At band rehearsal last night and we play at our drummers house, who is female.
First song in I get a cramp in the belly - end the song and say I have to go destroy her bathroom jokingly. I reached the bottom of the steps from where we play a short 5 feet from the bathroom door and the flood gates open. It's everywhere. It's uncontrollable. I literally destroy her bathroom. Its in my jeans, on the outside of my jeans, on the floor splashed on the shower glass door and probably just as much on the outside of the toilet as on the inside. It's a nuclear mess.
With the half role of TP I'm cleaning up as much as I can - pants are destroyed and balled up on the floor. I flush the first batch and Im cleaning up more. Im trying to articulate it out of the hinges of the toilet lid. I'm wiping up what I can. I'm doing the impossible with TP. I then realize I've gone through an entire role of TP trying to clean up this armageddon of a display and realize flushing would be risky. A risk I had to take. I flush - it stops. Stops completely. Luckily there is a plunger near the toilet and I start plunging away. It's not moving. I'm plunging in a not to familiar bathroom with my man junk flapping to every excerpt of the plunger and it's not helping. The panic sweat is full on as if I got out of the shower. T-shirt sweat stained a darker color.
Knock at the door - it's the dude who I have been playing with for years. "You all right?"
".....no..... I think rehearsal is over - I have to go"
"Can I get you anything?"
"A hanger?"
He laughs and leaves. He tells the Mrs. that I need help and he can't help me. A few minutes later the female drummer who owns the house knocks on the door, "You OK?
"Nope - I think I am just going to wait in the car and let you guys finish".
"Do you need a change of clothes"
"Maybe" *sigh*
I completely covered in panic sweat and can't put my bottom clothes on. because they are ruined. A few minutes she knocks back on the door and hands me a pair of her husbands shorts.
Cleaned up as best as I can and I'm back up there finishing rehearsal commando and embarrassed as hell, dripping with flop sweat all while listening to their jokes about the situation. "Should we cover Greenday from the Dookie album?" and stuff like that. Toilet still clogged up near the rim, pants now rolled up with the clean parts on the outside hidden in the trunk of my friends hatchback.
1.5 hours later we finish up and I offer to finish cleaning up the clogged toilet mess. Nothing is happening. It's not budging. Her husband is try's (just add to the humiliation) - nothing - he gets a snake from the garage and starts snaking. I know that it was the wad of TP I used to wipe everything down causing the clog - after 20 minutes or so of snaking it finally breaks free. He cleans up the snake and then comes in a uses Kaboom cleaner to spray everything down.
Yea - that's my story two weeks into turning 50. Fuck me.
