Holy CRAP!

"Cleanliness is next to godliness"-Jesus, playing a joke on a gullible, but dirty, hermit. 

Note: As you may have already guessed from the caps lock on 'crap' rather than 'holy', this post has very little to do with godliness and just about everything to do with cleanliness(or more accurately, the lack thereof).

Note2:Please do not take offense if this post offends your sensibilities. If you do not enjoy jokes about constipation, you're highly advised to read something more suitable to your sensibilities. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Note3:This is my attempt at twittering. Since I've never(to the best of my knowledge) made a post that twitters before, I sincerely apologize if the twittering isn't as twitterish as the high-class twittering you're usually receive from other blogs. 

Note4:If you're a professional twitterer, please do not take offense at my amateurish style. As usual, it is supposed to be funny. 

Note5: Once again, do not be mad at me if it disgusts you

Note 6:As usual, this is based on a true story.

I woke up and went to the bathroom. Since I'm not a twitterer, I will not go into the details of my miserable dream, nor that I was chased by a giant spaghetti monster 17 feet long, nor how I landed into a pizza trap filled with hundreds of cheap Dominoes pizza. Which is a lot worse than it sounds, since I'm lactose intolerant(well, not in real life. But in the dream I was). Nor will I tell you the agony and futility of trying to resist the call of nature, nor how hard it was for me to get off of my bed(I was trapped in the sheets), nor the sheer complexity of finding my glasses(they were in the counter next to my bed, nor will I speak of the excruciating slowness of waiting and waiting and waiting for my stepmom to get out the F-ing bathroom(17.0000003 solid minutes of sheer torture). 

Nope, since I'm not a twitterer, I will not mention a word of those. Zero, zip,  zilch, nothing. 

So, when I finally got into the bathroom, I  realized that there are many idiots in this world, chief among them whoever last used up the roll of toilet paper. So like a righteous angel of cleanliness(which, as you remember, is next to godliness), storming the barbarian hordes of dirt(which, by direct inference, is next to Satan), I marched to the closet. 

With holy might behind me, I opened the door with all my strength, almost ripping the door in the process. 

I stepped in the closet.

I stood on my tiptoe. 

I reached my hand out. 

I took out what I wanted. 

I ripped out the plastic. 

Ah-hah! The Holy Grail!(or more accurately, a new roll of toilet paper).

I walked back. 

I put the toilet paper on the rolling metal rack thingy-mingy. 

I resumed typing normally. 

At any rate, I attempted to pass motion, sat on the toilet seat, and opened the lid(not necessarily in that order). I pushed. And pushed. And pushed even more. And pushed. And pushed. And pushed yet again. Don't ask me how long I did it, but it was definitely a long time. A very long time. By the 63rd push, I felt like one of those women on Health Ed. class' 21-inch TV pushing for a baby . By the hundred and seventh, I was ready to ask for Caesarian Section. I think it was the 207th(you should be glad this is not a twittering post, otherwise I'll go into push-by-push detailed analysis) before I felt the blissful relief of crapping something out. Lovely.

(to be continued)