blocked drains

(must keep writing, even if it's shit...)

i had woken in the hungover darkness, tongue as dry as a nun's cunt, grunting for hydration like a confused tramp, till i made it to that tapped fountain of gorgeous wetness, and downed myself 3 consecutive pints of diluted syrup, the sloshing sea sickness of which caused me to slop up effortless litres of undigested flotsam and chunky orange junk. 7 times my stomach summoned a lazy lurch, like the stuff was just falling out of me into the sink. i think to myself... how does it all fit in there, seriously? the more came out, the longer it took to drain away and i started to get worried, poking chunks down the tiny slits of the plughole with a chopstick as the pipe gargled n choked like it, itself, were about to chuck up. i didn't blame it, having to swallow someone else's vom. eventually the plughole just wasn't gonna take any more and packed in. with the basin still half full, i started the slow and fetid task of fishing up the scum with a cup. yay. in my body's attempt to free its own gutteral pipework from clogged chips n battered grease, another network of waste was getting plugged with puke like some universal law of conservation. like some kind of sewage karma. unsurprisingly, the next day dad had noticed and begun his usual ritual of sighing and dissaproving huff. however, after a few hours of sweating and heaving with some drain rods and a closet auger, the passage was rid of my internal refuse and the plughole was gulping healthily once more. i thought dad would be even more of a crotchet than usual after what would probably turn out to be his annual heave, but to the contrary, i've never seen him so happy and full of himself: achiever of basic DIY - glowing like he's in an advert for colonic irrigation. PROPS ALL ROUND. so the moral of the tale, if there is to be one: if you glut, you will clog. and if you clog, you will pop.