Be me, a fly on the wall in this muggy apartment bathroom, seeking sanctuary from the relenting pop beats and strobing lights. I flew in on the trail of what I thought was some real good shit, but all I’m smelling is lavender and mildew.
An oaf of a man walks through the door – a straight up lumbering mass of bones and meat, with greasy, dishevelled hair growth strewn about folds of flesh and weathered cloth – fumbling frantically with the doorknob in an apparent attempt to engage the lock.
Then, with a steadying, mindful breath, he manages to centre a single sausage finger, just long enough to poke the metal button before desperately dropping trow and slapping his naked butt down on that sparkling bowl of porcelain.
Dear reader, what I witnessed next was a perplexing narrative, an awkward but impassioned stream of consciousness - each perverse-verse punctuated with intense baritone bursts of diarrhea, the likes of which I'd only dreamed.
“Sometimes it feels like I’m being forcefully pulled down into a deep dark ocean of despair by the shackles of bluetooth connection management!” he bemoaned.
An epic, pounding blast of diarrhea ensues…
“The stock android bluetooth UI is such a fucking joke – unhh!”
Diarrhea musk consumes the air – any trace of lavender wilting away in the fumes of this mans misery.
“WiFi, hot spottin’, nah, fuck that… wire me directly into the network, baby!”
His bowels spasm in a tsunami of shit. The porcelain bowl fractures slightly under the pressure of the ensuing blasts…
“I just want to plug into your ethernet” he sobs, “I miss you so much.”
I bide my time, as he carries on, frenzied and increasingly beaten down with each howitzer shelling of shit – in a strange cacophony of anguish: ghastly fluids and a mans lament for a life seemingly worn down to dystopic monotony – by the very technology he once sought to free him from monotony.
And then silence… his body sits, for a moment, collapsed and deflated atop his soiled throne – a peaceful reprieve from his unhinged display. I just hope that porcelain can hold…
He releases a deep sigh, “fuck my life…”
And with that, rallying the energy and courage to go on, he stands and reaches for the silver lever.
I reap the rewards granted by my supreme stealth and patience, as I dive bomb down into that swirling, swampy, snarling bowl of diarrhea and undigested taco fixings.
I’m catching the gnarliest wave of my entire life as he flushes me down into total darkness.
I’ve been in this sewer ever since.
Sincerely,
Dr. Brundle