Underground poopworld
Subfecated on July 13, 2025.
When I was a little Pnårpling, I believed there was an entire underground world in the sewers beneath Bouillabaisse Boulevard. It was a whole universe made out of poop. The ground was poop, the walls were poop, the people and wildlife were poop, and even the sky above was poop! But then I grew up and realized this whole Universe is made out of poop, too. You just have to grow up to realize it.
I was flushing my teeth and brushing my toilet when these memories came flooding back to me. And if only I hadn’t mixed up those two tasks, they probably never would have, I realized. Some things just work out. I looked forlornly over at my hopelessly clogged loo. And some things don’t.
After sliced butter, sliced bread, and self-slicing bread, why had no one invented a self-flushing toilet? Do I have to do all the work around here?
My countenance darkened into a scowl of elephantine proportions. Thoroughly empurpled both in face and prose, I stalked out of the bathroom, intent on setting things right with that toilet once and for all. My garage—and the plunger I had mounted on a pair of diesel-powered hedgetrimmers—was my destination. Alas, this was not to be, for I hadn’t made it 3.14159 steps when I tripped over a crudberry pie that Nurdlebutt had left on the stairs and met my demise at the next landing.
Becasue buried me under the stoop and that was that. Shit.