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> Tangent #47: I Survived The Black Hole Toilet
After a long day of attempting to run errands and failing miserably, my wife and I found ourselves starving and decided that we were both in the mood for casual neighborhood dining serving moderately priced food and beverage items. What local restaurant chain could quench our desire for such a dining experience?

We looked at each other and pondered quietly to ourselves. And THEN fate stepped in... a most fateful fate at that. From her purse, my wife slowly pulled out a piece of paper and held it aloft like it was the Holy Divining Rod of Food Eateries. It was an Applebee's gift certificate she had forgotten about.

We both held each other and sobbed with joy, which was probably not the best idea seeing that I had been driving about 80 MPH up the highway. Little did I know that the decision we had made at that moment would ultimately lead me directly to my great battle with Black Hole Toilet Of Death!!!

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As soon as we arrived at the restaurant, a young lady sat us down and we began looking through the menu -- then looking at the gift certificate -- then looking at the menu -- then looking at the gift certificate -- trying to figure out how much food we could get without having to spend a single dime. More joy, hugging and sobbing.

My stomach gurgled a bit. Nothing to worry about. Probably just the hunger kicking in. I just disregarded and went back to my food menu admirations.

Then the gurgling started again.

...and again...

..and then it HIT me like a ton of ticks (which hits just as hard as ton of bricks since they are BOTH a ton really. Thats a LOT of ticks by the way. Hard to fathom how many ticks really. Quite a few I imagine. Much grosser than bricks since their all moving around and trying to burrow into you and whatnot. A ton of chicks would be much more desirable. That is, as long as it is a bunch of hot chicks and not just one chick that weighs a ton. In that case, I think I would opt for the ticks. )

The giant 2 liter French Vanilla Cappucino I chugged in the morning while trying to wake my lazy ass up decided to have its HORRIBLE REVENGE!!! I had to go to the bathroom and NOW!!!

So, I excused myself and duck-waddled my way to the back of the restaurant where the restrooms were located. My buttcheeks clenched tight as I prayed that there were open stalls and ample toilet paper.

I found my way into the Men's restroom and leapt for the first stall. My pants were down around my ankles before I made it two steps within the bathroom, which luckily the two fellows chatting at the urinals had not seen.

The toilet was kind of small and low to the ground, but I quickly took my position. This must have been what the men from the Enola Gay felt like before dropping the atomic bomb on Hiroshima back in 1945. But I feared my bowel movement would sadly have many more casualties.

I tried holding it in because the two guys at the urinal were having a chit-chat and I didn't want to embarrass myself because I knew it was going to be a loud one. If only they would leave, I could do my thing.

I clenched my cheeks together even harder, fearing they may fuse into one. Sweat dripped from my forehead and I trembled.

Urinal Guy #1: Hey, do you want me to work your shift? I can work your shift if you want me to work your shift.

Urinal Guy #2: My shift?

Urinal Guy #1: Yeah your shift?

Urinal Guy #2: I think I can work my shift? I don't need to watch the Superbowl.

Urinal Guy #1: Are you sure?

Urinal Guy #2: Yeah.

Urinal Guy #1: Because I can if you want?

Urinal Guy #2: No, that's O.K.

Urinal Guy #1: I mean, I really can. It's no problem.....

It was too late for me. They would not leave and my buttcheeks burst open like the levees of New Orleans.

I may have blacked out during the first few seconds, but I vaguely recall my butthole suddenly turning into a firehose as sounds erupted from my innards that may well have broken the sound barrier.

I remember muttering "Ahhhh... something's HAPPENING!!!" while the symphony of splashes, butt burps, and other nastiness echoed throughout the restroom.

The conversation the Urinal Guys were having came to an abrupt halt during this eruption. As things subsided a bit, I could feel the awkward silence pressing down on me. My Posterior Symphony In D Minor had been so loud that it silenced their yammering (in either fear, disgust, or shear jealousy). After a few minutes, I could hear them gasp for air and attempt to continue a conversation that was now no longer possible without dying:

Urinal Guy #1: ...uh...

Urinal Guy #2: ...shif.. shift.. (cough)... uh...

Urinal Guy #1: ... I can..

Urinal Guy #2: No (cough).. not..

And that is all I heard. They ran out, totally disregarding the "Employees Must Wash Hands" sign. I hung my head in shame, yet a sick sense of pride knowing that I had the POWER to make people run from me.

Then it struck AGAIN!!! I thought I was done, but God had other plans for me. The Second Movement of the Poster Symphony began, and this time with full trumpet section a-blowin', bass drums a-poundin', and spewing fountains to add to the exquisite mood.

I actually started LAUGHING hysterically because it was just ridiculous. No more French Vanilla Cappucino for me EVER AGAIN.

So the concert was finally over and I was done. I wiped the sweat off my brow, stood up, used upwards to 2 rolls of toilet paper to clean-up and was just about ready to call it a day and go back to the table...

...and I hit the little handle in the back of the toilet, expecting to hear the subtle and soothing swirls and bright bubbling of a typical toilet. But instead...


My heart stopped and my Fight or Flight Survival Instincts instantly kicked in. I was about to die and I needed to do something. I now know why they put those steel bar railings in stalls, for I clutched onto them for dear life.

I swear I could feel my atoms begin to separate and start to get sucked into the toilets massive gravitational pull. I could literally feel my body start to deform and the spaghettification of my material form begin.

There is no doubt in my mind that the ONLY way this toilet could work like this is that it had to have opened up a SUPERMASSIVE BLACK HOLE in it's pipes and I was unfortunately well into it's EVENT HORIZON. Spacetime, proper time, and Morris Day and the Time all went topsy-turvy as I fought to regain my subatomic particles.

And with a giant --- WHAP --- the toilet stopped, the laws of gravity took hold again, and I slowly began to regain some semblance of consciousness. I was safe. Thankfully I had just gone to the bathroom, because if I didn't, I certainly would have crapped my pants in a big way.

I fumbled with the lock on the stall door and stumbled towards the sink, trying to start to make sense of it all.

Who the hell would make a toilet that powerful??? It just ain't RIGHT people. They should have a warning or SOMETHING above the toilet. You know, show a little stick figure guy getting sucked into the toilet headfirst with a giant BEWARE OF THIS FUCKING TOILET IT HAS SUPERNATURAL SUCKING POWERS.

Ugh... so I wash my hands and go to get a towel. Great. One of those automatic movement controlled "Wave Your Hands If Front Of The Machine To Get It Working" Towel Dispenser type of dealios.

So I waved my hand in front of it...


Waved my hand in front of it again.


Waved both dripping wet hands in front of it.

Yet more nothing.

I started doing the entire HAND JIVE with clapping, snapping, and singing the entire Grease Soundtrack.

Yet MORE nothing.

Finally I just gave up. I couldn't take it anymore. This entire bathroom experience has absolutely sucked me of all will to live.

I gathered what little I had left of my wits about me, wiped my hands on my jeans and opened the door.

Just then, the red light on the Towel Dispenser came on and towels started spewing out of the machine like confetti at a Dick Clark's New Years Celebration In Times Square.

I whimpered a bit -- turned my back on the entire thing -- and left the towels to continue vomiting all over the floor as I chose a random direction to walk in, hoping it would eventually lead me back to my table.

Upon my return, my wife looked at my face (which was red from a mixture of embarrassment, fear, and anger) and asked me what was wrong.

I just shook my head and told her everything was fine.

All I know is that the cheesesticks better be PRETTY GOD DAMN GOOD.