Monday, January 25, 2010

Toilets of Rhodesia and other Number Twos of Notice.

Toilets of Rhodesia and other Number Twos of Notice. Part One

Our obsession with bowel movements could best be summarised by a scene in the Bevis and Butthead - Do America film – where the two examples of American brainless regeneration of human defecation, instead of observing the grandeurs of the Grand Canyon, they are exhilarated with the scene of a donkey dumping. It should also be pointed out that Bevis is constantly obsessed with getting some TP for his Bung-hole.

See the very short film clip below…

With this in mind, I offer a weird trip down sewerage lane…

Strange topic, but with my head spinning from academic readings, what better than to write about something so visceral as the toilet - I mean, this is something most, if not all of us have in common. The alternative is to defecate in your pants, but for this little bog standard story, we will stick to the little room where bad smells are made.

Now, as usual, what was intended to be a quick read of verbal diarrhoea for the lowbrow intellectuals who flock to my site for insights of a shit-filled brain, has turned into yet another massive task. It appears that spending a Number Two ‘responsibly’ is a very complex, and imperative to the betterment of mankind.

Along the way I will demonstrate (not quite), how we perceive our digested food, what should be done with it, and why we are obsessed with it to the point of throwing- up at the mere thought of it. Clicking on the links along the way will open up all three eyes, whether they are blue, brown or the hidden one - celebrity style bleached.

Few of us remember when we use to shit in our pants. Two reasons: One, we were infants, and secondly, we were drunk and drugged at the time (as young teenagers of course - think Trainspotting). As adults, some may recall having a slight problem whilst travelling in India or visiting the Headmaster for ‘six of the best’. As future geriatric degeneratives, we can expect with age to eventually be forced to wear adult sized nappies so as not to soil the bed sheets.

My first recollection of what could happen if things went wrong with internal plumbing, was the threat of severe external plumbing being inserted rear end up, to clear the blockage. I was only five at the time but it was so traumatic, I still recall the black tubes, with its bulbous handpump, my mother presented to me as she warmed a pot of water. I recall screaming in pain, as from morbid fear of the contraption, I ran off to the little room and split a gut passing a Lego sized Empire State Building, bricks and all.

Oddly enough, it took a few years (ten actually), before I finally worked out what this weird rubber contraption was really for – and it had nothing to do with poor diet.

The explanation came about after I, with nothing else to do, studied the back of a large bottle of Dettol Antiseptic Liquid Disinfectant, that was pretty much standard in every middle-class white homes’ bathrooms. The idea being, that after the rough and tumble of play, all grazes, cuts and wounds would be disinfected away, with a good dollop of the stuff in the bath, turning it milky white, and you came out smelling like a hospital.

The poor just stayed infected, I guess.


One of the things it advocated it being very good for, was a douche. Not knowing what this was, a close friend advised me. Luckily, a few years later I would come across an article that would explain that the douche was just a fad of the time, and not to worry if any prospective members of the opposite sex didn’t have knickers smelling like a freshly disinfected morgue, and so, not to worry.

Still, before I end Part One, I must tell you what else it said on the back of that bottle, circa early ‘70s, – it removes Dandruff. Now this form of head scurvy was vey apparent on the dark brown blazers of Mount Pleasant High School. I don’t recall owning a blazer, nor suffering from flaked scalp syndrome, but just in case, I decided to detox my head.

Now those fans who have followed my antics, especially the Three Silly Junk Bikes saga, should now be grinning in anticipation – shame on you!

Look, you have to understand that I was, and still am, a bit hampered with the English language, and as a result, I ignored (skipped over) the bit in Italics in brackets, about (one cap full diluted in one gallon of water). I understood the bit about leaving the stuff on for five minutes before rinsing.

So I just liberally poured the stuff, in its pure state, over my head, and waited.

Five minutes can be a long time – especially when your head is chemically on fire - but it was for a good cause.

I am not made of sterner stuff. I gave up after 45 seconds and hosed down enough chemicals off my head to murder every bacterium in the septic tank, whilst believing only an Indian (Native American) scalping would relieve the inferno encompassing and baking the last of my brains.

What is really queer - is that I have never suffered from dandruff since then!

Stay tuned…in following sequel(s) you will read how I tried to send the first toilet into outer orbit, and why I undressed completely naked to do a Two in France.

No comments: