This piece contains some rather strong coarse language.
Okay, let me paint u a picture – I’m 4 years old. It’s a weekday, and I am already running late for kindergarten, and I suddenly have this enormous urge to relieve my bladder. Now, bearing in mind at this point I was not exactly what you could call ‘skilled’ at aiming my projectile weapon. Quite often my payload would go everywhere but where I wanted.
I remember once when I was 7, it was a very dark night and I decided not to turn on the lights as to not wake up my parents, cuz their bedroom was next to the bathroom. I was busting, and I managed to make it to the bathroom in time – to watch my penis go absolutely crazy. I took hold of Naughty Junior, and took aim, kind of, and watched the havoc in what appeared to be slow motion – it went everywhere. On the walls. On the ceiling. On the floor. On the toilet rolls (that is what they all for, right, so that wasn’t so bad, right?). On the towels. On the mirror. Yes, it was a nightmare. In the end – not one drop managed to make it into the bowel – some of it I will admit hit the seat, but, that still counts as a ‘miss’. Like basketball – you don’t get points for hitting the rim. Cleaning it up was the worst part – at one point I miscalculated the extent of the damage and slipped on my ex-bodily liquid and skidded across the tiles and happened to slam into the cabinet. I was headed for the shower but managed to grab hold of the door and did an amazing 180 degree spin away from it – I was really impressed. Safe to say my parents awoke – and they were less than pleased.
Anyway, back to when I was 4 – judging by my brilliant history of missing every time I tried to relive my bladder, which I apparently continued for some years to come, I decided to sit down. Yes – which was as it later seemed, not the greatest of plans. So, there I am, relieving myself, when I slip – no, not off the toilet, that would have been not embarrassing at all. I slip into it. Apparently, when I sat down my arse cheeks were teetering on the edges of the inner most portion of the seat, and I just so happened to lose my balance.
So, here’s the picture; I am officially half way in. My arse is about two inches away from needing a snorkel. My feet are dangling just above the floor and I am helpless to move. So – I call for my mother, who at the time was my heroine. In she comes – and laughs at me. She doesn’t cry, which is what I was doing mind you. She doesn’t scream or yell ‘golly gosh!’. No, she nearly pisses her pants as she watches me dangle from where I am like a fish before eventually coming to my rescue – or not. She takes hold of my arms and begins to drag me out – she drags. She pulls. She pushes. She yells. She growls. She groans. She pants. She pulls. She prods. (This is beginning to sound like a regular porno). She yanks with all her might – but I won’t budge. Daddy was out at work at the time. He left every morning at five to help control Melbourne’s power. So, it was just me and mummy – who could not save me. She says she might need to get the neighbor to help yank me from the bowels of hell. Shit no! At least that is what I would have said back then if I had known such a term existed, cuz bearing in mind at the time I was innocent and sweet. It was the following year, my first day of primary school actually that I leant the words ‘fuck’ and ‘cunt’. Yes, my parents were proud they had sent their son for a higher education. NOT! Anyways, the mere mention of the neighbor’s assistance causes my inner self to empower my body to wrench myself free. I push and my mother pulls, and eventually I am saved!
That however ain’t the most embarrassing part. The local newspaper decided to make a story out of this, titled ‘toilet tries to eat stupid little prick and an arsehole’. (This part is meant to be a joke. I know, my friends didn’t laugh at this either!)
FYI – I don’t miss anymore!
Naughty Nefarious, signing off