(Special contributor to PSD.com)
So there I was, minding my own business....
cause that's how I roll. It's Christmas time, 2008 and we get invited to a "bad sweater" party at Bill and Kristie's. Kristie lives in West Des Moines, and I seldom venture west of Drake. The last two non work trips I've had out there I've tossed my cookies once and got three traffic tickets the other time. There's no alleys, pawn shops or dudes with real jobs like pouring concrete or collecting workman's comp out there. So needless to say, this East Sider doesn't like heading that way.
In a moment of weakness, perhaps due to the fact that Bill and Kristie are cool (and there's free booze and food and Kristie has a couple hot friends) I decide to make the trip. So Monster and his wife pick me and the Mrs up and we head out there in Monster's oversized (he's hung like a sand flea) pick up truck.
Everything's cool when we get there. Their friends are nice and they have my two favorite types of beer-free and cold. We are making small talk and I find out that along with being smart and a good athlete, Kristie can cook a little as well.
To make a long story short, I get overserved on some dips that include copious amounts of cheese and I find myself needing to go potty. And we aren't talking tinkling here, boyz. My stomach is more upset than Monster at buffet closing time.
So I go into the upstairs bathroom and take care of business. I'm a stickler for paperwork, and I use enough paper to make 3 Norwoodville phonebooks and flush the toilet.
I flush the toilet and I'm rifling thru the medicine cabinet, wondering where the hell Bill hides the Old Spice, when I look down and notice the water is rising faster than Bill Clinton at a cheerleaders convention.
There's a few survival skills I've learned thru the years. Like keeping some distance between your car and the guy in front of you at a red light, and never picking a fight with a guy with red hair and a square jaw..and the most important...always make sure the kabo you are in has a plunger.
I'm not going to get into the morals of Kristie not having a plunger in that powder room but as the water keeps rising, I'm more nervous than Tiger Woods at a Promise Keepers rally. I'm looking for a beach towel or something to stem the rapid rising putrid water and there's nothing in there. I quickly scan the room and notice no window for me to exit out of.
There's people in the hall that saw me heading into the restroom so I am cornered, Just when I'm ready to admit defeat, the water miraculously stops, a quarter of an inch below flood level, if you smell what, er, nevermind.
My mind is thinking rapidly .....I consider faking a heart attack and having the ambulance come and save me from my shame. Danish isn't at the party, so I cant blame it on him or some other fourth grader.
I exit and tell the peeps outside there's a issue with the toilet. I go down and discreetly (that's how I roll, discreet) tell the Billy we need a plunger ASAP. I tell him innocently I followed some chick into the can, and she musta clogged it with her sanitary napkin. Hey, its lame but I was half in the bag and was hungry again.
Bill goes upstairs and later interrogates me and I meekly admit the truth. I hear Kristie say when she think I'm not within hearing distance.."I KNEW it was him!"
Needless to say, I haven't been back to West Des Moines since. I rarely leave the East Side without a plunger and my Rottweiler with me. These are times that try men's souls, boyz.
(some names have been changed to protect the innocent)
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