what it is). So there we were having a good time mostly, which, if you want to know, is optional with real friends. It’s only fake or part-time friends who you are required to have a good time all the time with. So, like I said before interrupting myself, there we were maybe having a good time or not when all of a sudden the kitchen ceiling starts raining on us, not just a little bit but like in the Bible when Jesus had to build the ark. It was coming down in spicks and spades, let me tell you bub.

So everybody goes into freak ala mode like you wouldn’t believe and I run upstairs where the hall is under like three feet of water or less and the bathroom is sunk under and in there the toilet is pouring out tons of water like nobody’s business (which I was glad to see that there was nobody’s business floating in that water since I was already deep in it to shut that toilet off lickedy spilt). So in after me rushes a bunch of my friends which I already told you about that were there and they start throwing all the towels they can find in our house on the floor to soak up that toilet water. And I’m telling you that you know who your real friends are when they’re standing deep in not even their own toilet water helping you, even though they are throwing down my towels not theirs and which they will probably not ever have to wipe themselves off with so it’s kind of a mixed signal.

And then my brother-in-law comes up with this great idea to jam a screwdriver into my kitchen ceiling to let the water out and I’m thinking it’s a great idea until I realize it’s not his kitchen ceiling he’s jamming holes in but mine and he sure seems to be enjoying it more than he should. When he does make those holes, all this water comes gushing out and the rest of my guests stand around watching it pour down and making comments like “wow” or “whoa” or other totally nonhelpful things and being secretly glad their toilets aren’t doing that at their houses.

Anyway, my wife (the one who eats all the orgasmic stuff in our house) calls the insurance company (which I never would have thought of) and they send three guys from Servant Mister or something like that and they bring over all this equipment to suck up the water and then set up a bunch of huge fans and some machine that dehumiliates the air and makes your face crinkle if you put your face in the blower which I did when nobody was looking but I’ll never do that again even if it was for science. So then these guys make me sign a paper which says I have to pay for all of this if my insurance company doesn’t which I sign without reading it because I’m in plumbing distress syndrome and now I’m probably going to have to cough up a bunch of money, and I’m not exactly flush with cash if you want to know about it.

So today the fans are still going and I’ve got plugs in my ears to keep me from going crazy and it’s probably costing me more money than I’m already accosted for, and I’m waiting for those cleanup guys to get here to finish adding up all the damage of last night, which probably means there won’t be much orgasmic stuff around here until this all gets paid off.

And I still don’t know whose business upstairs it was that started this business in the first place.


2 Responses

  1. That darn orgasmic food. Causes the worst kinds of blockages…

  2. Oh….My…God. I laughed bso hard I peed a little bit. Okay, a lot. But I had someone else’s towels handy to clean up the mess. Serioulsly, Fred, this is one of your funniest blogs EVER! Keep ’em coming!

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