Tofu Plankton Meatloaf

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Hell Is Bubbling Over For Dinner (Reprise)

So after rethinking the whole high explosive approach to home renovation – I decided to meet the natural disaster existing in my bathroom head on and wage war on these angry bathroom drain gods.

No retreat - no surrender!

In the process, there was a veritable tsunami of blood, swear and tears shed, which ultimately best helped to lubricate and wash away the caked up drainage refuse that had been formingd in my swamped out bathtub basin over the past 24 hours.

In preparation for this epic confrontation, I was quickly trained and drilled rigorously in the deadly use of a plumbers “snake” by my landlord.

All prior unpleasant connotations that I had initially had regarding the nasty concept of snaking out pipes quickly dissipated once I learned how to effectively manipulate this weapon of choice like Bruce Lee with a pair of custom designed nunchucks.

Actually, the whole process served to sexually arouse me. Here I’m ramming a high-tensor, high-performance tool into a dark, wet hole repeatedly until it was literally begging for mercy .. sadly, it’s the most action I’ve had in years!

What an uber-male way to spend a rainy Saturday afternoon: a cup of strong joe, and bong hit or two, George Thurogood on the stereo, and snaking the shit out the bathroom drain with a dedicated primal vigor that I normally reserve for either sex or eating. That is, I think I enjoyed it far too much!

As I felt the snake skewer itself into the obstructing clog deep in the nether recesses of the drain pipe, before unlodging it an uncorked burp – I felt noble like the ‘Old Man and the Sea’. Letting the line slip between my fingers; the fight; the struggle; the landed catch; I bet Hemmingway too had a hard-on when he snaked his drainpipes!

There it was in all it’s gooey, fuzzy magnificence – the ball of accumalated cack that had managed to block up my bathroom drain and release noxious sewer stenches into my apartment; now laying on the bottom of my bathtub like a slain guinea pig.

I was so overjoyed that I could have hugged that grungy, gross-looking clot of generations of built-up pubic hair and dish setiment. I felt part big game hunter – part abstract artist. Needless to say; I liked snaked – way too much!

There is just something about the whole snakingprocess that just kick-started my testosterone production into overdrive. I guess it was the being in control of a tightly coiled, durable-yet-flexible, extendable spring that just screamed: “I’M ON TOP OF THE WORLD, MA!”

I’m sure Sigmund Freud would have something to say about this developed fetish; but fuck him – I don’t care.

I love snaking, and I don’t care who knows it!


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