inside the super bowl

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Afterwards, I spritzed Poo-Pourri on the surface to ensure the next lucky visitor wouldn't catch a whiff of any stray bubbles emerging from my dropped motherload. What could go wrong?

I heard Great Aunt Millie's scream two minutes after the rest of us had moved onto our chocolate mouse. Little did I know that my former flushed friend had not fully flushed, and contained the precise balance of fatty ingredients from my recently abandoned Atkins diet to summon the toilet shark up from the sewer.

Next time, I'll bring an axe.