My toilet is an abomination

Somewhere on this planet walks a gifted artisan, with a knowledge of plumbing and craftsmanship exceeded only by his skills in ergonomic and aesthetic design; who can build a porcelain throne so magnificent you pray for diarrhea just to experience its splendor once again.

Whoever this master is, he did not build my toilet.

I'm not sure how anyone who has ever squeezed a turd from their body could build a toilet as awkward and ill-functioning as the one I am being forced to use.

First of all, the toilet is tiny and smashed against the wall in a closet-sized bathroom, and is so misshapen that the lid doesn't actually stay up, so you have to hold it up while you wizz or it will unexpectedly fall down, splashing through a stream of urine and slapping your member like an angry nun with a ruler.

If you actually have to sit on the toilet the real fun starts. You have to hunch over on this tiny thing like a Golem, on a seat still wet with your urine from when it wouldn't stay up last time, with the ill-fitting lid jabbing you in the vertebrae. When you finally manage to get comfortable enough to let loose (or it just happens anyway) you are exposed to the toilet's worst design flaw:

The piece of garbage contains like 13 ounces of water, and is so misshapen that the hole is scrunched up way near the front of the toilet. So the only thing under your ass is a dry ceramic ramp. So just when you finally think relief has found you, you hear a horrific splat and the smell hits so brutally it makes your head snap back like a dragonfly just flew into your nose.

If you are lucky enough that the turd actually makes it all the way into the water, you are left with a skidmark so bad it looks like a herd of monster trucks just drove out of your toilet.




I think I'm going to use a bucket next time.






-Double E