Frank T Bird
The Soap Dispenser is Out to Get Me
Birthday parties are a young person’s game
It was a mistake. I know that now
It was one of those houses with a vast main lounge room and a toilet directly off it. Personally, I’ve never understood such deranged architectural choices.
The problem was the hot dogs.
Look, I know hot dogs are always a fucking risk. But who can resist such an exquisite blend of anus rings and testicles mushed into a log and soaked in enough brine to make it taste good?
Not me. I ate four of the bastards.
I was also drinking Guinness. That didn’t help.
That’s why I found myself at a jam-packed party shitting in a tiny toilet while people kept knocking on the door
‘Fuck off’, I kept saying.
It was a touch aggressive. It wasn’t that kind of party — It was a fiftieth-birthday celebration.
Still, I needed total seclusion, and I have always had a hatred for poorly designed toilets.
‘There’s a toilet in the main bedroom’ I tried to yell with clarity, but having my butt cheeks strategically spread on the toilet seat had somehow hindered my ability to raise my voice.
Still, they knocked. They were young girls. I could hear their giggles.
‘Fuck off’, I yelled again. This was a fucking nightmare.
That’s when I heard it. They started singing Happy Birthday.
I’d be damned if I was going to miss that — the god damn highlight of the whole night.
I have never wiped my butt so quickly. I stood up, flushed and went to wash my hands. I pushed down the soap dispenser, and it hurtled its nice-smelling spunk horizontally into my crotch.
I finished washing my hands and grabbed some tissues to try and wipe the creamy liquid off. It was just no good. Happy Birthday was reaching its climax, and it looked like I had just reached mine.
Which incompetent wanker designed those pump-action soap bottles? It wasn't the first time they had dispensed horizontally, missing my hand completely. It's just this time, the shot was right on target.
I’m all in favour of a good urine stain on the pants.
But as far as the other party-goers were concerned, I had a jizz stain on my new chinos. That’s a whole different level.
To be fair, it smelt rather like lavender and rosewood rather than the usual commercial bleach smell of straight spunk.
I wanted to explain that to people, but it would just have been impossible. Who would understand?
I had no choice but to open the door.
A gaggle of three girls went in after me and giggled at the shit smell.
‘Who serves hotdogs and has no air freshener in their toilet?’ I shouted at them weirdly. I saw their giggles turn to looks of judgement as they looked at the stain on my crotch.
It was my lowest moment in some time.
The host tapped a glass and proceeded to make a speech while everyone kept drinking.
Everyone started talking again loudly, so her speech morphed into a conversation with her husband, with myself watching in sympathy from across the room.
That’s when I decided it was a shit party. Everyone was just too drunk and stoned. All the respect was gone.
It reminded me of that scene in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, where there are just reptiles sitting around drinking.
I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo, and someone was giving booze to these things.
Sometimes I think humans are just filthy hogs.
I went looking for my friend who had given me a lift to the party. I walked in on him in the main bedroom. His head was between an old woman’s legs. That explained why the main bedroom toilet was out of action.
You can’t unsee that kind of thing. Fucking reptiles.
I walked back into the main lounge, and the three girls were there with more of their friends. I saw them look, point and start laughing.
I called a taxi, went home and watched Fear and Loathing while drinking chocolate milk.