I Hate it When My Head Gets Clogged

The word of the day: feculent.


The other day I woke up on my boat and, as often happens first thing in the morning, I felt the sudden urge to go to the head* to sit down and catch up on my reading.  I ended up taking a number four** and when I got up and stepped on the flush pedal I was mortified when there was no flushing.  No flushing at all. 


On the boat I have a vacuum flush system.  This means that there's a ball valve at the base of the bowl and a vacuum pump and tank downstream in the plumbing.  It's a pretty foolproof system.  When working properly, stepping on the flush pedal opens such a powerful vacuum source that there's an audible rending of the air around the bowl itself.  Your ears pop and, if your mouth happens to be open when you flush, you may actually have the breath sucked from your lungs.  It's all very satisfying.


So you can imagine my dismay when I stepped on the pedal and nothing happened.  Not only did I miss the satisfaction of having my daily intestinal sculpture evacuated into some far away place where it would no longer offend anyone, I was also filled with dread at the thought of the repairs that I would get to peform on the system itself.


What follows is a tale of filth and flatulence, the slightest word of which could harrow up your soul.  There's also pictures.  In order to spare those folks who might have just eaten a meal, the rest is after the jump. Click "read more" if you dare...

Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

The other day I was finished in the shop and about to take a shower. Checking my email, I saw that Ana had sent me this comic:


At first I chuckled because this was so much like me. Then the notion struck me, "Nachos. That sounds really good right about now."

Since it was nearly midnight, the only place in the world that I could count on for nachos with jalapeno peppers was 7-eleven. I know they're probably not good for me, but 7-eleven nachos fascinate me as I've written about before. So after my shower I loaded up the dogs and headed back to the boat via 7-eleven.

When I got there I bought a tray of nacho goodness and cranked out several full measures of cheese product from the Free Cheese^TM machine. Then I stepped over to the condiment trays and scooped out several unhealthy piles of anemic-looking, drippy slices of jalapeno peppers that had clearly been waiting there all day just for me. Then I paid the friendly little Punjabi clerk the small price for this tasty treat, knowing full well that the larger price would come later.

I was right about everything. It tasted great, sated my hunger for spicy junkfood, and left me completely incapacitated on the toilet for nearly an hour the next morning.

I'm old enough to know better, but it tastes too good to care.