Big, Huge Smelly Dump.

…… well, at the time, your Reverend was wishing that it was big and huge, but, alas, it was not to be. Read on, mah peeps.

Last Sunday, we were in very polite company. We belong to a family social group that meets every month or so for various activities at one or another’s house. This time it was dinner at someone’s house and then a number of rounds of Bingo.

The food was great. Some salad, some barbeque, a great sauce and great potatoes, just the way I like them ……. small and brown, just like my women.

Desert was even better, lots of tubs of ice cream. So I tucked into that big time. The only problem was that I forgot that recently I seem to have developed a bit of an issue with lactose intolerance. (As you will see, dear Reader, I dunno about lactose intolerance, but my ass wasn’t very tolerant of something, let me tell you !!)

Anyway, I downed the ice cream in record time. Lovely stuff. We then went back to playing bingo. There were about 20 people there, a mixture of adults and kids. As time went on, I noticed that my stomach was starting to gurgle and I was getting quite gassy. But at that point, it was fairly easy to control. I just told myself that it would be over in 30 minutes and we’d be back on the short trip back home. Altering my position in the chair seemed to be working wonders.

But then nothing was working. I was getting seriously gassy and worried that I couldn’t hold it in. For the final time, I altered my position in my chair.

This time it didn’t work.

I tapped my wife on the shoulder (yes, your Reverend has a wife) and asked where the toilet was. She had no idea. So, in a split second I decided that needed to take my destiny into my own hands. I got up and walked around the corner, figuring that there was a toilet close by on the ground floor. As soon as I got around the corner and out of sight of the others, I started to run.

I was in luck. A toilet-looking door stood right in front of me.

I went in, locked the door, and undid my Cardinal vestments.

That’s when the problems started.

I realized that outside in the living room everyone was deathly quiet. However, I could hear the calls of the bingo numbers quite clearly. The problem was that if I could hear them, they could hear me.

Problem.

So there I was. Sitting there. Alone. A gut-busting botty-burp in the offing.

What’s a Reverend to do ?

Well, desperate situations deserve desperate actions. So I took life into my own hands, so to speak.

<<<<< section deleted for the sake of decency >>>>>

I got to the point where I felt that it was safe to get off the pot. Relief swept through me. I turned around, pulled the flush and went about restoring my Cardinal vestments to their former glory.

The only problem was that the flushing didn’t work. Everything was swirling around in the toilet and getting ever-closer to the top. With a mad dash, I grabbed the plunger (concertina type) next to the toilet and started to frantically plunge away. It seemed to work somewhat, but with every plunge water was splashing onto the floor. I kept on plunging for 10 minutes but nothing was working. At least twice, there were calls of BINGO outside and loud cheers, which enabled me to plunge extra hard because the sploshing sounds wouldn’t be heard.

I figured that I had to get help. I wanted one of them standard rubber plungers. They always worked. But to get one of those, I had to go outside. By that time, the lower half of my jeans were wet and small pieces of toilet paper were all over my shoes.

I cleaned up as best as I could and went outside, approached the hostess and told her that there was an “issue” with her facilities. She cringed, I went red and cringed, she said there had always been a problem and that there was a standard plunger in the cupboard under the sink.

Back I went and looked in the cupboard under the sink. True to her word, the instrument-de-plunge was there. I took it and started to go to town on my plunging. By this time, I didn’t care about who heard what. I fielded a bunch of knocks on the door from kids who wanted to take a leak, but my need was greater than theirs, so I denied their requests and kept on plunging.

Another 10 minutes went by and nothing was working. By this time, the water in the pot had lowered and made me think that its level of repose had been reached. A successful flush might be possible, I thought. However, I realized that if I was wrong, then the toilet would overflow and I would be in even worse shit (so to speak). I decided that the only course of action was to clean up as best as I could (by now the floor was soaked) and leave as graciously as possible.

Four toilet rolls later, I opened the door of the bathroom and left, joined my wife, apologized to the hostess and, hoping she hadn’t noticed the toilet roll specks on my shoes and jeans, left the establishment.

….. Ouch.

Strewth

Your ever-luvin' Rev has redsigned his site. Looking good !!

Reverend Locks and 700 Women ? It Must Be Blog 'Er

My fans, my peeps: Tis I, your fearless bald one. Anyone miss me ? Anyone notice ?

Last time we met, it was 2005. How is the new year treating you all ? I'm in a small room with 700 women in San Jose. Yes I'm at Blog 'Er, a conference with women, for women, all about women. And yours truly. I can smell the estrogen. Phew.

Right now I'm sitting in the first Saturday conference session. One of the speakers just suggested turning the mens room in to a womens room. She added the caviot that if anyone sees a man wanting to pee, then let him pee. Damn straight. Me, I'm using the bushes outside the foyer when I get called short.

Oh well, I do feel at home here. I've already seen lots of ladies wearing sandals and I'd hazard a guess that there's a significant Janis Ian following.

So here's the challenge: I want to see how many Blog 'Er attendees notice this site and post something. Be witty, be creative, be bright. Just like me.

..... As always, I remain, your Reverend Lock.