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| 06.06.2008 - Record Of Events | 11:47 AM | | Author: RP (randy@pollestad.net) | Score 4/5 (2 Votes) |
| Day 1: Well, this sucks. Of all the predicaments to find myself in I do believe that this is the worst of the worst. No, I take that back. Being forced to listen to Sarah Silverman battle rap against Fran Drescher would actually be the worst but my current situation is still pretty bad. You see, I have fallen into the toilet and I can't get back out. Ever since I discovered that you can dip anything in nacho cheese and make it taste good, I've been eating everything that I can get my hands on. Due to my newfound girth, I apparently cracked the toilet seat after sitting, crashed violently downward and blacked out. When I came to, I found that I was wedged pretty deep in the bowl and unable to remove myself. Thankfully, I always carry a notepad with me whenever I use the restroom -- mostly to jot down ideas for new Robocop movies and key lyrics from death metal songs that changed my life -- but in this instance it can help serve as a journal of events in case I don't make it through this.
Day 2: I'm not sure why I started numbering the days. What if I get rescued tomorrow? The journal would seem kind of silly then. People would look at this and go, "you only have two entries in here. Why did you feel the need to number them?" and I wouldn't have an answer for it that didn't sound really stupid.
Day 5: Ok, so it's been five days now. I don't feel so bad about numbering the journal
entries. I've never been stuck or lost before so I'm not real positive on all of the rules
involved but I think that if you've been keeping a journal for more than five days, it's ok
to preface your update with whatever day it is.
Day 9: I'm starting to think that maybe help is not coming. I guess I should have assumed that given my location but sometimes I like to moonlight as an optimist. I'm actually in a private bathroom that none of the employees have access to. Well, actually it's a private bathroom of a much larger bathroom (a bathroom suburb, if you will). This larger bathroom is only a very small portion of the gigantic walk-in closet that composes of only 1.3% of the total square footage of my lush corporate office. Even if anyone actually knew the bathroom was here, it's unlikely that they would think to look for me in here. I'm starting to wonder if all of those booby traps littered around my office were really a good idea.
Day 15: Kind of wondering where the cleaning crew is. Granted, I don't really pay them
anything but I certainly don't not pay them to not clean. I should really find someone to
talk to them about this when I get out of here.
Day 22: Well, looking on the bright side, I don't ever have to get up to use the restroom anymore. Standing is pretty overrated if you ask me.
Day 23: Actually, standing isn't overrated. Pissing all over yourself because you can't move is overrated. This sucks.
Day 31: I've managed to keep myself alive by subsisting solely on toilet seat covers. They don't taste very good but when you've all but forgotten what everything else tastes like, you start getting used to it. I bet these things would be pretty good with nacho cheese.
Day 37: I should have spent more time watching John Candy and Chris Farley movies. I mean, they're both fat and I'm sure that they got stuck inside lots of things. Unfortunately,
they're both dead so trying to talk to them now would be a waste of time. Oh, unless I knew
someone who was psychic, which I don't. I should really get out and meet more people.
Day 42: Miss Cleo! She's fat, psychic, and very much alive! I don't know her yet but with money, anything is possible. I've written her a letter on the backside of this journal
detailing my problem and asking her for advice on how I should free myself. I will mail it
just as soon as I'm able to go to the mailbox.
Day 56: Things are starting to smell pretty bad in here. I can't tell if it's from my
complete lack of hygiene or my inability to flush the toilet. Either way, this place smells
worse than a gym locker room in India.
Day 58: Got bored and drew a picture of Matt Damon choking a donkey. It looks more like Popeye arm wrestling with a dog but I don't think anyone would criticize someone in my
position for their lack of artistic talent. Oh wait, I would. Especially if it sucked as bad
as what I drew.
Day 59: Ate drawing of Matt Damon for lunch. Tasted like heaven.
Day 66: I had a visitor today! Some members of the janitorial staff came by on what is
supposed to be their daily cleaning run. I yelled for them to help me because I am stuck in a
toilet and unable to free myself. They mumbled back something about letting me rot in hell
for being such a cheapskate bastard. I'm pretty sure that's Mexican for "I will get help as
soon as I am done with all of this cleaning." I'll admit that I admire their dedication to
their job.
Day 68: I'm starting to think that maybe I misunderstood the cleaning crew. I didn't find it odd at the time but after two days of thinking about it, the fact that they took pictures on their cell phones and giggled as they left doesn't really inspire me with confidence that help is coming. Rats.
Day 75: Today's journal entry is a poem I wrote to help pass the time.
Jesus loves the little children,
even the children who are stuck in toilets.
Unless they are muslim.
Day 84: Breakthrough! I noticed today that I still had my cellphone in my pants pocket. Unfortunately, it was just out of reach of my hands but with the right amount of wiggling, I was able to manipulate the speakerphone and speed dial. The bad news is that the only thing I ever bothered to put in my speed dial is Wonton Palace, a chinese food-to-go place. I made the most of it however and asked for an order of fried rice to go. You never know, when I get out of here I might be really hungry.
Day 89: Spent most of the day today going back through my notebook and reading all of the death metal lyrics that I had written down since I started keeping track of such things.
Sepultura sucks. I know autistic children that could write better song lyrics. Note to self:
when I get out of here, buy Sepultura and fire them.
Day 92: Wrote another letter today petitioning Saturday Night Live to air more "It's Pat!" episodes. It was funny because you could never tell whether it was a guy or girl.
Day 96: I don't know whether it's from lack of nutrition or some other really fancy
scientific explanation (like osmosis), but I felt myself slip today. The grip of the bowl
appears to be getting looser. Might there be hope for my cause yet?
Day 97: Spent all day yelling "Freedom!" at the top of my lungs because Braveheart is a great movie.
Day 98: A miracle at last! Thanks to my not-so-proper diet consisting of nothing and toilet seat covers, I managed to drop just enough weight to free myself from the bowl. If you ask me -- and I am pretty sure that I am asking me -- I'll be very happy to never, ever see the inside of a bathroom again. Well, except when I really need to go, that is. Now I can get back to business as usual and doing what I do best, namely making fun of and firing people I don't like. Also, on a closing note, fuck you to everyone who didn't stop by and help me in my time of need. You're all on my shit list now. I wasn't going to call it that but after I got done writing everyone's name on the list, it fell into the toilet before I could flush and I am too lazy to write it all over again. I have placed that list in a very secret location. Brace yourselves for what is coming. You're all going down. Or up. Whatever pisses you off more. |
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