hello. notice anything different about my writing? well, you should because im not actually typing it. cheryl is. :-) who is cheryl? only the hottest girl i know. hey, what are you typing? i haven’t said anything. stop typing! let me see. i didn’t say that. delete it. im not kidding! apostrofy M. that’s not how you spell apostrofie damn it!
My apologies. I never should have let Cheryl type for me. She’s a good nurse, but that’s about all I can say for her. Fortunately, my friend Steve was kind enough to take over the keyboard. He knows how to type. And more importantly, he knows how to spell.
So why do I need anyone to help me type my latest blog entry? Well, it’s a long story. But I’ll try to condense it into easy-to-swallow paragraphs.
I guess it all started last month when I was on the toilet having a pee. As I was sitting there, reading the latest issue of Soldier of Fortune, I began to feel a familiar sensation in my legs: they were falling asleep. Why? It might’ve had something to do with sitting on the toilet for over an hour. But, no, there was something else. It was my posture. It was awful. I was all slumped over and my legs weren’t bent at a comfortable 90-degree angle. It seems, today’s toilets don’t provide the best support for people with longer legs. My solution: build a better toilet.
So how does one go about building a better toilet? I started with the basics. Obviously, it would have to have a hole in it, yet at the same time, it would also have to be able to hold water. A receptacle that holds water, but has a hole in it. How the fuck did anyone figure that out? It seemed impossible to me. And it was, to me. I decided that instead of building a better toilet, I would simply modify my existing one. But unlike most toilets that are one-size-fits-all, mine would be . . . adjustable.
That’s right. The first adjustable toilet. Why hadn’t anyone thought of this before? It was brilliant: a toilet that could be raised or lowered to accommodate the person who used it. Of course, making the toilet raise and lower was a little harder than it sounded.
The first problem was that the toilet was actually bolted to the floor. This made it very difficult to raise and lower it. My solution: Have the entire floor raise and lower with the toilet. Fortunately, somebody explained how stupid that idea was before I started to tear up the floor. Instead, I went with Plan F (plans B through E were too embarrassing to mention. In fact, after mentioning them just now, I am embarrassed.).
So what was Plan F? I’m glad that I pretended you asked. It was quite simple, really. The toilet would be built on a platform and that platform would then be raised and lowered using a pneumatic lift, similar to those used in automotive-repair shops, mainly because I bought the lift from an automotive-repair shop that was going out of business.
Although I don’t consider myself a handyman, it didn’t take long for me to figure out how to pick up the Yellow Pages and find someone to build my invention for me. In a matter of no time (Actually, it took a lot of time. That’s just a figure of speech), the project was complete and the toilet was ready to test out. Unfortunately, it was bad timing, since I had no desire to pee. One-and-a-half hours and 32-ounces later, I was ready to give it a go.
Upon sitting down, I quickly realized a flaw in my design: Since the entire platform lifted up with the toilet, the user’s legs would not extend as the lift was engaged. What a fucking waste of time. In anger, I slammed my hand across the lever that activated the lift, which somehow caused a short in the wiring. Before I could react, the toilet platform was hopping up and down like a lowrider show car, slamming me into the ceiling over and over. What’s worse, I couldn’t reach the lever to stop it. The toilet probably would have continued to abuse me, if it wasn’t for my upstairs neighbor who sensed something might be wrong after my head came crashing through the tiles of her bathroom floor.
By the time the fire department broke the door down and recovered from laughing, the damage was done. Fortunately, my spine was miraculously OK. Every other bone below my neck, however, was not so lucky. And so I sit here in a full body cast, dictating my story while I listen to the contractors working away at removing that fucking evil contraption in my bathroom. Of course, being incapacitated, I’ve had a lot of time to think, and I realized that I was going about this whole toilet thing the wrong way. Rather than lift the toilet up with a pneumatic device, there was a much simpler solution: suspension cables. Yeah, with a good pulley system and some heavy gauge cables, I can be certain my legs will never fall asleep again—after all the bones heal, I mean.
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