My Toilet - My Only Friend


As I sit in my rolling computer chair, perhaps surfing the Internet or reading a book, I feel it. A longing passion and pain burns inside my rump. I quickly get up and run to my bathroom. My bathroom. My haven. I walk through it slowly, with a book in hand, observing its many unique features. I look past the animal colored wallpaper, the bright dingy light, and the colored fish shower curtain. I look past the assortments of toiletries, the red furry rugs, and the many cracked, yet clean tiles. A bright and powerful object stands in front of me- a stone guardian of all that is good in the world. The toilet emits a powerful aura of beauty, standing there with its elegant presence. I feel no emotions but joy; utter joy. Oh, what an awesome sight, to gaze upon the toilet- my friend, my companion, and my life. As I carefully set my backside down on its delicate, yet powerful mouth, I recollect the many adventures and life-changing events I have experienced on the toilet.

A series of memories flashes back to me, making it seem like they only occurred yesterday. Many times I have walked into the bathroom with unusual objects in my hand to entertain my mind while on the toilet. Ah, I remember the days when I would sit on the toilet for hours, with a guitar on my lap and an amplifier plugged into the wall. Even more recent were the days in which I walked in the lavatory with a portable DVD player in one hand, and a couple of movies in the other. However, these peaceful days of nirvana were stolen when my paternal unit realized of my actions-, which he somehow claimed to be filthy, and put an end to them. I travel back even further in my deep memory and try and recall my childhood. Oh, what a jolly old time I had in the bathroom, perhaps with my videogames, my Calvin and Hobbes comics, or occasionally a plate of eggs and toast. How I long for my forever lost youth. Now my only friends who dare accompany me are my numerous novels and English homework, which my teacher is so foolish as to touch it with his uncovered hands. (Just kidding).

I finish up with releasing my excrement, gazing at a book, or perhaps contemplating the meaning of life. I look down inside the toilet, a satisfied smile slowly crawling across my face. Oh, how many times have I gazed down into that toilet! Oh, how many times I shall gaze into that bowl of destiny in the future! Oh, how long I’ve cried out in pain, cried out in joy, cried out for the love of the activity! A tear slides down my face as I look across the childish animal wallpaper that has so become a part of my life, and I hear the moist feces plopping down on the water surface, sinking down, deeper into the unknown depths.

Hard enough to believe, there are those who dare find my doings wrong. These people are obviously uneducated and unsophisticated. The toilet is a piece of art; it should be marveled at, not slandered. Foolish society has sullied the good name of this helpful and beautiful piece of pure brilliance. However, there are those who still respect this incredible machine, such as I. With all the insanity of the world, a little break from it all is required, as one can meditate and perhaps even reach enlightenment on the toilet. One must bow down to this ultimate form of all that is good and right in the world. One must realize the importance of this aesthetic machine and worship its ingenuity, its simple brilliance. As I step outside my bathroom with a grin, I notice the soft wet spot on the back of my boxers, turn around, and go repeat the process.