Poo time with Pleut (Part One of Six)
This is quite an odd notion for me as well but I’m sure everyone who has lived with a shared household would soon start to realise the weird idiosyncrasies people have.
This notion also highly increases when you are in a single bathroom establishment. And for some reason the other day I just happened to shout randomly
‘Poo time with Pleut’
and found myself in an imaginary armchair by a fire with a book telling you, my wonderful audience, the glorious tales of the epic shits that I have encountered throughout my times on this planet.
And for some strange reason, it seemed to bring an awkward smile to my face.
4 Guys, 2 Girls and One fucked up cup
From my country of origin, in one of our homes, my parents were smart enough to realise that this single toilet bullshit wasn’t going to fly so we all have en-suite bathrooms to destroy in our own unique fashion.
But here in the hard slums of the western world, we had to overcome this tragic adversity known as ‘sharing a shitter’.
Let me take you through the daily holocaust that poor bastard endured while we all resided at this given address on a case by case basis.
I write this on behalf of the torment my porcelain pal had, since i witnessed its harm as i lived just opposite its home.
This journey will take six tales to complete but here is the first one.
My mom was always a crafty swine and thought she was some sort of secret shitting agent. I remember when I used to have car rides with her to and from school (no, I didn’t use to drive her to school, I know some of you are thinking it because I thought of it and there are bastards just as crazy as me subscribed to this thing), she would fart when just the two of us were in the car and then have the sheer nerve to blame ‘ME’ for it. Now at that age, you are still under the influence of your parental complete guidance and you would actually start thinking ‘holy shit, maybe I did fart’, while this evil jheri curled smug bint would callously smile to herself that she had one upped a six year old.
For years, this affected me and I would wonder whether I just happened to fart and not realise it
Well a fucking a round of applause for you, you win a bulged out vagina for all your troubles.
But going back to this point, my mom would always take the stealthy slippery sploshes when ever she went, which was like hardly ever, she got more blocked up than a game of tetris on the highest setting. And she would drink this god awful herbal tea to get her junk going, which would just add to her rumble in the jungle. She used to give it to me as part of a diet regime when i was younger, I’m not sure where she got the correlation between shitting alot and losing weight but as I say again, I was at an age where i couldn’t question their shitty logic (if you’d excuse the pun)
SO eventually when she would go, she would at some point realise the carnage she has inflicted on the world, and her carbon shitprint would rocket sky high. In order to redeem herself when I wasn’t around to directly blame for big trouble in tiny toilet, she would get some fancy perfume and start spraying it everywhere to try and mask the smell.
The only problem is, the perfume wouldnt mask shit (this piece is just puns galore) and instead would merge with it to create an even worse smell, which would decide to migrate to every corner of my fucking nostrils.
and every single time she would do this but not content of just spraying the toilet, she would spray the entire house, giving this poo d toilette stanka free tuk tuk ride across the entire house.
So while she felt her smelly ringed secret was safe and sound, the entire family got an inner sniff into her inner regions.
Now roughly knowing her pooing cycle (plus the fact she goes through roughly a roll and a half per dump (I told you she was clogged up)), I make sure she is in public toilet territory when she comes to visit, she’s not entrusted to dump within five hundred feet of a toilet I know of or may potentially visit in the next 6 hours.
I actually think i have nerve damage based on inhaling those toxins.
Christ on a seatless bike…PERFUME, she should have called the guy from the exorcist…