Floods & Tugboats: July 10, 2009

I languished in bed pondering if Hell would be like this: where I would be surrounded by untold riches and beauty; engulfed in the calming gentle sway of lullaby waves; satin sheets caressing me out of the lavish sleep of Queens and Fair Maidens; my every need attended to with the push of a fiberglass button. Every need seen to and accommodated…every need, but for one. One lousy need would be willfully and torturously withheld from me: the need to have the freedom to leave. That deliberation caused me to ponder further, wondering if perfectly beautiful people live in quasi-hell because they can’t escape the beauty they’re trapped inside of, and if perhaps that’s what aging is for: to open the prison of perfection and to allow one to live without the support of push-button ego crutches. Then that particular pondering caused me to further ponder if perhaps the Heaven everyone’s trying so hard to get a membership into, might in fact become Hell after about, say 5 or 10 earth years (sooner for me, since I’m hyper-active). Is this shit mind-boggling or what?

I arose nimbly and sensuously; with a soft angelic radiance glowing from my pearl and rose-petal skin; the morning sun glinting and dancing like glitter-stars off my golden, touchable locks that were gently kissing the edges of my dewy fresh face. NOT! I actually made a graceless scamper for the john looking like Cruella Deville after an all-nighter (trust me, I know this from former experience and bed partners), tangled up in make-up smeared bed sheets, with a record breaking wedgie (white with yellow smiley faces) gently yet firmly embedded in La-la-land.

I nearly took a major header as I slathered my way to the toidy with eyes opened just enough to navigate the location of my much longed for goal. Alas, success! I plucked, peeled, peed, patted, flushed, and immediately got my yo@ss sprayed by Yellowstone National Parks famous geyser, Old Faithful (mental note: don’t pee in the bidet ever again!). I washed my hands (only because I know you’re living your life vicariously through me at this moment, and I want to set a good example), and dried my yo-buns with a virgin-white hand towel, hoping to leave tell-tale tracks of spore, or a well placed dingle-berry.

I proceeded deep into the interior region of my illustrious chambers and nabbed the bowl of fruit that was nestled temptingly on a big-ass bureau. I looked the delectables over carefully, grabbed a ‘Red Delicious’ apple, took a bite, and headed back into the bathroom. I took another bite. Truly delicious! I plopped it into the toilet and flushed. The damn thing actually went down, so I grabbed a smallish ‘Gala’. Bite, plop, flush. It too went down, though the water stubbornly refused to follow. Oh, joy! Moving right along, I peeled an orange, removed the stopper from the sink, and stuffed the drain along with the overflow cavity with succulent orange pieces and bits of waterproof skin. I turned the water on and smiled at myself in the gilded mirror (the face in the mirror was really scary yet hauntingly familiar, so the trauma was quite mild and it didn’t prevent me from enjoying the moment). I meandered over to the tub for a look-see…

…I think you get the picture...

Amazingly, it took approximately 3 hours before the water finally made its way under the door to the hallway. So be forewarned dear friends: anyone wishing to attempt this trick when held in captivity, allow for plenty of time if time is going to be an issue for you. You may also want to consider not eating the fruit while you wait for the flood, as you will need the toilet if you do so, and hello, it will not be available. Personally, I would rather die of a toxic implosion of astronomical proportions, than to send little brown tug-boats bouncing and skipping merrily around my room!

Well, I can hear Diddle-ass cursing and thrashing outside my door, so it’s time for another WWW event – TTYL!