My Roommate's Massive Dumps
His name was David. He was from West Palm Beach Florida. He majored in computer science. He was a dork. A mondo dork. If dorkiness were people, he'd be China. Anyway, he lived on the second floor of apartment 1004 of University Club Townhouses in Orlando. Also living on the second floor, me and the hick roommate, Travis. David, Travis, and I shared the bathroom on the second floor. In this bathroom was a shower, two sinks, and a shitter. This shitter was your basic shitter, meant to handle your basic shit. However, David occasionally had other plans. More than a few nights I did come home from a long day only to have a surprise waiting for me. But I didn't get it when I opened the lid, nor when I walked into the bathroom, nor when I opened the front door to the apartment. I could detect this pile the moment I walked off of Alafaya Trail onto University Blvd. I would enter my apartment to find my fratboy roomate Neil passed out on the couch. But I was never sure if it was due to the smell or the fact that he had guzzled a tanker's worth of beer for lunch, so I went upstairs. I'd hear the rustling of paper and think, "What the Fuck?". I'd poke my head into the bathroom, the source of the odor, only to find David covering the bathroom floor with newspaper. He wasn't alone though, he had what looked to be a shady midget with him. It wasn't a midget though. His shit was so powerful it had evolved into a higher form of shit. This evolved shit could think and assume human form. The man-shit was helping David cover the floor cause the shitter had overflowed. As I watched, I knew there was only one thing to do: Hand those motherfuckers the plunger so they could unclog the shitter for my morning wizz. David could not comprehend the fact that newspaper would not cut it against toilet water on the floor. This time Travis stepped in and threw a mop into the room. David and Shit-man looked confused. We presented them with a simple equation.
Mop + wet floor = clean.
Shit-man mopped the floor after putting on some gloves (we didn't want the mop to have shit on the handle) and David gathered up the newspaper and took it out to the dumpster. Following this, Shit-man flushed himself down the toilet after a tearful goodbye with his creator David. We had to have a continuous flow of arm n' hammer potpourri vented into the bathroom. This scene happened about once every two months, always when there was a full moon.
Now, if you are ever presented with this situation, always have a mop, potpourri, and gloves ready. I suppose Shit-man is still out there somewhere, looking for his long lost creator. If you see him, do two things. Hold your breath and run.
Didn't mean to bother anyone with this, just had to get that off my chest.