A certain toilet I frequently use is flanked by one of those crazy, high-falutin' accordion-style plungers. Unfortunately this particular toilet, as attested by many of its other regular users, is not capable of flushing down much more than a chickpea or grain of rice without becoming plugged.

On numerous occasions, I've had to bust out old 'cordy and plunge away at a mass of feces and toilet paper. The horrifying drawback of this type of plunger is that with each schloop, schloop, schloop, it sucks up the toilet water, turds and all, into its cavernous maw. The design is such that it does not let go of its poopy prize willingly and requires vigorously jiggling to send its contents back to the bowl with a sickening splash.

Even with all that rattling around, the plunger still refuses to completely relenquish its contents, and setting on the floor spawns an expanding puddle of shit water that soon reaches it's way to the front of the toilet for the next person to splash around in. I personally have taken to setting the plunger directly on the floor drain so the chunky chocolate water situation stays relatively contained.

Not long ago, as I practiced the old familiar schloop and jiggle routine, old 'cordy thought it would have a good laugh by tossing out a chunk of crap onto the floor. You may find this difficult to believe, but I thought I was going to vomit. What the fuck do I do? I thought about just turning tail and sneaking away as if nothing had happened, but a recent conversation about assholes who fuck up shared restrooms and then just walk away was as fresh in my head as the lump of shit the size of a Keebler Soft Batch cookie that sat moist and glistening on the tile floor.

I had to clean it up. I gagged at the thought, but I was damned if I was going to be the douchebag who left a hunk of steaming long-stemmed griddle cake on the floor. I unrolled and wadded up about a quarter of a roll of toilet paper. I figured I needed at least a good 2 inches of paper between my fingers and the poop. I halfway closed my eyes as I knelt down, scooped up the shit, and threw the whole papery, shitty wad into the commode. I narrowly avoided shedding tears as I wadded up more paper, tentatively dabbed at the turd's former place of glory on the floor. I then preemptively plunged the whole mass to break up the paper before flushing the whole thing down. I grabbed a can of Lysol from the counter, sprayed the floor down, and vigorously washed my hands, scalding the skin clean off. That was fine. I didn't want that skin anymore anyway.

Quite obviously that was the last straw with that plunger. I've taken to using an alternative bathroom and am strongly considering buying my own plunger to replace this monsterous belcher of feces. God save us all.