He was in there for a good forty-five minutes. What with all of us being half-lit from the beer, we took turns stumbling to the door to ask him if he was all right. When he finally emerged from the small room where I spent many a day contemplating life and philosophy, he announced to the room that he had to go home and take a nap. That was mistake number two (never let a friend drive after drinking).
As soon as he had left, the urge to float some logs down the brown river hit me as well. So, assuming that all was safe in my thinking room, I hopped up and stumbled that direction. That was the third and final mistake. About six feet from the door, I was hit with a smell that I could only associate with the cow pasture on the farm where I grew up. Seeing as my apartment was a one-bedroom with one bathroom, I had no other alternative but to pull the collar of my shirt up over my nose and brave the toxic fumes that my supposed "best friend" had left behind.
When I opened the door, all looked normal. The bathroom was still clean, no paint was peeling off the walls, and the light was off. The only abnormality was that the lid to my toilet was down. I had seen toilet lids down in his house before, and thought nothing of it, as that was what I was used to him doing. But when I lifted the lid, I was met with the sight of a brown rattlesnake poised to strike. It was one solid turd that had coiled itself around the bowl about four times and even had a little tip sticking up at the top of it. In my drunken stupor, I could have sworn I saw a tongue flicking out of what appeared to be the mouth.
The first thought that came to my mind was, "How in the hell am I going to get this down?" as my stomach churned and I felt like I was about to give birth.
I took the plunger and tried pushing it down in the hole, to no avail. I finally got the idea to take the rubber suction cup off the end of the plunger and try breaking it apart for the flush. I lunged with a thrust that would make the Three Musketeers proud; and after a few parries and slashes, I finally got my opponent broken down enough to release it to the wild so I could take my place on the throne.
While I was sitting there releasing the barley- and hop-infested contents of my bowels, I came up with the perfect plan for revenge on my friend.
Day One and Two of my retaliation, I loaded up on Taco Bell, Whoppers from Burger King, broccoli, cabbage, and boiled eggs, and washed it down with Miller Lite (of course) and Bacardi. I patiently waited until Day Three when all of us were going to hang out at his house. During this time, it took all I had to keep from going to the bathroom except for peeing and taking a shower.
As soon as I got there, I asked him if I could use the bathroom. He ,of course, said I could.
As soon as I got in there, I barely got my pants down before it started coming out without even the slightest push. I was on his toilet for a good twenty minutes, thinking that I was going to die of asphyxiation from the fumes and toxins leaving my body. When I finished, I did exactly what he did: I walked out without flushing. Although not before taking a final look at my masterpiece.
It looked as if Picasso and Rembrandt had gotten into a fight, and used their paintings as weapons of mass destruction.
I walked out and let him know that I needed to run to the store to pick up some cigarettes. As soon as I got out to my car, I could hear yelling and screaming coming from inside the house. "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SMELL?!?" and "OH MY FUCKING GOD, DID THAT COME OUT OF JAMES?"
I pulled out of the driveway with a smile on my face. A few minutes later, my cell phone rang. It was my friend, belatedly apologizing for leaving his bomb in my toilet the other day. He also asked me if I could pick up some Liquid Plumber, and that he would pay me back.
People may say I am evil for concocting such a calculated attack. I say I would have been the perfect military strategist.