For twelve years the toilet, located right outside my bedroom has been physically abused, overstrained (no pun intended) and ill-treated by a glut of youths who couldn’t hit a bull in the ass with a base fiddle.
Some days (especially hot days when the humid air hangs around accentuating even the most delicate odour), I’m frightened to walk past it on the way to my bedroom.
‘What if they forgot to flush it again?’ I’ll think in dread, remembering how twenty year old Hagar had been to Cactus Jack’s the previous night for Cheap Chilli Tuesday.
The tile grouting surrounding the long-suffering porcelain bowl has nitrogenous waste material soaked in to the point of approaching some type of symbiotic relationship. One cannot be separated from the other.
The plastic behind the toilet seat has eroded, and God only knows what my four teenage boys could possibly have been consuming to cause such corrosion; sulphuric acid?
The entire area smells like the type of stinking urinal only found inside the seediest, most squalid establishment in downtown Kings Cross.
Don’t worry, I’ve tried to clean it up but short of a blast from a hydrochloric acid filled Gerney, nothing could remove the lingering, cloying stench of stale piddle.
Even the toilet brush gives a tiny distressed scream of protest every time I plunged it into the sinister, festering crater of despair.
“Don’t put me in there! I’ll do anything…” squeals the toilet brush.
“Shut up!” screams a ruthless Pinky. “If you don’t want to do the job you shouldn’t have signed up. You should have gone to toothbrush school instead God dammit!”
“Don’t put me in there! I’ll do anything…” squeals the toilet brush.
“Shut up!” screams a ruthless Pinky. “If you don’t want to do the job you shouldn’t have signed up. You should have gone to toothbrush school instead God dammit!”
Image Credit
Therefore this morning, when I once more performed the chilling act of lifting the lid and peering in the bowl in order to determine how many bottles of Domestos I would need to improve its appearance from an appalling, despicable cesspit of filth to a barely tolerable cesspit of filth… I made a decision.
The entire toilet needed to be replaced.
Off Scotto and I trundled to Bunnings my favourite hardware store for some leisurely toilet shopping.
“I don’t get it,” said Scotto scratching his head. “I can see ‘P’ trap fittings and ‘S’ trap fittings... I know what the P and S stand for... but shouldn’t you be able to get one toilet that covers both?”
A Bunnings assistant fortuitously ambled by and explained to Scotto what the P and S really stood for and up-sold us from the cheap crapper I had my eyes on, to a hugely more expensive one.
Twenty sopping towels, a near fainting spell (Pinky), two more trips back to Bunnings by ‘Scotto the Plumber’ later... and it seems we don’t have a problem anymore Houston!
I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be this happy about a new dunny.
Therefore this morning, when I once more performed the chilling act of lifting the lid and peering in the bowl in order to determine how many bottles of Domestos I would need to improve its appearance from an appalling, despicable cesspit of filth to a barely tolerable cesspit of filth… I made a decision.
The entire toilet needed to be replaced.
Off Scotto and I trundled to Bunnings my favourite hardware store for some leisurely toilet shopping.
“I don’t get it,” said Scotto scratching his head. “I can see ‘P’ trap fittings and ‘S’ trap fittings... I know what the P and S stand for... but shouldn’t you be able to get one toilet that covers both?”
A Bunnings assistant fortuitously ambled by and explained to Scotto what the P and S really stood for and up-sold us from the cheap crapper I had my eyes on, to a hugely more expensive one.
Twenty sopping towels, a near fainting spell (Pinky), two more trips back to Bunnings by ‘Scotto the Plumber’ later... and it seems we don’t have a problem anymore Houston!
I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d be this happy about a new dunny.
A work in progress
Waiting for the silicone to dry.
Bring out the bunting!!!
Telephone the Queen!!!
