Warning: The following post contains scatological references that humorless adults will find immature and offensive.
The next time your dad yells at you about putting grease down the drain, listen to him. For goodness' sake, listen to him. I just spent three days trying to unclog my kitchen sink. I finally found the clog (about twenty feet from the sink) and cleared it; I discovered that it was mostly grease. Like a clogged artery running from the heart of my home, our house came to a grinding halt. But Hallelujah! The water is flowing again.
Only two days before, I had to tear up the toilet to dislodge some uber-turd from the backside of the trap in my toilet. Indeed, it was so magnificent a turd that, every time I spotted a child, I would yell at him or her about flushing toys down the toilet. But I discovered it was only crap, which forced an apology. I would like to claim the glory, but we, all of us, are grandiose crappers. We like to live large. (My girls will sometimes close tight their little sphincters and, in a week, in their lower intestines, grow turds that make mine look dainty.)
This toilet, by the way, is the third toilet I have had to take up in the past year. Apparently I need to learn to better manipulate my closet auger, which works sometimes and other times, sadly, comes up clean.
