Sunday, December 18, 2005

King Pong

“Ladies and Gentlemen. I stand here humbled to be in your presence, esteemed and so forth. Sir Chiswick, I have admired your work for years and hope to continuing doing so far into the future. Miss Denham, the same. Alek Guertin, your research into bio-magnetic toilet tissue astounds and confounds me. Alas, as magnificent your work consistently is and as stunned as I am so close to mortal gods, I announce my plea to be enrolled into your certified care.”
“What are you on about man? “
“All in due time Mr. Greenhalgh. You may have noticed the box behind me. Well, what it contains is just revolutionary and only bloody brilliant, excuse my french. Despite such an unassuming container, what I have invented will destroy such old-world notions as scheduling and… well, the entire ceramic industry. You see, no more shall man, or women Miss Denham I haven’t forgotten about you, no more shall we be degraded into removing our trousers and squatting above a bowl like some animal; because that is all we have been for thousands of years. Animals licking our wounds, unable to transcend such a basic function as a bowel movement. Well, let me reveal to you the greatest invention to be created by a single man in the history of man. Let me reveal to you the GOD-A-TRON!”
“Oh, I see. Hmmm. What function exactly does it perform?”
“Have you not been listening? Do you not have your eyes open? Is it not just plainly obvious?”
“I’m sorry Mr.. eh…”
“Oh how amusing. I’m sorry though, Mr. Bazooka, I can’t quite follow you.”
“Look, you wear the GOD-A-TRON like this. See, like a pair of undergarments, one leg at a time. And then, simply, you flick this switch here, like this see.”
“Should it whirr like that, Mr. Bazooka?”
“Absolutely, it should. Would you be so arrogant to ask the creator of the wheel if it should spin like that? The nerve.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Bazooka, but it is certainly a unique extension to the work we do here, at the Institute of Moral Toiletries.”
“Well, it cannot possibly run without the two cooling units and I certainly cannot stop them from emitting the hum, though it is a low frequency you can only agree. But you have not even witnessed the ‘coooo the graw’, so to speak.”
“Which is…?”
“Fortunately for you I experienced quite the extended lunch. My wife, excuse me, long suffering wife served up a choice of sandwiches with both white and brown bread and a selection of world cheeses. It was just delightfully exquisite…”
“...Please Mr. Bazooka, we have other inventors to see…”
“Okay, I’ll cut to the chase, though you will miss the wonderful tension that could be created whilst describing my lunch, every bit important. Though it may not be immediately obvious, like a good detective novel I’d imagine. Do you like detective novels?”
“Yes, yes, yes. The GOD-A-TRON. Well, simply put, I have just excreted into the machine while I was conveying to you the details of my lunch. You may not have noticed as I am practiced in the art of jettisoning waste while in a standing position but this fresh plume of smoke would have been a clue, as opposed to a red herring obviously. Huh, huh, huh.”
“You just shit your pants?”
“Well yes. And my machine ate the faecal matter and ejected it as harmless CO2 gas. Imagine a world where every man, woman and child can enjoy the comforts of an evening nap without the worry that they may shit themselves while asleep, creating a thick atmosphere. Polite society wouldn’t stand for such indiscretions and my machine, the greatest of all machines, eradicates such impolite and ghastly occurrences. Quite the evolution, you surely agree.”
“Well, thank you for your time Mr. Bazooka but I think we’ve seen enough. We have no use for your invention at the present moment but feel free to try again in five years.”
“You’re making a mistake. My mother rated my invention highly.”
“Your invention is not the only thing full of shit Mr. Bazooka. I would advise you to purchase a toothbrush on your way home and give your mouth a seeing to, as I believe you’ve been eating ass.”
“Mr. Chiswick, I am appalled. I am sincerely reconsidering my plea for registration into your institution after that outburst. I thank you Gentlemen and Ladies, but I don’t think I can stand to be around such ignorance. Good day.”
“Good day Mr. Bazooka.”


  1. I wouldn't buy one. At any price. The best part about crapping is when the Stench Demon rings the doorbells of people's nasal passages and they let it in without so much as a How do you do? I savor the moment and repeat the process until it stops being funny. Which it hasn't.

    Good to have you writing shit again, Meehan.


  2. Somthing similar happened to me.

    I invented a machine whereby you could wee into a bag attached to your leg, and it would boil off the liquid.

    The repeated burning was a small price to pay for not having to leave your chair.

    At least that's what I thought.