The topic of today's rant is the toilet. Yes, the Porcelain God. Ralph among friends. This glorious contraption that allows us humans to dispose of our bodily waste in a dignified fashion. Nothing's more dignified than sitting on a white throne.
But no matter how dignified, we demand privacy. We demand to not be reminded that other human beings use the same toilet. An act such as turning the toilet paper roll around so that the end faces the wall is unforgivable. Worse still is when the Vile One makes a mess and does not clean up after himself.
I never want to live with a cleanliness-challenged male human again. Their urine stench is far worse than any woman's could possibly be.
While there was no physical evidence of his lack of aim, the odor spoke for itself. Rancid, like an unfixed tomcat's litterbox unchanged for days.
So what does our intrepid heroine do?
She cleans the godsforsaken toilet because she has a damn martyr complex. So she can whine about it in her blog, maybe get a little sympathy. At least growing up with mormonism has given her something.
Thanks a fucking lot, mom and dad, for preparing me for the harsh realities of life. Now I can know what it's like to be a housewife, without having to go through the whole marriage part. Like hell I'm going to accept this kind of life.
..but I just did, didn't I? So the perpetrator had already fled the scene of the crime, but if he was here, would I be able to walk up to him and order him to clean the fucking toilet? I don't think so.
I bet if I had been able to tell him that, he'd take one look at it and declare it not dirty due to no visual evidence of its offensiveness. I don't think he has a sense of smell. I don't see how he could possibly live with himself if he did.