What has your toilet done for you lately?

What has your toilet done for you lately? Because mine has healed itself. Yes, itís true. It was clogged due to an unfortunate cardboard-related accident. Every morning I would flush my toilet, you know, just to let it know I was thinking of it. The water would swirl around and around and go down very, very slowly with a sad little glug, glug sound. Poor Bernice (my toiletís name, duh). Then this morning? It flushed perfectly. Swoosh! I tried three more times. Perfect, perfect and perfect. Bernice is back in business. Bet your stupid toilets look pretty pathetic right about now. Itís a miracle and I predict people will come the world over, it will be like the virgin Mary appearing on a tortilla chip, except much more impressive because of the flushing. The Tidy Bowl Man moves in mysterious ways my friends, mysterious indeed.

I came home last night at a little after 1:30 in the morning, a perfectly reasonable time if ever there was one. Guess who was there? Bee killers. Who kills bees at 1:30 in the morning? I mean seriously. I donít know much about bees, but I doubt they're on the same sleep/wake cycle as us. Thereís smoke everywhere and I assume they are smoking the bees to sedate them before moving them to a new location. Oh no, not smoke, toxic insecticide. Agent orange? Shoot, I didnít want them to kill the bees just relocate them. I mean bees use their powers for good, hello honey! I used to live on honey and biscuits from Kentucky Fried Chicken (before it became the hip chicken mecca that is KFC) as my family used to eat there once a week and I refused to eat chicken. I also refused to eat mashed potatoes, I donít really remember why, maybe I was anti-cruelty to potatoes. Mashing is brutal stuff. So biscuits and honey were a whole meal for me. Itís amazing I grew to 5í9Ē with my dietary intake as a child. Anyhow.

So bees, I hear them falling as the tree they are in is right above the metal carport. Ping, ping, ping. This is all taking place outside of my front door which I would like to enter, all the while I am inhaling super-raid. Thereís a good chance Iím infertile now. And possibly may grow a tail. Bee Man, fully decked out in what looks like a cdc chemical warfare outfit, tells me, ďGo ahead, youíll probably be fine.Ē Easy for him to say. Naturally I trust fully protected Bee Man and dodge falling bees to get to my door, fumble with the key and somehow make it inside. Siamese Cat takes the opportunity to run out the door. I briefly consider leaving him, but then with no regard for my own personal safety, open the front door and grab him. Luckily heís just sitting stunned, probably a combination of poison and bees. Heís probably even more brain damaged than ever. Itís a miracle Iím alive.

For those keeping track, thatís two miracles, me and a flushing toilet. Feel free to add a statue of me to your dashboard, sitting on a toilet and covered in bees.

2005-09-15 at 1:47 p.m.